triggers

(No that is not a picture from the 1930’s Grapes of Wrath, that’s my brother and me, post Camp Fun Time one summer in the 1960’s)

It felt like summer here in LA last week.
With temps in the nineties and clear crisp blue skies, we’ve seemed to have skipped spring and jumped straight into July.

I’ve noticed that summer or anything resembling summer, does something to my molecules.
It makes them…dance. The longer days, the warm nights, all conspire to make me…restless.
And …happy.

Why? What does summer mean to me?

The feelings run deep, stemming all the way back to my childhood, which got me to thinking…

Summer is visceral, it’s cellular memory, and as a kid in the San Fernando Valley in the sixties summer meant:

Lemonade stands;

Sleepovers;

Looking for lady bugs armed with my bug jar and figuring out just the right leaf to ladybug ratio for their survival;

Walking all the way to the dime store for an Abba Zabba;

Bare feet so dirty we had to wash them before bed;

Flip flops (always blue) and ice cream cones (rocky road) from Thrifty’s;

Zinc Oxide on my pug nose (sunscreen hadn’t been invented);

Watermelon;

The street lights coming on after seven;

Hosing down the cement walkway to make it slick enough for our own homemade Slip N Slide;

Running thru the sprinklers and the smell of wet grass;

Collecting and then spending hours wetting and pasting green stamps in book after book in order to get ourselves a kiddy pool;

Short pink cotton pjs;

Root beer floats at the Drive In;

Red Vines at the weekly kids matinees at the band new multiplex in Panorama City where I saw my first movie made from a book I had read and LOVED, Islands of the Blue Dolphins
(totally radical concept for me at the time);

Staying up late,(sneak eating Red Vines) and reading the latest Nancy Drew by the dim light of my little desk lamp so my sister with whom I shared a room, could sleep. (I just saw some of the same old editions I used to read at a little neighborhood second-hand store and I teared up. Those are some gooooood memories.)

Charcoal and lighter fluid barbecues;

How different the classrooms and the entire school for that matter felt during summer school;

Culottes and tanned legs so skinny they look like pipe cleaners;

Camp Funtime (war-paint, beaded necklaces, and lanyard see the picture above);

Frozen grape Kool Aid Popsicles;

Selma’s (our neighbor’s aunt) beautiful built-in swimming pool;

The long drive to the beach with a car full of kids and then shlepping all our shit down to the water’s edge.

Egg salad sandwiches at the beach;

The hum of air conditioners;

Dodger baseball games on the radio At ALL TIMES (the voice of Vin Scully);

So when the weather gets into the nineties like it did last week and it releases all these great childhood cellular memories, I’m suddenly reminded that summer is my favorite season.

Until I think of Christmastime…

What triggers your spring or summer fever? What’s your favorite season and why?

Carry on’
xox

DEVOTION

de·vo·tion
dəˈvōSH(ə)n/
noun.
1.) Love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity
synonyms: loyalty, faithfulness, fidelity, constancy, commitment, adherence,allegiance, dedication.

2.) Religious worship or observance.
synonyms: devoutness, piety, religiousness, spirituality, godliness, holiness, sanctity
“a life of devotion”

3.) Prayers or religious observances.

Devotion. What does that mean to me? What does it mean to you?

As a Catholic I thought I had an idea; but the edges have blurred and I’ve been left to define it for myself.

This is an interesting time of year.
It’s ripe with the energy of endings; and new beginnings.
Deaths and re-births —— figuratively and literally.

We can practice our devotion inside this energy of change with Easter, Passover, the full moon, eclipses, and all other assortments of ancient and new age cosmic rites of passage.

Take me for instance; I am sitting as I write this, in a pew, basking in the warm glow of stained glass, inside of St. John The Baptist De La Salle Catholic Church— the church I grew up in — the church of my youth.

The one where I whiled away hour after hour of my childhood.
Some in innocent devotion, kneeling with sweaty little girl hands piously folded together, fervently praying my little girl prayers and later, in a pre-pubescent stupor, stifling yawns during my eight years there in the late sixties, early seventies.

Now, I’ve gotta tell ya, this retired Catholic is finding it…surreal to be back here, and I have to make this snappy.

I could spontaneously combust if the powers-that-be realize I’m here, or the light from that stained glass baby Jesus hits me just right.

All kidding aside, recently my Catholic roots have been calling me. Their siren’s song running lightly in the background of my life.

It all started when I began burning Frankincense incense in the mornings. I attempted subconsciously to counteract its effects by simultaneously playing a Buddhist chant, with mixed results — that smell to me, still to this day signals Lent.
Then I noticed, lo and behold it is exactly that time of year. Hmmmm…

That smell transports me back to Stations Of The Cross, a ritual of remembrance of the worst day in the life of Jesus Christ.

As a little girl I loved rituals.
The smells, the cool, dimly lit ambiance, the notes played on the organ that resonated inside my chest and head, and the drone of the priest’s voice. They all conspired to “send me” to another place and time. (still do).

As I write this there is an actual organ rehearsal happening right this minute. Sending me…

Yet, even as that devout little girl I had a hard time wrapping my brain around commemorating the days leading up to someone’s horrible, torturous, barbaric death and THAT little kernel of doubt right there started my life as a seeker.

Devotion as religious observance.
I sat with my dearly departed father Friday in another church much closer to my home, (that now makes it twice in one week, a personal record as an adult).

We sat together devoutly, he with his invisible hand on my knee to keep me from bolting during Stations Of The Cross, the first one I’ve sat throughout since eighth grade. It was faster and much…dryer than I remembered.

And no fragrance of frankincense — a crushing disappointment.

Still, I sat with my dad on the tenth anniversary of his passing; in church; during Lent; and only one of us made it out alive…barely.

I’ll tell anyone I did it for him, but truth be told, that experience was calling ME.

Devotion.  

To others?  To a practice?  To a cause? 

I think we can all relate to that.

How about…

Devotion as Love and loyalty, enthusiasm for a person or an activity.

To tradition.

To family , friends and matters of the heart.

To times past.

To ritual.

To the planet.

To sacred places; temples, sanctuaries, churches, nature, Sephora, the bakery.

To whatever sends you and floats your boat.

To kindness and courage.

To mala beads, crystals, chanting, yoga and meditation.

To ancient childhood memories resurfacing.

To triggers; Smells. Sounds. People.

I’m getting a bit misty eyed over here.
It must be a combination of the lousy organ music (he just needs more practice), and fact that my fifty-seven year old butt is currently seated on the same hard wooden bench that my innocently sweet, but always questioning, seven-year old butt sat.

Devotion to change.
I used to believe that religion and spirituality were mutually exclusive.
One told you no, the other said… perhaps.

Call it old age, or just a general unclenching of the fists that happens naturally over time; but I’m finding myself more and more belonging to Team Meh where our motto is: “Well, that’s not my thing — but good for you!”

Devotion to Neutrality or I’m in a Switzerland State of Mind
Daily I struggle with judgement. I know, it’s just me.
I’m striving to be for more things than I’m against.

I feel like after this week I can move the Catholic religion to my neutral list. At last!

Some people hang out in groovy cafes and write.
I sit weeping in Catholic Churches.

Who knows what’s next?

Can you explain devotion? What are you devoted to, I’d love to know.

Happy Easter & Passover my loves,
Xox