
I've just returned from a little trip to see a friend in Oakland, California this week. She had just moved to her address in a very lush and happening part of Oakland, however a block away the landmark stores and cafe's address themselves as being in Berkley. So as I tried to understand the dividing line we laughed a lot about not being able to get it right while everyone else was apparently squarely placed in either zip code. So we enjoyed some beautiful strolls through
"Berkland" on foot chasing a lovely stroller and an even lovelier baby Lola who I had the pleasure of meeting for the first time!! She has the brightest face and busiest eyes.

I'm in my 8th year in Ashland, Oregon (population 30,000 give or take). And Ashland is blessed with many outstanding businesses and trail blazers alike, but by nature the town has it's limits. Although I am lucky enough to get out and about every few months, small town life takes its toll. Because I was visibly spastic over my superb bowl of mocha, completely defenseless against the gourmet gluten, smitten with flowers and expert cocktails. As lovely as my town is you cannot get sangria (
anywhere! Note to locals), fig parmesan crustini's, and (being the former flower stand employee that I was in Seattle for many years) I long for real flower stands and arrays of flowers! I tell you city dwellers... Hug your local baristas, bakers and boutique owners. (hell-
do that anywhere).

What I'm trying to say is that is was a lovely sensual feast going on in "Berkland". And I was in pleasure heaven. The neighborhoods are plant paradise!! I could not get enough of the giant homes and rambling, overgrown gardens. Block after block of bohemian rhapsody I tell you. More casual than San Francisco and in some places far more lush. On the drive down I had a chance to pitt stop in Mount Shasta City. I picked up some selenite towers, incense, flower essences from one of the dozens of crystal shops there. All that hippy loot that makes me happy. No I didn't buy a bumper sticker.