Poo, Poo, And Double Poo: Pictureless Along The Pacific.

Poo. Poo. And double poo.

Our camera broke--last week--while Noah and I were exploring the wild and wily west. While taking snapshots of my little cowboy sweltering in the hot heat of Calabasas in the afternoon, my camera just up and died.

No pictures of the classic western ranch house of the historic Leonis Adobe or its barnyard full of petting animals.

No pictures of our 4th, at the home of the Producer of "The Bachelor" and other seedy reality TV shows, perched upon the cliffs of Malibu.

No pictures of the teal painted 4x8 raised garden bed we built over the holiday weekend--chock full of lettuce, carrots, herbs, pumpkins, squash, berries, tomatoes, okra...and so many more soon-to-be-table goodies that we should have built another.

No pictures of the low lying sea clouds filling our beachside canyon lately with thick dreamy fog that drifts between the leaves of the olive tree leaves and wraps itself around every succulent.

No pictures of Noah and Kai frolicking at the new neighborhood park today or chasing chickens and bunnies on our local nursery's lawn.

And, well, no pictures of my sister tomorrow on her 22nd birthday while Noey and I treat her to a picnic on the immaculately manicured lawn of a Beverly Hills' park hotspot followed by Sprinkles' (the best cupcakes in L.A.) finest.

Poo. Poo. And, double poo.

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