I got to spend some much needed time with my brother last weekend. He took me out to Denio’s Farmers Market and Auction, where he goes fairly often. I haven’t been since I was a kid. This place is great! We wandered through lots of sellers’ stalls, poking about. I bought two notebooks for my kids for a buck and a piece of garden art. Jonathan bought a colander and gloves to wear while pouring concrete. I saw 5 gallon fruit trees there for $49. I’ve made a mental note of that for later!

We enjoyed a beer and we went through the fruit and veg market. I bought local honey and pickled garlic. I didn’t see anything fresh marked organic, but the prices were terrific and I was buying directly from the farmers, which feels pretty great.

Everything was so lovely, all set out and ready to go home with us. I bought peaches, apricots, pickling cucumbers, eggplant, oranges (7 lbs for $2), nopales (prickly pear cactus pad), dried oregano, star anise, cherry tomatoes, grapes, honey, pickled garlic, candied kiwi fruit and candied cantaloupe—all for less than $40. We ate barbecue ribs for lunch. The whole thing was awesome.

A little over a week ago we went blackberry picking with friends at a u-pick farm in Auburn called Amber Oaks Raspberries. In a word, yum!

This sweetie will be in Asher’s Kindergarten class, and my boys and the two girls got on very well together, while my friends and I picked and chatted. We came home with 7 pounds of berries.

There were two types for picking that day: one a little tart, perfect for jam. The other was for eating.

Peekaboo!

Asher picked about two berries. He proudly told me he ate them, like he put one over on me. Lucas helpfully picked two and a half baskets.

We had a wonderful picnic lunch with our friends after we were done picking. The kids played.

Then we came home and made jam! Beautiful, beautiful jam.

Isn’t it pretty? We got ten 8-oz. jars from our full sugar recipe. This was my first time canning by myself.

We froze some of the berries for using in smoothies. Then we made blackberry cobbler with the rest. It was fabulous!

To all my loves who are packing up and heading to that big, dusty dinner plate in Nevada for Burning Man,

Be well and safe. Revel. Unhook from your cares. Bounce around, shake your body. Cry a little. Use sunblock. Question everything. Rest and HYDRATE. Celebrate; it is YOUR TIME. Make love. Experience a whole solar day, dawn to dusk. Meet new friends. Be funny; be also kind. Ruminate. Shout really loud. Take naps. Eat some. Waltz in your stompy black boots. Pedal your bike as fast as you can. Leave no trace. Climb something big. Set something on fire. Take care of people. Stay up all night. Feel connected and FREE. Say yes.

Yes, I’m feeling sad I can’t be with you. Yes, this is a corny, romantic sendoff. Yes.

I should be doing a bunch of other things right now. Instead I’m going to talk in this space about fitness, my own fitness, in particular.

I am having more success this year than possibly ever before. Which is why hurting my back last weekend has really thrown me off. See, I’m not not exercising this week because I don’t want to. Well, OK. I’ll turn that around: I’m not exercising this week not because I’m too lazy, or my kid is sick, or there’s no time, but because I can’t. Because I should heal from whatever the hell I did to myself. Because I don’t want to make this mild injury worse.

And, well, this not exercising is kind of driving me nuts. I can actually, honestly say it: I’m missing my exercise this week. I’m feeling really hampered by this mild back pain, this slight impediment to my normal, everyday movements. And I don’t like it. I don’t want to rest.

Those who know me will realize how big that is.

Ian deserves all the credit, except for the fact that those calories I’ve been burning regularly since January 17, 2011 were my calories and I burned them. But Ian helped an awful lot—by coaxing, encouraging, cajoling, rousting, pushing, and loving me into our shared exercise and my fitter, stronger body.

It’s worked. I’ve accomplished 121 workouts since we started seven months ago. I won’t go into all the gritty details. The truth is I hated many of them, especially those that began and ended before 7 a.m. But what I like is the accumulation of them. The collection of workouts. The notches on my bad-ass belt. The sparkly jewels on my custom rainbow-and-unicorn reinforcement star chart that Ian made for me.

My relationship to exercise in general has always been wobbly—often emergency-room wobbly. Exercise has always meant to me asthma, asthma, and more asthma, running around toxic school fields of allergic green death. There have been some small exceptions in my adult life, since asthma maintenance drugs have improved immeasurably over those I took as a child. The crux there is they were always brief exceptions, short forays into the realm of normal people. In high school I enjoyed dancing in musical theater productions quite a lot. In college I walked all over the hills of Santa Barbara, Berkeley, and Saint Andrews in Scotland. During one of my office jobs, Ian and I managed to drag ourselves to the gym with good regularity.

