Ayahuasca In Santa Barbara

An ayahuasca vision.

I'd never heard of ayahuasca until we showed up at the vacation house in Santa Barbara.  Gavin, the owner, greeted us, helped us with our bags, and proceeded to tell us his wife was in L.A. doing an 

ayahuasca ceremony with a group of others including a shaman.  It's best not to do these ceremonies without a shaman lest bad spirits infect the process.  Gavin told us he did it once and saw a city and then shit his pants.  It wasn't from fear, but rather from a natural side effect of drinking ayahuasca.  Apparently you purge from both ends.  I made a mental note to take a portrait of this character, but I didn't want to bother him at that moment, plus I didn't have my gear set up.  What a stupid mistake that turned out to be.  The next day, while tending to his rugged landscape, he moved a small rock, which dislodged a sizable boulder, which landed on him and broke his femur, thus destroying my portrait dreams.  Note to self:  Take the damn picture!  That goes for everything else.  Stop waiting to do what it is you want to do.  Tomorrow you may be lying on the ground, with an immovable boulder pinning you down while you scream in vain for medical attention while the young whippersnappers are out merrily tasting wine.  At least that's how we heard it went down.  This from the mysterious neighbor with an accent, who rides horses through the national forest with his two dogs in tow.  He also told us Joe Cocker lived over there, Jane Fonda owned the horse ranch over there, and this area (Padres National Forest) is a big, bohemian enclave.  What's the point of all this?  Make sure to use airbnb.com when making vacation arrangements, of course.

Nikki observing heaven.

Decks overlooking heaven.

Hang out room.  Look to the the left and you see heaven.

Center piece.  Look to the right and you see heaven.

 This is the second time we've used this service and it totally changes the vacation experience.  Instead of going to a protein infested hotel room at 6:00, you get to sit and relax with friends and grill your own food.  No tipping, no bad service, and not any more expensive than two hotel rooms would be for two couples.   Both of the houses have been cozy, clean, and peaceful.  This one in Santa Barbara was otherworldly.  We were literally above the clouds.  The marine layer rolled in every morning and was at least several hundred feet below us.  It looked like heaven.  The inside of this house looked exactly like you would expect from someone who engages in ayahuasca ceremonies.  And we loved it.  So far, both owners have been very artsy and bohemian and extremely interesting.  Gavin is a scrabble expert, and Josie has her own traveling, one woman show.

Wooden deer head on the wall.

Multi-Disciplinary prayer thingy on the wall.  I prayed to several of them, to no avail.

Will and Jen

Nikki surrounded by a lot of crazy art books about dead people and ghosts (from what I could tell).

A side benefit of the place is that there were numerous large windows letting in tons of natural light, which was perfect for taking portraits (assuming of course you take the damn portrait before some tragic, life altering event befalls the subject).

This represents the photo I didn't take of the owner.

One of the main reasons we decided to go to Santa Barbara was to do some wine tasting in the Santa Ynez valley.  That decision, of course, was majorly influenced by a cinematic gem called "Sideways".   The lines from that movie reverberate in my head on a daily basis because of my proximity to wine country.  Every time I smell a wine, it's "oakey", then I ask myself, “when do we drink it”.

Before we set out on the first day, we made a pact that we wouldn't use any of the movie lines with the servers.  That would be too douchey and touristy.  We found the main winery road on a map and headed out with no set plan.  The first place we passed is Andrew Murray, which appears in the movie.   We immediately head in, movie line pact firmly in place.  No sooner do we belly up to the serving table than "Maya" walks over and start pouring wine.  I'm serious, check the photo.  Not only does she look like her, but her mannerisms and speech pattern are eerily the same.  I had to do a quick look around the room to make sure nobody was messing with us.  I was waiting for the candid camera (holy shit I'm old.  That's an old reference.  There have been 15 iterations of that show since then) crew to roll out.  It was only after we left that we all agreed the experience was surreal.

"Andrew Murray, well alright" - Miles (Dammit, I used a line).

Maya's clone.

Will and Jen

Us not using any lines from "Sideways".

Sanford Winery. There's no shortage of rusty green trucks in wine country.

We spent the next day touring the main Santa Barbara area, including the mission and pier area.  

My favorite part was the propoganda historical short film about the mission and the converting of the local Chumash indians.  According to the film the locals LOVED the benevolent and merciful teachings of these kind Spaniards and were thankful to be blessed so richly.   Nobody was publicly beheaded and ridiculed for refusing the new and foreign teachings.  They eagerly rushed to the steps of the mission with babies in tow to receive the new covenants.  It was strange, though, that the Chumash all ended up being manual "skilled" brick laborers for the Spaniards while the Spanish stonemason was paid to teach them.

