I had been in LA only a month but that was all it took to encounter one very bad haircut. So when I saw someone with gorgeous hair I asked her where she got it cut – Jessica Tingley at Frederic Fekkai was her answer. That was enough for me to go to the salon. Jessica was more than enough to keep me coming back.

Instantly we hit it off; the dirty jokes came out first cut, the laughter kept going and some kind of connection just happened. But she was now my stylist and I didn’t think that line could be crossed. Especially since there is that cliche saying in Hollywood “your friends are the ones you pay.” I didn’t want that to happen.

So for three years I’d look forward to going to the salon (a first since I hate it) until one day she said to me, “You know, I really want to be your friend and hang out.”

“Me too!”

And there we were.

Why it took 3 years for us to get the courage up to say “I like you, let’s be friends” is beyond me. Fear of rejection, of crossing some stupid line, of not being cool enough – they’re all inane whatever they might be.

Oddly though, I still tend to feel this way when I encounter someone I immediately adore and what to have coffee with. But usually my shy self just remains “knowing” them instead of befriending. I often then wonder how many great people am I missing out on, simply because I haven’t said, “I want to be your friend.”

If you dream of country life, or like the idea of a simple world coming to life with real stories but have neither the time or ability to make it a personal reality, then might I suggest a really good way to live vicariously: Katherine Dunn.

A woman who tells the most incredible stories with words and in pictures has captured my heart and imagination for years but never more so than when she created Apifera Farm.

It’s on this farm in Oregon that she talks about raising lambs and lavender and tells the sweetest stories about the other animals (I dare you to not be taken by Pedro and Juanita). But what is the most amazing thing to me, in all over this, is how she invites people to be a part of it.

Either by describing so richly her days or by offering a way to donate money to restore her historic barn, or buy purchasing lavender that she grows or paintings that she makes, there is a way to be a part of this world unlike any other.

For a city girl like me, her sites are so very welcomed and the idea of farm sponsorship tickles me. It offers a way to connect with something I one day want by helping make someone else’s dream real in the meantime.

As I’ve written about before, I often find in todays world a great disconnect amongst people. We’re on our computers and in our homes and venture out less and I think, often help our neighbours out even lesser. We shop at the Walmart for the discount and send money off to Biafrans on TV, but we sometimes shun the person next door and say “take care of your own life” or to artists “your products are too high in price. what you do is not worth it to me.”

Perhaps via Katherine there is a way for you to help (her dream or yours), a way to support or live vicariously. If not with Katherine perhaps with someone else – someone down the street or someone next door.

I’ve done a lot of things, most things, on my own because I don’t have the family support, I don’t have a network of friends and I always thought that support and help was weak and embarrassing. But that’s such a twentieth-century, technology driven mindset. It’s why stay at home mums are now going crazy – they’re trying to do it all on their own whereas history has always had a village or huge family to help raise kids. Without supporting each other, reaching individual and global goals are so much harder.

What I love about Katherine’s idea is that she isn’t afraid to ask for support and offers different ways for support to come to her (donations, sponsorship, buying her products, leaving comments on her site). I wish there were more ways to remove the fear of asking for help and the anger that some people feel towards those who do.

There used to be a time when I would lament that I never wanted to turn into my mother. During my teen years she had her own things to deal with which made her less than pleasant to be around. She was no fun, she was cranky, and she wasn’t the kind of mum that baked cookies or let me have playdough. No, I’d think, I’m not going to be like her. And I wasn’t.

For years we never really spoke and it wasn’t until my late twenties that I connected with her. We had both become more ourselves and surprisingly, more like each other. Our expectations of what a daughter was and what a mum was had been let go. Instead, we just looked at each other and realised we could giggle at everything for hours, liked taking long drives looking at antiques and wineries, we both noticed details of everything and were both overwhelmed by beauty and colour. Most of all, we discovered we both enjoyed a bit of fancy and really loved life despite all the curve balls we’d been thrown over the years. We were both eternally hopefully.

Out on the town people would always comment on how much we looked alike, especially our smiles. Which is perhaps why I like this photo; we both have the same smile that says “uh, we hate taking our picture but we’ll fake it because it’s raining really hard and we want it over with.”

