Sebasto-Cruz

I had been making my way down Highway 1 toward Monterey.  After watching a beautiful dark pink sunset on the coast I stopped to get a snack.  I was in the northern end of Santa Cruz.  I waited as some other people ordered in front of me.  We chatted about how nice the weather had been that day, etc.  Eventually one of them asked me where I was from since I mentioned being on a mini-road trip.
"I'm from the northbay - Sonoma County," I replied.
"Oh, I love that area," a woman responded.  "Especially Sebastopol.  I had a cousin that lived there and I visited her a few times."
Her friend shared a story about attending a massage workshop in Sebastopol.  The instructor sent them out one morning to find some students to practice on.  She ended up scaring quite a few people off, according to her, by sauntering up to them and offering free massage.  "I guess I didn't really explain I was taking a class.  They just thought I was walking around downtown trying to massage people."
"Well, you were in Sebastopol," someone remarked.  "I'm sure it wasn't that unusual.  It's not like you were in Vallejo.  Then that would have been strange."
A couple standing behind them, who looked like they could have walked out of the crystal shop that was on Main Street in Sebastopol for many years, chimed in.  They lived near Calistoga at one point but loved visiting Sebastopol.  "The best Thanksgiving dinner I ever had was in Sebastopol," the man said.  "Although it was actually vegetarian.  And the pretend-turkey didn't cook all the way through.  And we had more Indian food than American food - but what a great feast."
His partner, wearing a large garnet pendant that matched his, nodded in agreement.  "Lots of curried vegetables and naan," she remembered.  "And the pumpkin pies did not turn out but there was baklava to die for." 
As I listened to their stories it occurred to me, I'm not sure how but I have become a magnet for all things Sebastopol. 
Even in Santa Cruz.


Most surreal moment:
Standing in front of Milk and Honey talking to two Mormon missionaries.  "So," one of them asks, pointing to a sign, "tell me more about the Goddess Crafts Fair.  Does that happen every weekend in Sebastopol?"
("No," I respond, but thinking to myself, if there was a town that hosted such a fair every weekend, it would be this one.) 


Favorite line of the week:
One of two people (strangers to each other) hugging:  "No, we have to reposition this way to hug so our hearts are touching."

Plaza (self-)consciousness

It was a nice warm afternoon and I was having trouble heading elsewhere to work on a project that required being inside.  I was sitting in the plaza enjoying the nice breeze and wondering how long I could put off heading where I was supposed to be.  It was relatively quiet in the plaza, and I only half-noticed a man juggling and a few kids running around.  One of the girls came over closer to me and I saw that she was watching the juggler.  He moved closer to us and asked how it was going and tossed her a ball.  She didn't quite know what to do with it so she tossed it back.
"Do you want to try to juggle?" he asked her.  She shook her head but did look a bit intrigued.
He turned and asked me the same question.  "I don't think so," I responded.  "I'm not very good at that type of thing."
"I just finished a class on conscious juggling," he told me.  "Have you heard of conscious juggling?"
"No.  I have heard of Zen hula-hooping."
Without missing a beat, he ended up telling me about this class.  As you try and juggle you pay attention to the things that come up for you.  Like feeling  uncomfortable or fearful or remembering being criticized as a kid for not doing something right.  "It tells you a lot about yourself."
The girl had come closer and was eyeing the four balls he kept quite adeptly in the air.
"Do you want to try?" he asked me.
"No, I think I would feel too self-conscious."   I realized my answer pretty much proved his point regarding conscious juggling.  But I still was not about to get up off the bench and give it a try.
"It can be very enlightening.  You can see things about yourself and work through them."  Yeah, I still wasn't going for it.
He and the girl tossed some balls back and forth for a few minutes.  A woman with a younger boy came over and called to her.  "It's time to go.  We are going to be late for goddess hour."
"What is goddess hour exactly?" I asked her mother.
"A woman who teaches dance has it once a week.  Stories about the goddess, singing, stretching."
The girl threw back her last ball.  "Who is your favorite goddess?" I asked.  Having worked at Milk and Honey, there were quite a few goddesses I was familiar with.
But she just stared at me.  I glanced at the juggler and we smiled. "Okay, then.  Well, have a nice time."
She ran off.  The juggler asked me where one could get good espresso in Sebastopol, so I was letting him know his options.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl and her mother stop.  Turning back to me the girl yelled, "Kwan yin!  It's Kwan yin!" 
I smiled and gave her a thumbs up.
"Goddess hour," the juggler chortled.  "Only in Sebastopol."
This coming from Conscious Juggling Guy.


Favorite line of the week:
"How are things going?"
"Well, I'm not feeling very spiritually aligned this morning."

Chai and chocolate mousse

I was unobtrusively sitting in the corner at the Sebastopol Starbucks with my soy chai and cell phone.  My friend had been stuck in 101 traffic and texted telling me she was hopefully able to get off at the next exit.  Two soccer moms were next to me complaining about a teacher’s aide.  There was no indication I was even in Sebastopol.  Or so one would think. 