The rest of the day was eating and sightseeing and then we got to return to the house and cook, drink wine, and talk with good friends.  Pure heaven.

What do Skull and Crossbones on a Catholic Church mean?

Sidewalk art at the Mission. Nikki's favorite.  I have no idea why this has anything to do with a mission.

Rider and Dog on the Santa Barbara Pier.

Palm trees.  No shit.

The owner of a small restaurant where Will and I stopped in to have a beer.  He appears to be the epitome of what an Irish man should look like.  His daughter was mean as a snake.

A dog in the public restroom.  His owner was 12 hours post-ayahuasca.  Either that or taco bell.

Our Legacy

"I like playing music, it makes me feel relevant, like I matter".  My dad spoke these words to me when I thanked him for playing on my birthday, he on his guitar and me on my new cajon.  I haven't been able to get them out of my head ever since.  My dad was a full time entertainer in my early years, so listening to him play is as comfortable a feeling as I know.   Eventually he moved on to writing and became a successful journalist, but I don't think I fully understood how much music meant to him until he said those words.  It's his legacy.  We all want to feel like we have an impact while we're living, and especially after we're gone.

This Christmas has been a time of reflection for me.  A reflection on legacy, of people that have passed, and what it means to be amongst others and have an impact.  My mother's memory has weighed heavily on my mind as this year marks a milestone for me:  She has been gone for as long as I knew her (21 years).  I've done the math in my head for several years and knew it was coming, but I was always able to banish it to the hinterlands of my mind because it hadn't arrived yet.  This year it smacked me square in the face and reminded me how relentless the march of time is.  Surprisingly, it had a positive effect on me.

My mom loved Christmas and the most tangible artifact we have are her ornaments .  Some were hand-made made and others had been in the family for years.  All of them were an integral part of our Christmas trees as kids and after she died it was difficult to see them.  My sister had them for awhile and then she gave them to Nikki and I.  We've had them on our trees since 1995.  I felt a strong desire to document them before they disintegrated or were damaged.  I made a photo book and gave copies to my dad and sister.  We looked through the book and cried a lot, but it was positive.   The amount of time that had passed healed the hurt enough. I felt like it was the first time we could openly discuss her memory and talk about the the things she loved.  Before, we simply couldn't speak about it. We talked about her love of Christmas and the things we remember about her.  We talked about her legacy.  She was incredibly strong, loving, generous, and loyal.  I don't think I realized the depth of her strength until recently.  Time gives you that perspective.

A hand-made ornament from my mom

A family favorite, it's been around for at least 40 years.

My grandma Pacheco was able to visit us again this Christmas.  I've written about her before here. When I dropped her off at the train station I couldn't resist taking the shot below.  She needs assistance now, but she remains extremely tough.  She's 87 and she hopped on a train by herself from Grand Junction, Colorado and rode 22 hours to see us.   She lived through the depression, then WWII, then forged a life after that and raised three kids.  I fear we Americans aren't as tough anymore.  I suppose the times dictate much of that, and we don't struggle for anything now.  She's tough and she has a tremendous work ethic and she has character.  That's her legacy.

Before she left she gave me one of my grandfather's pocket knives.  She estimates he got it in the 1970's and carried it with him every day until he died.  It's scratched, rusted, and weathered, and it's perfect.  I'll keep it in a safe place and look at it from time to time to think about the legacy of the man who owned it.  He fought in WWII aboard the USS Oakland.  He was a part of the "Greatest Generation".  He was strong, patriotic, funny, and he had an incredible work ethic that puts me to shame. That's his legacy.

And so we arrive at the obvious question:  What is my legacy?  The troubling fact is that I don't know what it is.  I don't have kids, so there's no obvious answer in that regard.  Perhaps that is for other people to decide.  I know for sure, though, that my parents legacy lives on through me.  The person I am and the things I love came from them.  I feel them every day in the decisions I make and the way I interact with people.  My mom's strength is always with me, and although he doesn't play music as much, my dad's song still plays in my head every day.  It's important he knows he's still relevant in this man's eyes.

What She Means To Me

"Write it down in a blog so I know how you feel".  I've often heard this from Nikki.  She says it when she's frustrated and wants me to elaborate on something.  She's right, too.  The fact is, I'm not great at expressing myself verbally, I tend to be much better doing it in word form.  I'm not sure why. Perhaps its because talking about things takes so much energy.  Many times the details seem so unimportant.  If I've spent 6 hours with a friend and she asks me how he's doing, "Fine" is about all I can muster.  That's the truth.  He is doing fine.  Now, he may have told me many things about his life and kids and work, but talking about it will require at least 45 minutes of conversation and I don't see the point in re-hashing what I just got done experiencing.  I figure the details will come out in due time.

