Living in the Garden
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In September, 2007, my classes began in Santa Barbara. I was determined to succeed. I feared that driving the regular 45 minute+ commute each way would prove to be a terrible waste of study time. When I had expressed this concern to Peter and Lalo in Mallorca they immediately offered to host me for the sabbatical year at their home in Montecito. It was an incredibly generous offer, but I warned them that I would be a dreadful housemate — really only sleeping there each night and not being sociable at all. They were overwhelmingly supportive, and thus began my stay living at their spectacularly gardened home. I’d drive up Sunday night, park my car in their gravel driveway, and join them for dinner. I was scrupulously sure to bring a couple bottles of decent reds which were always heartily appreciated, but which paled in comparison to the salads Lalo provided, exquisitely taking care to avoid all the things that gave me allergic reactions (garlic, onions, radishes). For these Sunday dinners, Peter prepared saliva-inspiring lamb, chicken, or pork dishes, seasoned with herbs from his garden. During the delicious dinners, there was never a dull pause in conversation. We shared views about politics, food, nature, art, entertainment, But most of all we shared travel tales. After dinner, however, I’d retire to the room they provided me and bury myself in my books, reading and annotating on my laptop until I either finished or collapsed asleep over the screen. I have never studied so hard in all my life. Virtually every spare moment of the week I spent maximizing my study time (weekends I gave myself a one-day sabbath break).
Peter and Lalo travelled around the world together: Mayan ruins in Tulum, the fjords of New Zealand, New York, photographic safaris in South Africa, the Andean trails of Machu Pichu in Peru — both were active hikers and outdoorsmen. They did rafting trips together, beachcombing together, mountain biking, and exploring. They proved to be excellent travel companions for me as well, happy to get lectures on the arcana of 18th century ecclesiastical practices in the Spanish empire and equally happy to go wine-tasting in the Pampas (both of which we did in 2009 along with Merry).
They had their spheres of independence as well — Peter cultivated the house garden, creating a flourishing wonder replete with a hot tub, giant staghorn ferns, herb garden, koi pond, and a complex of pathways revealing various statuary ranging from utter kitsch to serene elegance. Lalo excelled in his restauranteering — both of them were superb chefs, but they always managed to divide up the culinary tasks for their frequent soirées to maximize both the deliciousness of the meal and eliminate the cumbersomeness of preparation and clean-up.
Peter regularly prepared a nutritious yet tasty fruit smoothie for me in the mornings and a cup of fresh-brewed coffee ready for me to mainline as I stumbled out of bed and into the shower. I’d wait for the bus on Cold Springs Road in the cool morning, books in hand. There was a transfer in downtown Santa Barbara — sometimes I’d grab an extra coffee or a bagel, but always scrutinizing my book in hand. While on the bus, I read. I was determined to never be late to class, and I never was. I was starting a graduate studies program at the age of 42; I was 20 years older than most of the students who were fresh out of undergraduate programs at Harvard or the U. of Chicago or Reed. Their minds were so much nimbler than mine, but I had experience in my favor. Much of the material was utterly new to me (Latin American Art and History were subjects I had never studied formally). I had at least travelled to some of these locales and had an experiential inkling of them as opposed to a purely academic understanding.
It was intimidating for me to walk into some of my classes and feel the nimble, youthful, super-absorbent, flexible brain-power of the other students surging around me. But I was determined to make up for it with hard work — something I had not done academically since my days in the boarding school on the prairie. Moreover, two of my professors that first semester turned out to be inspirations for me, not just in terms of education, but in life. Professor Ann Taves and professor Sarah Cline were masters of their subjects (Religious Experience and colonial Latin American history), but more than that, they were profoundly humane, integrating their academic work into real life applications — helping people understand their own histories and experiences more richly. Furthermore, they were personal and direct. Neither one of them was fond of playing the academic power games which I already knew the academy could be full of — both of them focused on helping people in very real ways, establishing personal relationships and providing support, not just academic, but emotional, psychological, and professional as well. My writing here would never have been possible without their encouragement and help over the years. I will be grateful to them for as long as I shall live.
Thanks to Peter and Lalo and the opportunity to use their house as my second home base, I was succeeding in my studies. I read everything in those first three years of the graduate program. (There were two exceptions to this mania for reading everything: Hegel and Husserl, both of whom had such impenetrably turgid writing styles that I, too, was driven to look up summaries on-line.)
I had arranged to go on a Christmas trip with Peter and Lalo to Mexico and Mom encouraged me to do so, even as she felt she was slowing down a bit. “Your Dad can help get me to dialysis,” she reassured me. And so, with her blessing I went on my last grand journey of 2007.
I flew to Veracruz, the same city at which all the Spanish Franciscan missionaries who founded the California missions would have arrived at in the 18th century. Each evening I was serenaded by marimbas in the Plaza Mayor where I had my room. From there I travelled up to Mexico City, catching the procession and Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe. Guadalupe would later become the subject of my Master’s Thesis (though I did not know it at the time). Peter and Lalo met me in Mexico City before we began a winding journey up to the ornate missions that Junipero Serra helped build in the Sierra Gorda. The façades of these mission churches were fantastical: rabbits and moons, mermaids and saints, flowers and corn cobs — all sorts of decorations abounded — a stark contrast to the austere white façades we see in the neo-classical California missions today. The ornate church decorations in the Sierra Gorda which Serra had authorized were far more like the fanciful medieval church portals he grew up with in Mallorca. It made sense that these had his playful, creative, theatrical influence which was abundant in the parades and fiestas of La Palma where he studied for the priesthood. The California churches may have been founded by him, but none of what we see (except the ruins at San Juan Capistrano) were built under his supervision.
From the Sierra Gorda, Peter bravely did the driving as we dipped down into the jungles of the east, then back up again to the altiplano of Teotihuacán where we toured the grand pyramids adorned with water and sun gods, ruthlessly craving human sacrifice. We spent Christmas there before flying home. (I warned Kaye I would have to carry out our traditional beach ritual on the 26th.) Lalo, Peter, and I made a great travelling trio. Each of us had our own foibles, to be sure, but we knew how to put up with each other and work together as a team — plus we all had a sense of adventure that readily lent itself to us getting into strange and wonderful places off the beaten path! I managed to get a superb set of photos of the Serra missions in the Sierra. Peter and Lalo got the benefit of a historical tour guide along the route. I had the blessing of good company, and all of us had an excellent adventure into realms previously unknown to us! Our journey had been a great success! Mission accomplished!
107.83 [0.40 metric tons of CO2 LAX to Veracruz]
108.27 [0.44 metric tons of CO2 Mexico City to Jalpán to Xilitla to Teotihuacán, 600 miles]
108.62 [0.35 metric tons of CO2 Mexico City to LAX]
As 2007 came to a close, I gave thanks to God, to the Everything for the contentment I had found in the blessings of Creation. I felt, with good conscience, that I had fought the good fight. Even my travails, petty as they were, had borne wisdom, like the sacrifices of the Hanging Man. My family, my friends, my students, my cats — these too were all blessings granted me in my Garden, protectively hedged from the violence and despair of the mutilated world. As 2007 passed away, I dreamed this relative serenity would last until my ashes were scattered.
I had found contentment.
I had tasted peace.
I was happy.
