retreating: day one

As many of y'all know, a little over a month ago, Sean dropped on my unsuspecting lap an "early Valentine's Day" gift.  It was an envelope containing the details of a pre-purchased, pre-arranged trip for four nights out to California, 3 nights of which would be a silent retreat at a monastery, replete with a private hermitage, food, chanting monks, and a two mile road down to the coast... 

When I regained consciousness, I warned him that I might not ever come BACK, it sounded so dreamy!  (... and I also said thank you a lot and then stumbled about in a stupor with a dopey grin on my face for several hours...)

So what follows comes out of a camera-happy, child-free, four days worth of independent travel.  The next 46 pictures are only from day one.   (You don't need to actually feel pressure to let 46 pictures load to your computer; I won't be hurt if you don't dwell on this experience of mine.  [I took the kids to the zoo today and will try to upload pictures of them soon!]  I simply love revisiting these photos, and so I'm putting many of them on here for my own remembering.)

I flew Southwest Airlines to San Jose on a Wednesday night, walked across the little street to the rental car center, and drove 30 minutes or so out to Santa Cruz.  The flight got in late; it wasn't really sensible to drive 2.5 hours and try to find the monastery that night.  So Sean had booked a hotel, which happened to be right near a Whole Foods (hello, Dr. Zevia and chocolate hazelnut butter!) and oh, you know, an ocean...

The next morning, traffic was a little hairy so I didn't meander over to downtown Santa Cruz.  Just stopped at a little park on the edge of it before starting down Hwy 1 towards Big Sur.

That journey, of course, required LOTS of stop offs.  Check-in at the monastery wasn't until 4 PM, so I had plenty of time for the 2 hour journey.  It turned into many, many blissful hours-- I didn't get to my hermitage until sometime between 6 and 7 PM.

a little fishing village

When I got out of the car, I was like "WOW it smells like a zoo in this harbor."
Then I heard barking and realized why.

By the time I got down to Monterrey Peninsula, I didn't have enough time to make the aquarium ticket price worth it, especially considering that I wanted to see the Basilica at the Carmel Mission before it closed.  I did find a route called The 17 Mile Drive, which was lovely.  You pay $10, wind around slowly on this well-marked route, with lots of lovely vistas to stop off at.    Traffic was low and I LOVED this experience.  It helped me feel like I'd really gotten to see lots of beautiful snippets, even though most of my time in California was going to be cloistered away.

an animal!  swimming around!

After soaking in the 17 Mile Drive, it was easy enough to find the Carmel Mission.

A note on navigation:  I had printed off some Google maps ahead of time, knowing that I basically just had a few highways to keep track off, nothing complicated.  I don't know how to use GPS machines anyway, which amused the rental car lady.  She seemed unaccustomed to having clients who have never been there before, don't know anyone, and don't want any navigational devices.  (It is a little sad, though, that saying, "oh, I printed off some maps" gets you smirks.  What?  Maps aren't useful?  Don't they show you the roads more readily, even, than some gadget that has to load and refresh information?)  Sean sent his personal iphone with me just in case, but am proud that I never had to turn it on, not once.  I loved being disconnected!

At the Mission:

Some old priest vestments in a room off the basilica

The most elaborate nativity I've ever seen.
It was three times this wide, but in a hallway, so I couldn't get a full photo.

in the quadrangle (courtyard) of the mission

You can't really see it in the photo below, but the Jesus figure at the top of this crucifix had his eyes open, light blue, and set in such a way a to look glazed over and very, very dead.
Made me catch my breath, almost like it was shocking to consider that he was ever that dead.  (I guess in my head I usually skip from considering his suffering and the process of dying, straight to the resurrection.)

More coastline, south of Monterrey, winding and winding and winding about 30 miles past Big Sur.

I arrived too late to be greeted by anyone, but found a map to my hermitage, which had a stack of sheets and towels on the unmade bed, waiting for me.  It was clean and cozy and I fell in love immediately!

Note:  in the center of my desk are envelopes.  I made Josephine and Clement individual cards with a photo of me with them or Begonia (Clement really loves Begonia) in each envelope, one for each day.  They are used to being with me all day every day, and with no connectivity at the monastery, I thought the visuals would make my absence easier, especially for Clement.  Knowing I'd done this, Josephine, in turn, fashioned envelopes for ME for each day, and in each one put a sticker and a neon notecard on which she wrote her name, Clement's name, and the word "love".  And each morning I opened one eagerly and TOTALLY MELTED.

hidden gem

nope, these aren't from the retreat in California-- I'll put those up next.  

I'm more fervently excited in this moment about the fact that I happened upon a place here in Austin where there's a touch of peace and quiet, as well!  This is tremendously good news as I'm not sure we could actually manage me being gone half of every week out at that monastery, though I'm still holding out hope that there's some way to make that work...