Our birthdays are just two days apart, which perhaps explains why we’re both quirky little things and in a a few months when I’m celebrating mine, I’ll think of her and what I’ve learned from her. And smile. Just a genuine one this time.

On Tuesday afternoon she arrived in simple jeans, t-shirt and flip flops and I with tired eyes and a drained personality. Little did we’d know that this trip would change us both enormously.

The first order of business after leaving the airport was to fuel ourselves at Whole Foods for lunch before hitting the Pacific Coast Highway for our two nights in Santa Barbara. After with drinks and snacks in tow, it was time to roll the windows down, crank the music and begin out week long chats and laughing as we cruised alongside the ocean for the next couple of hours.

Arriving at the wonderful Hotel Andulucia just before dinner, we had only a few minutes to quickly change and prepare for what was supposed to be a tour of the farmers market with the Chef of 31 West. Truthfully, though, we weren’t in the mood to meet with him for driving, sunshine and too much time apart had us far too giggly for public interaction. Luckily it turned out that the Chef was too busy for us which gave us time for something much more important – Emily’s first trip to Anthropologie.

There I was her personal shopper; picking out clothes upon clothes that had her modeling for hours. I pushed her out of her comfort zone (something she wanted) and showed her that a skirt can be just as relaxed as pants. By the time the store closed, she agreed, carrying her pretty Anthro bag with ease and a new addiction.

After all that work we were ready for our dinner at 31 West. Wine, good food and conversation though truthfully we ended up being tired, wanting to really go back to the room, slip on our robes and watch cable – something that had become a guilty pleasure to both of us since we had both forgone cable for so long. But rest in comfy duvets was what we needed; the day had been long and the next morning we’d be up early for a good cause – a wine tour through the Santa Ynez Valley.

Cloud Climbers Jeep Tours picked us up at 10AM at our hotel. Instantly smitten with our driver, we knew the trip would be fantastic – and it was. We hit four wineries and by the last we couldn’t do more than 2 tasting’s. The sun, the laughter, the open air hit us hard but good. Going up old stage coach roads, singing the theme to the Greatest American Hero (despite the fact that neither of us is American) lead to a wonderful evening. We wouldn’t have wanted the trip to end were it not for the fact that LOST was premiering that night and we couldn’t miss it. In fact, we couldn’t stop talking about it for hours after.

The next morning we went to a little farmers market, picked up some Girlfriends Booty and went to the beach for a breakfast picnic where we promptly realised we did not like booty.

Driving back to LA along the coast we saw beautiful beaches filled with driftwood in which people had made make-shift shelters. We had to play, and did. Jumping in the waves, hiding under forts, writing messages in the sand. We felt five, which was good because we were really far from it.

Emily’s not a fancy girl but I wanted her to have just a little of it. So we headed to one of my favourite LA hangouts – the Beverly Hills Hotel Fountain restaurant. It was an experience, as always. To see her reaction to people greeting us and treating us well was funny and giving her the best veggie burger on the planet was the best. When Rene Russo walked in she couldn’t believe it – she had just finished watching the Thomas Crowne affair and kept saying “I just saw her totally naked!”

With full bellies it was time to head to The Getty Museum. For $7 the two of us had top views of LA and excellent art. As an art graduate and amazing artist, it was a real experience to see all of it with her. It was even more of an experience to watch her draw there and then to pose her like a model (which she so could be).

After several hours we headed back to my place in Santa Monica, walking the promenade where she shopped even more (which surprised me) and bought the amazing “Holy Moly” shirt from Fossil. Then it was time for dinner and more talking before an early bedtime because the next day was the biggest day – Disneyland.

Put two girlfriends together in Disneyland who love rides and it gets dangerous. I don’t know what we loved more – all the coasters or the fact that twenty-year old guys kept checking us out and hitting on us. I must confess that we loved it. Some things never change.

On one of the coasters there was an older prissy couple in front. Being the mature girl I made the most beautiful and amazing vomiting noise ever. Without missing a beat Emily exclaimed, “Oh no! It’s everywhere!” The best part? They were video’ing the whole thing.

So much screaming, laughing, talking that by the time we left at midnight my voice was gone completely. That, however, did not stop us from opening up the Disney Karoeke CD, playing it and singing along as we drove home that night. While other cars shook with bass to the latest, we were singing The Bare Necessities.

