The Church of the Yurt

I could write about many things this week from the mundane to the ridiculous. The Yurt remains at the center of it all, though; a physical presence I look towards at the end of the garden beckoning me to explore its radiance. I have never felt such power and such purpose. At the same time, there is a huge reshuffle with my days as my nanny is leaving next week. Our story together definitely had a beginning, middle and end, I just wouldn’t have written this particular ending. I have only had two other women help me with my boys in the last 14 years, and one of them I still employ! Perhaps I’m not that great at endings…

Voices from London tell me it’s gone cold. I so know what that means, and feels like. February people hunker down, stay in more and deal with the weather. I am aware when the oppressiveness kicks in because friend’s voices are slower, there are more sighs; it’s as if Time has divided into more frames per second and the minutia begins to irritate. So do the kids and husband, and trips get planned! To hear voices en masse saying the same thing sounds like a communal calling. Escapism. Here in LA, I must say to the annoyance of a few cold people, it’s gorgeous. The winter normally brings golden afternoons and not a lot of haze. The chill in the air is welcomed almost as a season unto itself, and the promise of rain excites those itching to ski. I am caught at the moment, somewhere between the two states – what’s new? – as the rhythm of a London’s winter used to make me feel my most creative but the color of it, depressed, so I’m picturing myself there a lot and then going outside and feeling the warmth of the sun when it all gets too much.

Too much…now that is also interesting. There have been more dramas I have been privy to in the last few months than ever before. Some of them self inflicted, others not, but all of them real. Deaths, medical scares, emotional breakthroughs and psychological challenges. Decisions to clear out and clean up the mess in one’s life and surveying the wreckage with an honest eye. This week got guzumped again by more medical crap and as I write, the only word that comes to mind is gratefulness. And back to the Yurt! Here’s where the Yurt plays its part: I’m able to tune in to a greater energy inside there which in turn, becomes the backbone of my sanity. Really. It’s the Church of the Yurt! At the moment, though, I’m its only member…