The rain continues to fall here in San Diego. Uncharacteristic amounts of water everywhere. I like to think of it as tears from heaven, God still mourning the Chargers’ loss to the Jets. We’re all in ruins over it. The whole city. Ruins.

This weekend, I will be licking my year-after-year-Charger-inflicted wounds (why do I even let myself hope anymore) at one of the most enchanting places on earth . . . Asilomar, a woodsy little conference ground that sits right on the Monterey Peninsula, next door to Carmel by the Sea. I’m telling you, you can barely stand the beauty. Chapter 27, “Dancing,” from Found Art includes a story set on this very beach.

I take this pilgrimage annually with a group of friends (9 of us this year) to attend the Menlo Park Pres Women’s retreat. As a part of the retreat, I’ll be facilitating a workshop on Saturday afternoon, which I am very much looking forward to.

Another salve for my Charger-wound came in the form of an all-day women’s event (hosted by Flood Church) last Saturday that I was invited to facilitate. We spent the entire day talking about the theme of inspiration, and we enjoyed a rare break in the rain at the Carlsbad beach. It was heaven for me. My favorite moments of the day were as follows: (1) During an hour of personal reflection time, I went for a walk on the bluff above the beach and walked by almost every woman attending the conference. Some were praying, some were journaling, some were staring out into the ocean, some were listening to music, reading, napping. I loved seeing these women sitting outside, breathing, taking in life. (2) Walking around the room while the women were creating their own personal clothesline (a little project I had them do that incorporated some of their favorite muses from the day). Few things are more inspirational to me than creating, and I especially love watching other women get past their “craft-anxieties” and create their own little found art pieces. (3) When I said, “Courage is the new black.” I thought that was particularly clever. (4) How I felt comfortable enough in my own skin and with those women to cry a minimum of probably 6 times throughout the day. I’m so soft when it comes to this topic! (5) I was able to use my new, “professional,” raspberry patent leather tote that Steve got me for my birthday. In the words of Rachel Zoe, “I die.” (6) Seeing women awaken.

I’ll leave you with a recent dream I had about Michael Phelps who, in the dream, was named Shane Kim and was coming over to our house because he wanted to date me. Shane Kim was a renowned world-class athlete in the Olympic sport of Frisbee Windsurfing (this is all true) and was all over the news because of his recent accomplishments. For some reason, he had his eye on me. Though I was married to Steve and we had the babies, everyone was aflutter with the fact that Shane Kim was coming over and no one seemed the slightest bit concerned with the minor detail that I was already married.

I was relating the dream to my mom in great detail, mentioning how he was sitting on our couch and how his hands touched the ground because he has those really strangely long arms and how he was so good with the twins and on and on and she stopped me and said, “Leeana, do you need some attention?”

Always, mom. Always.