Secret Gardens

Last weekend in New York, I spent most of Saturday morning wandering around the lower half of Manhattan - poking in the Chelsea Antique Markets, sipping coffee at Cafe Habana in Nolita, perusing the shops in the West Village. It's always a treat to find yourself in New York without a schedule, without the needing-to-be-there-by-this-time-to-make-this-reservation, etc. After I few hours of wandering though, I started to grow a bit weary from the stimulation. I also found myself trying to make a plan, even though no plan was really needed. In life, I have found that this is generally a setup for failure. What I should have done was taken a nap. However, my new plan was to take the F train to Brooklyn and explore a few neighborhoods that my friends lived in, which I hadn't done before. And so.

I got off the train at Atlantic Ave. and the sun was brutual. It was somehow 20* hotter in Brooklyn than the rest of New York. The concrete was radiating heat, horns were honking, kids were screaming. I fumbled around at the intersection, looking for my map and sunglasses trying to not drop my camera, ipod or iced tea. I could feel my patience exiting and the exhaustion kicking in. I was totally over Brooklyn before I even left the subway station.

As if on cue, I looked to my right and saw a small chalkboard sign perched against a long concrete wall that read "Your Garden is Open! Come on in and smell the flowers and sit in the shade." I climbed through a small entry way in the gray wall and discovered a tiny Narnia inside. Yellow daisies and cheerful marigolds lined the miniature walkway. Honey bees were humming along from flower to flower. Butterflies fluttered around my feet. A small canpoy of vines provided shade for a little kiddie pool and set of chairs so you could cool off your feet and read awhile. There was also a small plot of tomato plants and string beans and a wooden bench under a big maple tree. I sat down and rested, cooled off, soaked in the quiet. This place was an oasis. I'd gone from hell to heaven in 30 seconds flat.

I later did some research to see what saintly people were responsible for this magical place. Much to my delight, I discovered a dozen or more community garden groups in Brooklyn alone. Credit for this particular garden probably goes to the New York Restoration Project, which operates under the belief that greenspace in neighborhoods is fundamental to the quality of life and something that everyone deserves to have access to. Also to my delight, I discovered that program was founded by Bette Midler, who plays an active role in keeping the community gardens alive and thriving. The organization has reclaimed over 400 acres of under-resourced or rundown parkland in the last decade - no small feat given the limited open space in New York.

I also came across another amazing site called OASIS New York City.net, which is a sort of hand-made map search engine that you can use to locate the closest greenspace to you. OASIS, which stands for New York City Open Accessible Space Information System Cooperative, partners with more than 30 federal, state, and local agencies, private companies, academic institutions, and nonprofit organizations to create this one-stop, interactive mapping site. The site provides dozens of city maps, identifying anything from the closest community garden to ideal bird-watching spots on the harbor.

Although most of us don't call New York home at the moment, I think the idea behind these programs and websites is critical in creating and maintaining the greenspace in our own cities and communities. Below are a few sites that might inspire those of us outside NY:

• Buffalo: Even the home of the Buffalo Wing rocks out some fresh green space at Urban Roots
• Cleveland: Check out OSU's Urban Extention Program
• Chicago: Check out GreenNet Chicago, Chicago's "Greening Network"
• Los Angeles: Californians love this stuff. Check out the LA Community Garden Council.
• San Francisco: The Neighborhood Parks Council provides a great list
• Charlotte/Greensboro: Check out the NC Cooperative. Also - they're getting the kids involved with Garden Mosaics

I should note that Brooklyn continued to romance me that afternoon and we're now on fantastic terms, great friends even. I'm thankful for her warm welcome at the Atlantic Ave. community garden and for the inspiration to seek out similar spaces in the world.

Divine Post-Its

This is what I want to believe: There are messages written all over the world that are meant for each of us, for our own eyes, for just the right time.

It's like when you pull a book off the shelf while dusting and happen to open to the dog-eared corner of the page that holds the poem you first fell in love to, and nudged in the crease of that page is the receipt of two glasses of sangria from last December and the address of an old friend you've since lost. The next thing you know, you've stumbled back into yourself, into your memory, into your own heart.