 However, some things are much more important.  On the  occasion of Nikki's  40th birthday, the details and the small things that need to be said are crucial.  They are the foundation of our marriage.  It's appropriate, then,  that I write about them in a blog so she knows how I feel.

I vividly remember the first time we crossed paths.  She walked directly in front of Jay's car in the school parking lot, looked at me, and smiled.  I still see that smile in these photos.  I was hooked.  18 years old and I'm ruined.  I immediately began the search to get her number.    I remember the excitement of preparing for the first date because she was the hot chick and I didn't know what to expect.  If she's horrible, at least I had a date with the hot chick.  If she's kind, life will be a state of nirvana:  A hot chick that you can take home to meet the parents!  As it turned out, my parents liked her too.  That was 1989.   We've been together 23 years.

Trying to encapsulate all the time, all the memories, all the meaningful experiences we've had together is virtually impossible.  Saying somebody means "everything" to you  is trite, unoriginal, and lazy.  It's the easy thing to say when you don't  want to think.  It's like saying "I love you this much" while spreading your arms as wide as you can.  I can't describe what she means to me in any measurable way because that doesn't do her justice.   I suppose the best way to describe her is to say she's irreplaceable.  I can't find another like her, and I can't function without her.  There's nobody else that will ever understand me the way she does, and love me in spite of it.  She's the most caring, generous, kind, and loving person I have ever known.

When my mother died, Nikki laid by me all night long and never left my side.  I was 21 and Nikki was 19.   The kindess of that act is monumental.   When you're 19 years old there are a lot of other things you would rather do than what she did that night.  It would have been easier to leave and come back the next day. But, she loved my mom, and she loved me as well.  Nothing was too overwhelming for her.  She laid by me and held my hand all night, I don't think we spoke much, there wasn't anything to say.  It was love in its purest and most kind form.  That is irreplaceable.

When I started the Air Force Academy, Nikki was 18.  We saw each other sporadically, a random weekend here or there was the norm.  I wouldn't have blamed her if she decided to do other things and see other people.  I know it was difficult for her because she was still in high school.  I managed to attend proms and homecomings, but I had a flat-top.  What high school girl wants to date a dude with a flat-top in 1991? There were a lot of other things she could have been doing.  Yet she waited.  She gave me her time when she could have chosen other friends and other people.  That is irreplaceable.

When I graduated from the Air Force Academy we were sent to Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha, Nebraska.    For three long years we were there.  It was freezing cold, or it was hot and humid.   There was nothing to do.  We met some great people, though in many ways it was miserable, but she made the most of it.  She supported my career, and she fit in.  I was gone a lot for training and for Air Force Soccer.  She forged ahead, alone.  She could have complained and made life difficult.  I wouldn't have blamed her.  She didn't.  That is irreplaceable.

When I got out of the Air Force I floundered around a bit trying to decide what I wanted to do.  I lost the first career when the tech bubble exploded, then had a steady one for 5 years, decided I wanted a new career, stayed in that career field for 18 months, then went back to the old one, then got laid off after another 5 years.  And she's still with me.  You see, she's the foundation of all that we do.  She's the solid, steady one that allows me to explore and is always there when I falter.  She's been completely supportive of all that I've done in my careers, although it surely hasn't been easy.  That is irreplaceable.

When our dogs got sick, I mean really sick, Nikki attended to them daily.  She hand washed their sores and made sure they were as comfortable as they could be.  I helped, but I wasn't in charge.  I watched her cry as she attended to them, knowing the inevitability of their death.  But she didn't falter.  She made sure they were taken care of and never wavered in her commitment to them. I saw the same gentle kindness she showed me years ago when I needed her.  Irreplaceable.

I tore my achilles tendon about 5 months ago and became nearly incapacitated (shortly after losing my job).  I was completely vulnerable and in a lot of pain, and there she was by my side, making sure I had what I needed and that I was comfortable.  In many ways I was like a child again, but she never complained or made me feel useless, which is how I felt.   Irreplaceable.

I'm healed now and we're plugging along.  She's still the foundation, the link to the past, and the road to the future.  I hope I've given her happiness along the way and although I'm nowhere near perfect, I hope I'm adequate and give her what she needs.  I've been fortunate to have her in my life and I know I wouldn't be the same person without her.  I'm more grounded, more mature, loving, caring, and kind because of her.  She's taught me so much about being a good person.  I hope she knows she's irreplaceable.  That's what I feel.  That's what I know.