As the moms got up and left a bigger group of people sat down, pulling out some containers of lentil salad, quinoa something-or-other, steamed veggies and chocolate mousse.  I only know this because they announced each one as it came out of a big bag with an Om sign on it.

Apparently they were here visiting from Marin and other parts of the bay area.  As it turned out, I learned a few minutes later after two of them left the table, three of the women were involved with the same man.  And there was a primary partner – I wasn’t sure who it was – and the non-primary partners were not happy with some dynamics in the situation.  I sat at a small corner table, they had actually boxed me in.  So there was no way to avoid hearing the conversation which they weren’t particularly having quietly.  I didn’t know if they just tended to talk loudly about personal matters, or if they were just oblivious to the fact I was there.

The man at the epi-center of this clan was Daniel, and apparently he had the annoying habit of comparing his different women to his primary partner.  I was curious to know which of the three was the “primary partner” when I finally realized there was a fourth woman.  The primary partner actually wasn’t present.   Everyone was in Sebastopol for a 25^th wedding anniversary party (in which I found a little irony given the topic of conversation) - minus his primary partner, and they were trying to decide how to tell Daniel to stop comparing them to her without causing drama. 

There is a reality show for polygamous wives.  But seriously, there hasn’t been one for open relationships?  Because I think it would be very interesting to follow this little tribe around.  (Although it would probably be more of an HBO show.)  Apparently each of them individually had talked to Daniel about the comparisons but they had not stopped.  Maybe they had to confront him as a group.  A man and a woman walked up and sat down with their drinks and the group fell silent.  I realized, this must be Daniel.  Everybody was suddenly overly-interested in the containers of food.  Just then my friend walked in and motioned for me to come stand in line with her.  I just wanted to stay in my seat and pretend to text, but two of the women turned around and looked at me.  “Oh, we’re sorry,” one of them said.  “I didn’t see you there.”  Which would explain why she backed her chair practically up to my feet.

“No problem,” I said, standing up.  Several of them moved their chairs and one of them offered me some chocolate mousse.  “No thanks,” I said, although it did look quite good.  (And I noticed Daniel appeared rather taken with my friend, who is quite attractive.  He kept staring at her.) 

As we were standing in line I told my friend the topic of conversation.  A bit intrigued, she suggested, "We should go back and sit next to them!"  But there was no one else inside Starbucks at the moment, so there was no way to casually sit down right by them.  Unless, it occurred to my friend, we could ask for some of that chocolate mousse. 

Favorite line of the week:

“No, really - that’s his dog’s name.  His dog is named Buddha.”

A quaint little town

One Saturday afternoon I was heading into Whole Foods when a nice family from India came up to me and asked if I lived in Sebastopol.  They were traveling in the U.S. for several weeks and were in northern California for a few days. 
"We read that Sebastopol is a quaint little town with cafes and shops.  Could you tell us how to find the cafes?" the father asked.  Personally, I would use the word quirky rather than quaint, but I don't write travel books.
I have an inner tour guide and which easily emerges around foreigners.  Especially foreigners with lovely accents.  I told them I would be glad to show them around for a few minutes if that would be helpful.   They were appreciative and the few minutes turned into two hours.  Deciding where to head, we talked for a moment in front of Whole Foods while a woman was hula-hooping.  She was also giving her card to someone and she teaches Zen hula-hooping sessions.  (If you do not know what Zen hula-hooping is, I am right there with you.)
There was the father and his daughter and I believe his sister and her husband in the group.  They were pleasant people and I learned about the region of India they were all from.  After the downtown jaunt we ended up at a teahouse.  We were waiting in line behind three young hipsters, who were all about the love.  I say this because I don't know what exactly they were talking about, but between the three of them, they echoed this about eight times in the three minutes we stood behind them.  Even when one of them handed the cashier a twenty dollar bill, it was "all about the love."  They turned around and looked at us so intently I thought we were all going to get embraced or be told it was all about the love.  But they ended up merely smiling and moving on.
As we were drinking tea Jagad mentioned someone told them to get massages while they were in Sebastopol.  "Could you recommend any good massage therapists here?  We would rather not go to a tourist spa center."
Sebastopol has an abundance of massage therapists.  If you walk down the street and pass four people, there is a good chance one of them is a masseuse.  (And another one is probably an MFT.)  I informed him there were several names I could give him.  The daughter - who I think probably would have rather been in L.A., or at least San Francisco - piped up, asking where they could go get some normal food.
To clarify, I asked her what she meant by 'normal' food. "Something without sprouts."
We walked back over to Whole Foods, and the woman was still hula-hooping although she had recruited a partner.  We said good-bye and I pointed them in the direction of a restaurant where they could find a 'normal' lunch.  Jagad said, "I like Sebastopol.  It is a town that appears to be very in touch with it's feminine side."
I nodded.  That being the understatement of the century.
"Very pleasant people," he noted.  We shook hands.  "And I will remember," he added with an amused look on his face, "that it is all about the love."


Favorite line of the week:
"It takes me twice as long to get through the Whole Foods in Sebastopol because of all the hugging."