Not So Regular Joe Drop Off…

Drop offs started yesterday with my sister-in-law. The one I haven’t spoken to in ten years. It’s safe to say that my oldest brother and his wife are somewhat estranged from the rest of the family. I don’t dream about them often but when I do, there’s always a tundra landscape with lots of snow that I’m going through in order to find them. And although they technically live very close to us, under a mile away (which for LA standards is practically next door), I never see them. They have two houses and don’t stay long in Los Angeles. Aside from a rare, bumping into them at Runyan park, they could be in town or on Mars and I wouldn’t know the difference. In terms of what’s been going on in their lives for the past twelve years I know very little. But because of a family get together a couple of weeks ago, I did know that their dog was dying.

And as observant and intuitive as I like to credit myself being, it doesn’t take much to observe with a couple in their forties, who have no children (don’t know the details), that losing one of their dogs is a big deal. So I did a drop-off.

I left our home, got to theirs in about 1 minute and sat with my sister-in-law in their bedroom with their two other dogs for about 15 minutes before I had to go to work. Aside from the surreal and stark contrast of having been shut out of two people’s lives for over ten years and then finding myself in the intimate setting of their bedroom, petting their dogs, I have to say it was pleasant. Pleasant in that I don’t take their distance personally any more. Pleasant in that I’ve forgotten about what all the drama was about so long ago or more importantly, I don’t care to remember. Yesterday we stood on common ground; the loss of a pet when that pet is your family. And it was wonderful to reach out and let them know our hearts were with them.

Did I drive away up to my old tricks fantasizing about my sister-in-law and I becoming close friends? Of course. Did I imagine our young, healthy dogs having play dates together? Of course. I hadn’t gone but a mile and I’d already had visions of the two of us, sharing a passion for design and beauty, deciding to flip a house together and having tremendous fun and profit while doing it.

This morning there were three drop-offs. One to a guy who introduced himself in a fairly recognizable Indian accent as “Joe”. I’ve been wanting to do a drop off at this particular place for a while now. There have been many early mornings gassing up and exchanging pleasantries with the guy who works here. A guy who’s not Joe. And Joe isn’t really Joe either but Juuraj. “Would you like to wait for him? He’ll be here in 15 minutes” Juuraj offers. But in talking to Joe/Juuraj who has moved with his family to LA against his deepest desires, spending the past 5 years getting an MB in Canada, and now managing this particular Chevron station, and asking him if there were any dreams he had (his eyes lit up immediately with a yes) it was perfect to give this bouquet to him.

Not wanting to be late for work propelled me to leave yet another bouquet at Runyan, on yet another Prius parked under the shade. I just hope I’m not leaving these bouquets on the same damn Prius. Believe me, with LA’s air quality I’m deliriously happy to see them all over town. I just wish these Prius drivers would check in with the randomblooms gang! They might be too busy enjoying all the money they’re saving on gas.

Last but not least, was a drop off to my friend, P, who was mentioned in the very first post and who has always been excited and supportive of randomblooms. The first time I told her what I was doing she grabbed her purse and started to rifle through her wallet. It took me a while to figure out that she was funding a random drop off. Her love and support has always felt motherly in the best way and I was surprised to hear that her own mother passed away this week. I gave her the bouquet I had made while thinking about the two of them.

When I gave her the flowers, she shared with me that she had been with her mother for several days before she passed. Her mother could not respond verbally but P just sat with her, telling her mother how much she loved and appreciated her. As I write this now, I think on when my dog was dying. I held him, singing to him, telling him how much he had meant to me, how much I loved him. I never regret expressing my love and although there’s ten years and an entire tundra landscape between me and my brother and sister-in-law, I was able to find them yesterday in that space between grief and love.

Cut, Arrange, Deliver…

 

 It seems ironic that the most beautiful palette of flowers I’ve worked with yet, came yesterday with one of the hardest days I’ve dealt with yet. So hard in fact, that I was sobbing all last night. Not just teary eyed, but Eat, Pray, Love sobbing (the book my friend, K2, says “Every American woman is reading”). I think she’s right. I just read it last week on a flight back from Anchorage. While we were waiting to board, an adorable, white-haired woman saw the book in my lap and said “That’s a good book.” Sobbing, not because of my marriage, but centered around what this whole experience is about – keeping your spirit with the day job. Let’s just say I capsized yesterday, big time.

I had to wait for the tears to stop until I could start arranging, which put me at around 4:30am. I got out of bed, my beloved dog padding after me. He slept right by me as I got to play with my “palette” as I always think of the flowers. As I sat in the dark arranging, my dog sacked out, a moth the size of a humming bird banging at the light above and my mind banging around with my latest capsizing.

There’s something very peaceful about being awake while most people are sleeping. It feels sacred in a way. So as I arranged, enjoying the color and form of each individual arrangement, my mind began to calm down with my body. The moon was a beautiful sliver bright in the dark morning sky. Several hours later, as the sun came up over the mountains, my trusty co-pilot and I were ready for the first delivery.

Driving to Studio City, I thought of the beauty and power of simply exhaling. Jack Kornfield does great exhales during his lectures and tapes. I feel relief just listening to him exhale. And then there’s Joan Darling, my former acting coach who always had us do deep exhaling and releasing before going up on stage. Just being in nature is relaxing. And I thought “Even if that’s all these flowers give someone today; just an excuse to breathe easier, it’s worth it.”

This first drop off is actually at the request of a friend. I’ve met two of my closest friends through walking my dog. As K and I were walking in Studio City the other day she turned to me and said “You should do a balloon for that house.” Now, I knew what she meant when she said “Do a balloon” and that tickled me to no end that her brain, filled with everything going on in an incredibly busy time, found ”balloon” to be the best word to put forward. I knew what she meant. She continued “There’s so gracious about all of the dogs walking along in this area.”

So to the family or person who found a bunch of flowers right next to their morning paper today, thank you for everything you do in welcoming dogs and people who walk along your path.

And to the other people who got their bouquets today, half of whom were delivered by my supportive and very loving husband; to the woman sitting on her porch who my kept telling my husband ”You must have the wrong address!”, to the woman working security at Kaiser Permanente, and to the woman walking out on her brick steps this morning, may you all breathe easier, exhale and enjoy your balloons.

Orange Glow

Beauty. Inhale. Relax.

One bouquet this morning. One drop off. A navy blue Jetta parked in the shade at Runyan Park. Leopard covered seats and a gate in the back for their dog draws me in as I leave the arrangement on the hood of their car.

Uploading this photo, I’m reminded of the most ephemeral dream I had years ago. I was newly in love and we had just gotten back from a trip up to San Francisco. Exhausted from the drive home and staying up all weekend, I collapsed on my bed. The afternoon sun rocked me to sleep and my dreams said hello.

I saw my eye very clearly but it looked bright and washed out, like an image from a Man Ray film. Then I heard the words “Come play with me.” There’s the difference between someone speaking in your dream vs. a strong internal voice that speaks. The latter is always startling. And as someone who was just startled, I woke up. The summer sun had set, taking with it the warmth from my bed and I lay in shadow, my new love beside me, thinking of those words.

Years later, in a completely different context, my mind draws those words to me again. “Come play with me.” I think that’s part of what I’m doing everytime I leave a bouquet of flowers for some unknowing soul. It’s a siren call for bliss, a rally cry to turn everything we know about the work week up on its head and say to one another “Forget about what we’re told about all this. What’s our highest joy today? Come play with me and let’s find out.”