Saturday morning I took her to my favourite cafe for amazing food and my favourite Chai Latte. Then it was a drive to Beverly Hills, the Grove and then to Elixir to relax in the back while getting some drinks to help us recover. When we’d had enough we drove up to The Ritz Carlton in Pasadena where we had dinner reservations.

At first, Emily was hesitant; she hadn’t ever stayed in a hotel like the Ritz or dined somewhere like The Dining Room. She was afraid she didn’t look right or know how to act. I told her that she didn’t have to act any way; there’s no game face to put on and no pretending to do. Borrowing my skirt and top she fretted because she didn’t have shoes – just her flip flops. I told her that was fine, besides, she’d be sitting down. The experience was more important than the shoes. She was worried though as we walked into the restaurant. However, we were greeted wonderfully and had an extraordinary time. In fact, we ended up seeing several girls entering – all with flip flops.

The Dining Room was an amazing, amazing experience – neither of us had ever had anything like it. Jared, whose only job was to order wines and do pairings, started us off with champagne. Then Chef came out because I have an allergy to Gluten and he was incredibly friendly and nice and knew what to do. Choosing the 5 course dinner Jared paired wines for every course and I am here to tell you it makes a difference.
After each dish was served we gushed about the food and wine. Three hours and $400 later were were quite content and even felt a little like rock stars (who are those girls that Chef keeps talking to?).

Feeling good we went next door to the bar where R&B was playing. We boogeyed it up and again got hit on by several men far younger than us. “They must think it’s cool to hit on 30 year old women” she said. “I don’t think they think we’re 30″ I replied.

We headed up to our room – larger than my flat – with two rooms, two balconies, and two bathrooms. We hit the bed and promptly fell to sleep, which was good. Our massages were at 8AM the next morning.

Because we were on the private Club Level at the Ritz, we were able to have free food and drinks literally all day. So at 7:30 we went to the club and had an amazing breakfast and mimosas before we went to the spa. For eighty minutes we were beaten by women but at least we had no knots by the time we dipped ourselves in the hot tub after. Lunch followed to give us energy to hit Old Town Pasadena where, being girls who love 50′s music, we could not help but sing Little Old Lady from Pasadena, over and over.

Later that night we went back to the room where somehow we got sucked into watching two hours of tv which consisted of two shows about people over 500LBS. But there was nothing better than watching it on an amazing bed, with a girlfriend, who would tell you when you could open your eyes and when to close them during the surgery scenes. God bless her.

After we headed back to the club where we had dinner and Baileys. Oh Baileys. Several hours later we went back to our room where, as a surprise to her, I had put all our skits and tapes onto a DVD. For the next 3 hours we watched ourselves from ages 17-21. So much history. It just really hit us that night.

To go away with a girlfriend is to remind you of yourself and that’s what happened on this trip. We each bring out the best of each other and remind each other of who to be. I encouraged her to do her art and she encouraged me to keep moving forward. There was never an awkward moment, no complaining, to trying – nothing. It was a week of ease, of fun, of beautiful, funny, heartfelt moments.

I adore this girl with all my heart and when she left and did her big kiss goodbye I cried. Tears didn’t stop coming out until I got home a half-hour later. I missed her already. But what was interesting to me is that we both said goodbye a little bit changed; she left in a new skirt, top and shoes and was using the word “fancy” and I was relaxed and far more talkative despite having no voice for the past three days.

Oh this trip was good. It was as though we were 18 all over again, just free to do as we pleased, literally laughing all the time, dancing like the morning would never come and telling jokes that only we’d find funny (and we did). We lived each moment fully without effort. Without analysing it, blogging about it, using self-help words or wondering how it fit into the grand scheme of things. Just lived life simply, easily. How it should be.

We agreed to take these trips once a year because it reminded us of all the traits about ourselves we loved then and shouldn’t hide now. And I’m so freaking thankful for that reminder.

Trip Photos.

Four hours of non-stop dishing and talking in the lounge with drinks, desserts and very bold coffee. Perhaps there were celebrities around, big names making big deals and romance happening at other tables but I wouldn’t know because I was far too busy being immersed in two people’s lives. Oh, the conversations, the understandings, the head nods.

After we bid them a long farewell, we retreated to our suite where we ate fruit, relaxed in the jacuzzi tub and played jazz on the stereo as we looked at the moon filling up the ocean. This is the good life, we thought.