Something always came up, though. Asthma. A massive deadline, or a whole season of them. A nursing baby in arms. Then another. It just got more and more complicated.

K, never mind all that. The point is: I’ve been running. A little. Since about March. A little here, a little there. Almost 2 miles, then almost 2.5. Then 2.7 miles a bunch of times, then that distance without any walking breaks at all.

Last Saturday, I ran 3.8 miles in a row without stopping. And when I was done, I felt fantastic.

So, I’m a runner? Me? Asthma girl? Running is the freakin’ Holy Grail to me because it’s always been so unattainable.

And now I’m benched. Slightly injured. For now. For not much longer, I hope. Because now that I’m on a roll—succeeding at this difficult thing—I really don’t want to lose it all and go back to Square-One Failure. The Harpies are shouting in my ear, “See, you can’t actually be a runner. You’re no athlete. Who do you think you’re kidding?” And I fear I will have to start over. I have fears.

I also have two stars to go before my rainbow is complete.

It’s the end of July and my garden is beautiful. It’s lush and sticky. It’s reaching high.

I have plants ranging wide, sprawling and searching for new nooks, new ladders to climb.

So many residents here are sunny and happy, compulsively blooming their hearts out,

bursting, bellowing, calling out their names,

flashing their colors and ruffles to the world.

Of course, there are quiet, shady moments in the day, moments of rest—

but when the sun is shining and the heat is on, it’s a riot,

a carnival with shining samba dancers wearing ruffles.

Their energy pulses out each morning and throughout the day.

There’s more than just vain flowers growing here. There is purpose. The corn has tassels, the pumpkins and squashes are tempting insects to visit.

The basil is zingy delicious and we’ve been picking beans for weeks. The sungold tomatoes are like candy right off the vine.

The song these plants are singing is  increase, grow, bloom, swell, mingle, and make.

For now.

And it’s all feeding us in so many ways.

In a way, it was kind of his night. Independence Day celebration + 9-year-old boy + adults with fireworks money = Opportunity!

Because you have to test,

have to experience things with all of your senses,

as close as you dare.

You need to observe others displaying both prudence

and risk—to figure out why and when and how.

Sometimes you have to feel danger in your own hands

to learn exactly what makes it dangerous,

learn to harness and create with it,

learn to celebrate it, and ultimately to transmute it into experience and beauty.

Yep. Tonight I begin. I was delayed slightly in this, my most recent, foray into madness. But that was a temporary setback, a mere postponement. Tonight I step into my first oil painting class with a humble, fearful heart. Nevertheless I step because my friends believe in me—so much so, they’ve funded my class fee as a birthday gift.

Yesterday evening I went to the art store and bought $200 worth of oil paints and canvas, much of which was on clearance.

OMG. That’s a lot of money for a lark, a whim, a hobby!

Yep. The voices in my head are really loud about all this, and mostly they are unkind. The harpies are out in full flight, screeching about how ridiculous is it to start this. Who am I to think I might paint? They’re dive-bombing me with doubt and scornful comments. It’s too expensive. It’s impractical. I don’t have enough time to fold all the laundry or work to earn my living, so what in the world do I think I’m doing taking a painting class?

And yet, I’m going. I’m going to try this because I’ve always, always wanted to. And because if a girl cannot find a way to fulfill a dream once in a while, what’s the point?

Both art and living share this: they are a messy, dangerous process. Might as well get messy.

Yesterday was Asher’s last day of preschool. My angel boy is moving on from StarBright Garden, where Ms. Pati has taken such good care of him and provided so many opportunities for growth and friendship. We will miss her very much, and will miss this glorious garden that was so nourishing and beautiful. This swing is where Asher has spent a great portion of every day.

These girls are some of Asher’s best friends. We are delighted that they live in our neighborhood, too. In this photo they are helping work on Asher’s Fairy House. He only wants to do crafts sometimes, but when the girls and Lucas and I got involved to help him with his Fairy House, he finally got into it for a while.

Here is Asher’s Fairy House up close. There is a bark house and a bark fence, with a glass cobbled pathway. It’s got pinecone “bushes” and dried flower “trees.”

