Last Sunday mister and I drove down to Los Angeles to bid farewell to a woman who has greatly inspired me. Mother to my roomie and dearest neighbor-friend, Carol (who wished to be called Gammy Beaujolais by her grandsons) was a laugh and a half. Full of humor and creativity, Carol gave me a home when I needed a safe place after a heartbreaking time. I spent many days in her garden, surrounded by cats, the sound of wind chimes and fountains, drinking icy-iced water with lemon as I sat in her shabby chic garden chairs before shabby chic was a household phrase; chatting with her as she simultaneosuly cared for her plants and pulled at her hair. I spent almost a year hunkered down in her spare room with a hippie bedspread tacked across the wall full of windows, my quilt topped bed as my throne, a trunk as my bureau, and a rolling rack of vintage dresses ready to be worn. I had no phone and no plan and loved every minute I spent there. It was a time of reflection and figuring out who I was and I do not think I would be the me that I am had I not had those lovely days spent in her company and in her garden (even when she would talk me out of my vintage as it looked better on her anyway). This post is for you roomie and for you Gammy, may your garden be in full bloom for always and forever.