I'm trying to do a better job of noticing these little divine post-its. Sometimes I leave things on purpose for myself to find - in books, journals, handbags, my guitar case. More often though, I comb the streets of my city to see what others are leaving. After all, these street messages are meant for me too and anyone else with the eyes to see them. I've been carrying my camera with me on walks and on my commute hoping that it forces me into awareness.

Last spring, I had to make a decision whether or not to move back to California. I spent a long April weekend in San Francisco just roaming the streets, visiting my old favorite nooks, trying to locate the pulse of the city again and determine whether it matched my own heartbeat at that time. Also around that time, an anonymous street artist was making sidewalk stamps and leaving messages all over the city. They were stamped in dozens of places - at bus stops, next to the burrito shop, on tennis courts. With each walk and each uncovered stamp, I started to feel the pulse again.

After that trip, I returned home to Chicago with a continued desire to find more messages. That same week, I came across one of my favorite post-it's to-date on the side of a rusty old dumpster:

As I write this on a foggy, summer San Francisco evening, you all know how the story unfolded. And I'm still seeking and finding dozens of new messages every month, many of them here, but many on my journeys elsewhere too. Even if you don't live in a big city, these post-its can still reach you. Go ahead - dust the bookshelf. Open the old wallet tucked in the dresser drawer. Take a long walk. Start looking. Start seeing. Even a dilapidated gas station sign can be a divine post-it: The words "Fill Up" are still saying something.

Hundreds of Ways (one urban cowboy)

Last Sunday in Chicago, my karma came due. Yes, I was "cosmically selected" among thousands to be rescued by an urban cowboy (read: taxi driver). This wasn't just any ol' taxi driver, this was The Singing Cab Driver of Chicago, otherwise known as Mr. Ray St. Ray. I had just said goodbye to E in Wicker Park and flagged down an ordinary-looking cab to take me back to L's for the night. I slipped inside the door and the driver turned towards me with a wide-eyed, kooky smile and shouted "Where to?!". "Clark and Arlington," I smiled cautiously. "Follow me!" he shouted again in his best stage voice. I couldn't help but giggle. This was the beginning.

A few minutes into the ride, he asked me if I'd like to hear him sing a song (was there an option other than 'yes'?). He turned around with that same crazy grin and said, "Please choose your theme: Love! Sex! Social Significance! Other!" I chose "Love!" which led him to rattle off 4 additional sub-categories, including "Romance!" "Non-Committal!" "Breakup!" "Friendship!". I chose "Non-Committal!" (I need not get into the reasons here). For the next 10 minutes, Ray St. Ray, who introduced himself via musical interlude between songs, sang me 3 original songs (he has 98), all of which featured an incredible array of special sound effects, including cat's meows, drums, and what I think might have been an accordion imitation.

I asked Ray St. Ray if he sang for everyone and he said, "Anyone who I think will appreciate it, which is about 98% of the population." In his estimation, he has sung to over 55,000 passengers in the Chicago area alone. Ray's dream is to have his own TV show or movie where his interactions with passengers are documented and the stories are brought to life on the big screen. Ray says that driving his cab and singing and composing songs is his version of the American Daydream. His goal is to live a life that he would want to read a book about.

I am still thinking about him, that ride, and one guy's total commitment to making what he does matter, even if it's driving 10 city blocks in downtown Chicago. We could have sat in silence for those 10 minutes. But he's taking an ordinary, fairly mundane job and turning it around to bring a little more light to the world. I want to live more that way. I want to see my own work in that light.

When it was time to leave, Ray St. Ray turned around with a slightly softer voice and said, "I've treasured our time together! Now you must go into the night!" He handed me a lemon-yellow postcard with his photo on it, along with information on his band, blog, hot line and Myspace page. This is the 21st century, after all. But you can't call him and request him - it must remain a cosmically selective process who is picked up by Ray St. Ray.

Ladies and gentleman, I present to you: The amazing Singing Cab Driver. May your lives one day be graced with a ride on his urban horse.


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"Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground."

-- Rumi