And although were were at a nice hotel, indulging ourselves in that regard, what we were really talking about was the connection we had with others; the sincere connection where someone lights you up and makes you feel sane and possible rather than the glitz and pampering that you can buy if you have enough cash.

Because this night was really made up of what you couldn’t.

As I realised with writing, making a dream real involves a million tiny steps that involve stepping past fear, heartbreaks and more frustrations than one can ever imagine. No one is ever handed what they want on a platform – one has to work a little and struggle a little to enjoy it all a lot.

Today, two friends of mine gave me a little encouragement that doing what you want can be done by sharing the fruition of struggling through dreams.

The ever so talented and amazing singer/songwriter Summer Pierre has just released her new CD, Far From Here (which you can buy through her ). This girl amazes me because she’s the real deal. Her talent, her insights, her abilities stun me as does her wonderful, funny, down-to-earth personality. She’s been there when I needed and inspired me inbetween. She took time off from her music, underwent some personal and professional struggles and then came back to her true passion at full-force – something I can relate to.

She taught me that despite setbacks, one can move ahead – you just have to want to. That crap will happen but if you stay true to what is in you, you can succeed. She’s proof. So, congratulations to this brave girl for pursuing her dreams no matter what.

My other friend, Jenny Hart of Sublime Stiching first wrote me a couple of years ago. She wanted to participate on the Another Girl at Play site I run. Because she only did her work part-time and on a small scale, she didn’t qualify for the site but I told her if she ever did it full-time to let me know. Not long after, she had quit her day job, making her dream of Sublime Stitching more than just a reality but a huge success.

This girl knows what her talents are, what her strengths are and what she wants to do and pursues it all at full-speed. When I met up with her in Austin Texas last year, I was so inspired by all that she was doing and how much she had done in such little time. She took an idea and made it huge by working so amazingly hard at it. Success is sweet to those who try.

I received her Stitch-it: Classic To Cool Embroidery Projects kit today which blew me away. It’s so first class – just like her and her efforts. It’s so incredibly perfect (excellent little gift) and I’m so proud of her and what she’s done. She’s an inspirational ass-kick because she has done so much and come so incredibly far with something that was only an idea just a few years ago.

And speaking of women rocking out, the oh so talented and divine Christine Castro has just launched her new site Darling Studio (and it is). She’s created a company that provides charming, sweet and darling design (and even a little inspiration – her site has some very interesting tidbits). She’s got her own style that is so beautiful, but what’s more beautiful is seeing her use her talents in her own company.

So thank-you to these women who rock out with their dreams, continously reminding me that anything is possible if only you perservere and try.

The fog that had not yet lifted made the morning cold and so before heading to explore the town she went into a nearby cafe for coffee. Not wanting to waste a minute of her seven days she took it to go and rushed out the door, only to bump into him. She looked first at the coffee pouring down his shirt then up to his face and knew right at that moment that things would be different from then on.

And they were.

He went into town with her that day and the days after that save one – the one they stayed all day in her bed and breakfast while it rained so hard that they just watched it fall against the windows. When it cleared they went for supper with his family and this was the only time her nerves kicked in. Without a word he winked at her; it was the first time she ever felt safe and believed everything would happen as it should.

When the time came for her to leave, he handed her a note he’d written that said he wasn’t sure what would happen next – if he’d ever ever see her again or not. She knew and when she knows something it happens. They went their separate ways – he back to school and she back to her country that no longer seemed to fit.

So two months later she returned to his country and there she stayed. Not only because she knew, but because he did too. And that was enough for the both of them.

She decided one day that if she couldn�t tell me that my room was a mess and was in need of a good clean that she would show me. Without my knowledge, she took a picture of my room, took the film to the store, and waited anxiously for the messy photo shot to develop. She was certain that when the photo was ready and she showed it to me, I would instantly want to make my room over into something from a glossy magazine.

But it never happened.

The photo did get developed but the image that my mother expected to see never appeared. What she saw was this beautiful array of colour everywhere. She saw creativity, youth and joy. Somehow all those ribbons looked amazing the way they were tied all over the room; the forts had a special magic to them and the paper all around seemed to have purpose. She looked at the photo and for the first time ever, thought my room was beautiful.