Chip-chop, chippity chop. The kids cut up vegetables for their Friday soup. Having meaningful work to do as a group is so great for them. They feel like big kids when they are given responsibilities, especially those that involve using tools like knives. After two children at preschool I now realize that it’s perfectly normal for kids this age to be very helpful with chores and household tasks at school, while they are doing it alongside their friends, and to be resistant and uninterested in such tasks at home. I try not to take it personally.

This is one of Asher’s very best buddies. They’ve been at preschool together for two years now.

Snack time is outdoors at school on lovely summer days.

Table centerpiece: a Fairy House. The kids have been working on these all month.

They’ve eaten up all the cherries, but the plums are getting ripe now and the kids have been snacking on these beauties.

These lemons hang so heavy and low, if you’re not careful you might bonk your head on them.

The bunnies and chickens get all the veggie scraps. There are seven chicks this year. The beans are growing up long poles in the garden. And little S can often be found among the raspberries, picking and snacking.

Matches gets lots of love every day.

This beauty is the one Asher says he’s going to marry. Can you blame him?

We are hoping to have play dates with friends over the summertime. I haven’t shown all of our beloved friends here, just a few. I’m so pleased that he’s made good friends at StarBright, and has learned to socialize so well.

Some of these children will be in Asher’s kindergarten next year, and that will make for an easy transition. So much of what he’ll do next year is like the StarBright rhythm, soI expect it will be like slipping on a familiar hat: story time, circle time, snack, outdoors play, indoors play, cleanup, etc. They are beautiful days full of discovery and joy, rhythm and seasons. What a lucky boy he is!

I’m catching up from last month! I guess life has been pretty busy, and pretty good lately.

We went camping for my birthday in May to Wright’s Beach, which is where my family always went for vacation when I was a kid. I love this beach with my whole heart.

We spent two chilly nights there in Ian’s old family tent. We wandered on the beach, collected small seashells and pebbles, flew kites, and read books. Lucas did a lot of whittling with his new pocket knife, making arrows and spears and assorted sharp and pointy items. The boys bickered a lot, and unfortunately this beach isn’t terribly safe for playing chase with the waves. There are signs posted everywhere saying how Wright’s Beach is one of the deadliest beaches in California. Funny, I don’t remember that tidbit from my childhood, and while I do remember gettting knocked about by the waves, my brother and I always survived. When the ranger came around in her truck to tell us under no circumstances should we allow the boys to touch the water, well, we decided to play by the rules. Still, we had plenty of fun and Daddy’s delicious grilled steak, plus s’mores!

The next day we packed up early and drove five minutes down the coast to Duncan’s Cove, where the beach was more sheltered and the wind wasn’t so bad. We explored and found lots of wildflowers. Lucas found a great rock to jump from onto the sand below. It was quite a drop!

Here we did let Lucas get his feet wet. Asher didn’t let the waves get anywhere near him before he began running for the dry sand.

It was cold and windy up on the bluff. The views were amazing and so were the flowers. Asher enjoyed wearing his camelbak.

We picnicked on Portuguese Beach before beginning our drive home. A beach picnic with beautiful seagulls, sandwiches, champagne, and peach pie is tops in my book!

This is one of the fun things about Bodega Bay. The Lucas Warf sign photo.

We stopped at the candy and kites store. I enjoy all the flags and spinning things. Ian says I am allowed to be an old woman with flags someday, as long as we make them ourselves.

It was a great weekend and I’m glad I got to show my children this place that’s so special to me. Even if we never go there again, it was delightful to have all those fond childhood memories come flooding back.

And after we came home, I had some fun playing with my seagull photos. Tee hee!

(I wrote this last night and then my computer hiccuped and I gave up.) Happy Belated Father’s Day to my dad, who is a marvel and a rock. He is always there for me. I love you, Dad! I didn’t get to spend Father’s Day with my dad this year, but I know he’s having fun right now.

We did spend part of yesterday with Ian’s dad and Mimi, and had a marvelous lunch. We enjoyed Ian’s amazing grilled chicken (cooked on his new-for-Father’s Day grill), strawberry almond green salad, corn on the cob, and oatmeal raisin walnut bread. GG and Mimi brought the salad and a homemade apple pie that was to die for!

And for the record, there’s no one else in the world I’d rather be raising children with. My beloved husband Ian is a wonderful father in every way.