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On a long walk with the dog, another more energetic dog tagged along with us. A couple of miles into our hike we came across a silver-haired woman working in her garden, removing, as it turned out, iris plants in favor of the desert succulents that do better in the Los Angeles climate.

She spotted the stray dog before she saw us, and hobbled slowly out of her garden to deal with the challenge. Having lost her own dog just a week before, she was concerned, and determined to solve the problem. An extended encounter ensued, in which she pulled a phone out of her hip holster and called the animal control center, got the telephone number and address of the dog's owner, as well as the name of the dog ("Chili"). When there was no answer, I volunteered to return the dog to its owner, a mere two miles away. Fortunately, it was in the direction we were walking.

During our conversation, it had developed that the stray dog's benefactor had studied tai chi with my tai chi teacher's teacher. There are only two countries where something like this could happen: Los Angeles is one, and of course the other is China. Then it turned out that she had visited China in the year 2000 when her teeacher went on tour there. She said it was exhausting; she was the oldest person on the tour, and to make matters worse had a bad knee that eventually prevented her from engaging in tai chi practice. She ended up being carried up about 5000 of 6000 steps on a sedan chair to a well-known mountain in the district she was visiting.

Eventually it was time for me to escort the dogs in a homeward direction. I carried a leash to use on ChiliDog if necessary, and a bag of iris bulbs, possibly both blue and bearded, destined for replanting in a new garden.

When you are at Mt Holyoke College, visit Eliot Hall. As you first enter the top floor lobby, you will find a striking formal floral display, created anew each week by Nobue Socho Yamashita, Eliot House Instructor of Japanese Tea Ceremonies. Having seen the flowers, you might have time to visit the meditation garden, located through the door to the right. We recently had the opportunity to do just that, being given a tour of the garden and teahouse by a Mt Holyoke student during family weekend at the college.

When you find yourself outside a garden of this type, you may notice a low window into the garden, partially covered by slats. You must bend down to see into the garden, and because of the slats your view is partially occluded. Both effects are by design.

After you enter the hidden garden and step across its hidden sea, leaping from continent to continent under the Japanese maple with its tiny leaves, glancing back over your left shoulder you can see the mountains in the distance. Turn to the right after your journey and you will find yourself in the anteroom of Wa-shin-an, the Japanese Tea House. Rain, shine, or bitter winter storm, this is the only way the teahouse can be reached. You must pass through the garden.

As Professor Yamashita explained to us during our visit, teahouses of this type are built, even today, with a very narrow entrance, about two and a half feet square. Samurai entering to receive tea needed to bow, showing their humility and, perhaps just as important, needed to leave all three of their swords outside in order to fit through the opening. Thus ensuring a more egalitarian atmosphere inside due to the absence of weapons. A sword rack is usually provided to the right of the entrance, but even if no rack is provided, Profesor Yamashita advises, "leave your symbols outside."

There wasn't time for everyone in our party to have tea -- that would have taken over three hours. But there was time for three to receive their tea, explained step by step by our kind and generous host, as the rest of us sat on the tatami mats and listened in awed and attentive leisure.

It was an experience of the greatest possible value.