So here, locals.  If you need some solace a little more at hand, there's always the Remembrance Gardens on the Riverbend Church campus south of the 360 bridge.  This was a delightful discovery!

 

Zanna's Five!

Zanna turns FIVE (how are the girls turning five???) on the 27th, so we celebrated her today with a fun outdoor bike parade at her church's playground.

Zanna in blue on pink

Josephine in pink on blue

Josephine had lots of fun celebrating her lifelong friend!

Meanwhile, Clement had his own little party.  

Did a little swinging.

Did a little climbing in and out of cars.

Did a little escaping from Mom, crawling across the playground, climbing into the sand pit...

...only to find out he actually doesn't like sand very much.

At one point, I joined him and tried to show him how to shovel the sand, which he found disgusting.  

Later I saw him trying to get to a bench to pull up on, so as to extricate himself from the grainy substance, but he couldn't get to it because he was averse to putting his hands into the sand.  The most he would do was lean forward on the very heel of his hand, keeping his fingers raised above it.  He couldn't actually reach the bench by doing this, though, and he kept recoiling back into the upright position every time his fingers tipped down onto the sand.  I watched him do this repeatedly; he looked utterly perplexed.  Which was pitiful, but also completely ridiculous.

I mean, please.

What kind of kid doesn't like SAND?  

I figured he just needed encouragement.

So I went over to where he was and tried demonstrating how much fun it was to hold it!  Let it slip through your fingers!  Burrow your hand down into it!  Smooth it out!  Pile it up!  Seeeeee??  Sand is so fun!

He just scowled, shook his head in a vigorous NO, and looked at me disparagingly, like, "Really, Mother, I thought you were better than that."

(This is also precisely how he reacted to grass when we got him home from New York, though.  And mulch didn't go over much better.  But now he'll play in and with both.  So I think he just needs a little more time.  He's merely a skeptical, cautious little fellow...)

Case in point: it took a LOT of persuasion to get him to enter this green tube.  (And by that I mean, I finally just picked him up and put him in it.  Twice.)  And then it took a lot of cheering to get him to actually keep crawling and go through it, even when I ran around to the other end.   But after he did it a few times, he seemed to really like it-- loved the windows, loved following Josephine through it.  So see, it is technically possible for him to have fun!  He simply has to warm up to the idea!

I just don't know that I can trust all this playground business...

misc.

Just a couple cute pictures of Clement from last week, and below, Josephine teaming up with her friend Lucy to haul her little brother, Cas, around the yard.  Pretty adorable play date!

you give a kid a flashlight...

... so she can "solve the mystery of the missing puzzle piece."
Innocent enough, right?

However.

Upon doing so, you have ensured the demise of your entire living room.

You do not realize it at the time, but only because you were caught off guard.

"In a post-coffee state, I'd have known better!" you will tell yourself later.

"There is always a disproportionate price for bestowing a privilege!"

Flashlight in hand, Investigator Josephine and Conscripted Cohort Clement embark on a scrupulous hunt under the couch.  Many minutes are spent with their bottoms up in the air, rigorously testing the on-off functionality of the flashlight, and peering at what must be a fascinating display of dust bunnies and lost toys dancing in the resulting strobe light.

While meticulously avoiding anything helpful like rescuing those lost toys, they eventually determine the missing puzzle piece is not amongst them.  

... and become greatly distraught.

(Well, Investigator does.  Cohort retains his standard expression of enthralled confusion... an effect Josephine has on most of us.)

"Perhaps," I foolishly and still-uncaffeinatedly say in an effort to help, "you should look in the cushions."

And so really, all of this was my own fault.

Turns out the missing puzzle piece was across the room under the futon...

... and that they didn't care about the puzzle any more anyway.

In a vague attempt to save face with myself, I have formed a threefold justification for what on the surface might resemble loss of control (which may or may not be reality):
1) It is cold outside.
2) Good exercise for Clement!
3) Their grandparents basically made the whole couch, so this is what they would want, right?  To enable the joy and pleasure of their grandkids at any cost??  (sorry, Mom and Dad.  But hey, major props on the sturdiness of your handiwork!)

don't worry, mommy.  we still respect you.  really.

After watching the antics for a good while and downing a couple cups of coffee, I realized the only way to salvage the situation (and retain my status as their authority figure) was to pretend like it was my idea.  So I emphasized strongly to the Investigator that this was a "special occasion".  (Parent-speak for any event your kids are relishing but you're mildly regretting.)  Of course Cohort ignored the lecture, so if you ever see him trying to pull cushions off of furniture, now you know what he's up to.  You can blame me for that.

But if you hand them a flashlight, whatever happens next is on your own head. 

You've been warned.