Waking at my mom’s house, I find myself filled with gratitude. Gratitude for the downs that help the ups be up, for friends to laugh about it all with, for great food, and for all of the little clues that continue to lead me, daily reminders that it is truly all about the journey, not the destination.

What better way to remain present than to roll out a pie crust, chop potatoes, and notice the great combination of smells coming from the kitchen?

Wishing you and yours a very Happy Thanksgiving, filled with gratitude and joy!




Zuma in November

Knowing that winter waits on the other side of a twelve hour drive to NM, I spent my last day in LA walking in the cool sand at Zuma Beach. At 67 degrees, the air was crisp as the sun peeked through scattered clouds. Walking along, I daydreamed about buying one of the mobile homes in the awesomely funky trailer parks along the PCH, opposite some of the most expensive homes in the world. These people seem to have the right idea, the worst house in the best neighborhood, low overhead, a perfect view, and resale value up the wazoo. Not that I’m thinking of buying any real estate at the moment. But I do love those trailer parks!





Heading West For Work

Heading west on I-40, I think of all those who’ve made this journey before me.. Trekking through the desert in search of work in the promised land of California. From the 49ers to Okies to migrant movie gypsies like myself, the opportunities of the world’s eighth largest economy beckon and lure. I think of the previous times I’ve driven between Albuquerque and LA and of all that has transpired in my life and career since I began making the drive regularly, five years ago.
I now know where to fill up for gas and how far each tank will take me. I know In-n-Out Burger in Kingman is half way and Starbucks in Flagstaff and Barstow will get me through. I time my journey and usually come in just under twelve hours.
I’ve begun to see the beauty in the austere landscape of the Mohave desert and have survived Needles at 119 degrees and blizzards in Flagstaff. I’m ever grateful to have a dependable car with heat and AC and think of those who traveled my route with neither.
Coming down from the mountains that separate the desert from the coast, the air is softer and a glow fills the sky as the lights of Southern California spread out before me. The traffic speeds up, the 40 becomes the 15 before dividing into more and more freeways with every mile.
I have had a rocky relationship with this city, as with the industry that keeps bringing me back, but for now I am grateful.