She didn�t show me the picture that day or tell me what she had done. She wouldn�t do that until thirteen years later when we could laugh over it, our differences, and the magic of seeing something another way.

Yet, the last couple of years, I began to recognise my father less and less for at 69, he had become solitary, bitter and old.

His language had changed as well; he talked about how, when purchasing a new car, it would be the last one he would ever buy. How he wouldn’t see something that would happen in ten years and how all he had left to do was grow old.

I could understand his line of thinking as he was the last one in his family left; everyone else had passed away. He comes from old stock where 69 is a very old age indeed. Also, his lifestyle had been hard I could hear him think to himself, “How do I eradicate the past to give me a new future? What is the use?”

One day, out of the blue, I wrote him a letter. In that letter I told him how much I adored him, even during the years when we weren’t on speaking terms. I told him how he always amazed me with all that he could do; politics, real estate, fishing, navigating, travelling, reading, pretending, laughing, dancing and so much more. I told him how I listened to everything he ever said to me and remembered it all – even the bits he didn’t think I listened to. I told him he was the most amazing man I had ever known. I told him he was my rock star.

My father is a Frenchman; tough on the outside but completely (and silently) meltable on the inside. I didn’t expect to hear from him on the letter I had written. I thought he would somehow work it into a conversation one day such as, “I got your note. Your writing is getting better.”

But he didn’t. In fact, he wrote me a letter back.

He told me how much the letter meant to him, and how it made him emotional. He also told me how he decided to look after himself, finally. He had gone to the doctor for a physical, he had found a homeopathic doctor to get healthy with and also, he had started a new diet, started to exercise and started to look for adventures.

I was shocked beyond belief. This sturdy, intense, quiet on personal things man had let out some emotion and also changed things in his life I never thought in a million years he would. I realized that he realized that his life isn’t over until he’s buried. That he still has use, even if it’s just in being my dad.

Most people give up when they think they have no use, but I think people give up when they forget how they are useful because they forget the true meaning of being of use. They sometimes think the meaning of being useful is by trying to obtain a million dollars, a large TV in a big house, slim hips or fame. Sometimes people forget that being useful happens in small, but important ways and so they distance themselves more and more from being of use.

In the last five years, my father had started to think that being of use would be to work as hard as he could in a job that left him bitter so that he could make a lot of money. When that didn’t work he didn’t think he had a purpose anymore. It took a little note from a daughter to tell him that his usefulness was in just being there, on the other side of the phone, laughing, giving advice, and talking. With that, he is more useful than he’ll ever know.

PS: Please don’t email me about your dad; write him instead.

I love to play.

I can spend hours playing hide and go seek, even though they watch where I hide. We can sit in the tree house and talk about how boys are sometimes yucky. (No boys allowed in the fort, except Uncle). We can sit and play Barbies for long periods of time; I usually do the clothes because I am the only one at this point who has coordination. Sometimes we take long walks together on the beach and scream when we find something. Sometimes we just scream as we run around the backyard. Sometimes we pretend to be in a royal palace as I serve them real tea and talk very fancy-like.

I think why I am the favourite with them isn�t because of what I buy them or because I let them get away with murder (I don�t), but because I haven�t forgotten how to play. I haven�t forgotten what it�s like to be impressed by the world, how fun repetition is (try doing Ring around the Rosie for 1/2hr � see if you can make it fun each time. We can!). I don�t forget what �special� means like how it�s special to have a bed put out for Auntie and how it�s even more special to be able to eat toast in it at 6AM. I don�t forget how important it is to want to be heard, to want to share a discovery, to want to learn everything you can. I don�t forget about the wonder. I don�t forget what it�s like to be four, when you want to be important and sometimes are made to feel like you aren�t. Heck, that can happen at any age.

I think these are the reasons why children are instinctually attracted to me. Wherever I go children stare at me or want to talk to me. I once met a 5 year old girl who didn�t talk to anyone, yet when she saw me she came running over to me and just talked a mile a minute while her mum looked on completely stunned. I think I bring this out because I am willing to listen, I am willing to be impressed and I am willing to believe in their world.

Tonight, my mum told me that my 4 year old niece said to her, �Auntie isn�t a grown up to Marcy (her 2 year old sister) and me. Only to you and mummy.�

That was the sweetest thing I had heard in a really long time.