puvugna1 It’s a sad anniversary for me. Last year, my good friend Cindy Schafer was returning home on the Sunday following Thanksgiving when her plane crashed off Saturna Island in Vancouver. I never expected I would never again talk to one of the most amazing women I ever knew.  A lot of people felt that way.

My last conversation with Cindy was on Facebook a year ago on the Saturday following Thanksgiving. We shared friends and a love of organic gardening, among other things, and were discussing at length what should be done with eggplant plants at this time of the year. We decided we didn’t really know. She was going to pull hers and I decided to leave mine. Then we were going to compare notes as time went by. It was an experiment. Cindy was like that—curious about every little thing. She was a very, very good observer.

One of Cindy’s favorite topics to shoot and write about in her blog was laundry. I know—seemingly banal. But Cindy was wonderful at elaborating why laundry was just so darn important and interesting. She photographed it time and time again.

As an environmental and social documentary photographer, Cindy loved the outdoors and traveling to explore other cultures. She was quite athletic and energetic—a real joy to know. She was smart and funny, and like myself, a vegetarian with a deep appreciation for food and drink, ideas, and especially laughter.

She was one of the original members of the “Girl’s Gourmet Camping Club.” We would try to fill up a six-woman tent with our favorite women friends, pack up a bunch of gourmet foods and wines and slip away every now and then for intimate conversation and the enjoyment of nature.  No men, no kids, no pets, just us girlfriends reconnecting with our basic Goddess natures. It is easy to see why I loved Cindy so much—why so many people loved Cindy so much.

Today, I took a solo bike ride to visit some of my favorite meaningful places in Long Beach—places that Cindy would have enjoyed.  After passing through the soon-to-be-reconstructed wetlands, the first stop was Jack Dunster Marine Reserve, where I saw some awesome birds and observed natural California plants. The environmentalist in Cindy would have loved seeing the pelicans and the rowers in Marine Stadium–not to mention the way I know she would have exclaimed about the overwhelming beauty of this day. The mountains loomed in great clarity over our valley, capped with snow, and one with a swirling cloud of snow falling on it—words cannot capture the exhilaration of the sight of them.

And it all looked so much like Cindy was—light and airy and poignant.

 My ride was already good for me at this point—the day’s awesome headwind was offering a more-than-adequate workout—when I headed toward ceremonial Puvugna (located on the campus of California State University Long Beach)  to revisit the fascinating dedication to the Tongva ancestors I had noticed on a recent nighttime walk.

 It was so beautiful, the way the little photographs of the Native American ancestors were blowing in the wind. A totem had been built in the center with a pole in each cardinal direction. From the center of each pole hung a line, and each line was hung with a Tongvan ancestor’s portrait and black, yellow, and red flags. At the base of the totem had been left simple gifts: beads, cigarettes, shells, charms…

I started taking pictures of the memoirs floating on their lines in the wind. It was breathtaking and it reminded me of Tibetan prayer flags. As I kept shooting, I started thinking more and more about Cindy—and then it struck me: these little prayer flags, these little loving dedications to the loved ones that have been lost, looked just like Cindy’s pictures of laundry!

Except there was one important difference: in Cindy’s laundry pictures everything was always calm and serene, but these Tongvan prayer flags in memoriam for their ancestors were flapping most diligently, lifting themselves to the sky… they were free and joyful. The wind had dried them and was now lifting their clean spirits to the heavens—the ultimate laundry! And for the first time I realized Cindy has never really left my side. She is with me forevermore. I am so blessed to have known her.

Then I rode home to return to my own laundry. Because as Cindy said, “Laundry is never done!”