Gearing Up For Pushback

We are getting ready to fly the unfriendly skies on Monday to Austin, TX to spend the holiday with family.We feel very fortunate to be invited and to be loved.  For the past several years, we both have felt that our local "spiritual community" has been so in name only.  We failed to be included in many gatherings where our peers gathered for food and frivolity with one another.  Somehow we did not make the A list, nor the B list.  Not cool enough or simply not spiritual in the right way enough.

In the past, we have trucked off to the coast to avoid naming our grief and to pretend we were not alone on the first of the holidays in winter.  We have, quite literally, been left alone here at the corner with the dogs and our version of a vegetarian dinner.  Yes, we could have invited the homeless over and pretended that our grief was another chance to do for others what was not done for us.  Underneath, there is always that loneliness however.  The adult children go off and find other families and our friends were not really friends it seems. 

This year, we threw caution to the wind and drained our savings of some moolah for very overpriced airline tickets to be near the people we love and who love us without reservation.  Wanted and loved, it is that simple.  To me, it is important to stop knocking on the doors that open to nothingness as much as doing something scary instead.  Flying is definitely scary for me.  Terrifying actually.

The dogs will have an excellent caretaker and they will be doing much of what they have been doing this week-sleeping.  They are wanted and loved and we are glad to do it for them as Greyhounds still need our help desperately. 

We shall get through the flight to Austin, find my wee sister waiting for us at the bottom of the escalator and join our family whom we want and love and share a holiday that hopes to be the first of a long line of traditions that stretch us and beckon us from our self imposed wasteland. 

Austin, here we come!

The Talisman Cometh

On Saturday, I drove the half hour or so to Penngrove where Valkyrie Tattoo lives and thrives in a wee pass through of a town between Hwy 101 and the rolling, (now) green hills of southern Sonoma County. http://valkyrietattoo.com/home.html An unusually organized and bright shop filled with the usual tattoo flash including skulls and dark images, there is a sophisticated interior replete with designer colors and framed art.  Their website is simple and yet clear.  The woman I travelled to see seemed the same.  Jen Untalan.

For me, an idea emerged as the anniversary of a very hard two years of life came upon the horizon.  A talisman of sorts in the guise of a small tattoo.  Something that would remind me of the strength of my struggles since leaving my professional career, not the disappointments, confusion and darkness.  Something that would mirror my values and my belief in a journey that continues to be pitted and very challenging.  I came up with this jewel of an idea as a heart-my heart-getting ready to pull up into the unknown with large wings. 

Although we see it in many places...Mini USA, Southwest Airlines and on, it spoke to me of a relentless tenacity that seems to be me, while acknowledging the difficulty of being present with pain.  Strength of character.  This is what I want to remember. Jen helped me do just that and it did not hurt that much and she exceeded my expectations which is not easy with me. 

So, thank you Jennifer Untalan of Valkyrie Tattoo in Penngrove, CA for translating my desire to create art from the depth of struggle.

Nine Months And An Early Morning Baby

After nine months of enduring heavy equipment grinding our streets to a pulp, rattling our houses, kicking up enormous clouds of dirt and grime, parking those behemoths in front or along our streets for entire weekends, yelling, spitting, portolet toilets as neighborhood fixtures, pipes, trucks and general lethargic work standards, the boys of summer showed up this morning at 6:15 AM on a Saturday in November, to begin paving our streets.  Nine months almost to the day. 

For me, just about any event is exciting because I do not have a job and well, I am very bored.  So, I hauled out of bed, started the tea and coffee and hurriedly moved our cars to the church parking lot.  I took a few photos, predawn as the circus began to assemble...

 

This is the piece of machinery that grinds the old road to bits and sends the crunched up asphalt into

the waiting dump trucks.

 

 

These are the dump trucks, lined up down Claremont out to Yulupa.  A steady stream, it was, as if, the circus had arrived overnight.

 

I must say that it has been a long haul and only half done, they will be back on Monday and Tuesday to grind the other half of Claremont and Colorado, lay new asphalt and hopefully end this relationship somewhere in the vicinity of the end of next week. 

 

They work hard and I am envious that they are employed.  It is a boy's world as there are no women heavy equipment operators nor nary a female truck driver.  They do as they please though it does appear to be coming to an end three months shy of a year of coupling.  They will  not repair our landscaping nor hose down our sidewalks.  An army of dirt, grime, testosterone and gusto will move onto someone's neighborhood for the next phase and another street's takeover.

Happy Halloween

Thinking of all of those spirits who have left this year with our first rainy Halloween in a few years.  May the veil between our two worlds create an easy trail for them to make a quick entry on this hallowed eve.  Peace be with us all.

 

 

The Spirit Of This House

Nine years ago I moved to the wee corner here in suburbia in Northern California.  At the time, I was a spiritual zombie, having moved myself, Rosie, Major and a few pieces of furniture after a very painful divorce.  I loved the house we moved from though I could not afford the mortgage and so,we had to move on.  I was more than a basket case at the time, maybe most of a cask of trouble, a steamer trunk of regret or simply a nation of sadness.  Painful divorces sometimes show you what you are made of and I had little to fall back upon.

Nine years ago, I put my name on the title to this old house at a time when values in Santa Rosa were starting to escalate very rapidly.  Although I did OK by the standards of appraisal at the time, in two years my house value was said to be half a million dollars.  That was crazy for California.  Especially because we still have the same wall heater goddess that keeps us alive in the winter and well, real estate used to be an investment. Nine years after 10/26/03, this house has a value  $100,000 less than what I bought it for.  Kinda sounds like insanity.  It is.

Nine years ago, I moved here with many more friends than I have today.  My sister came to help me move and even she has moved on in the intervening years to a husband and stepchildren.  We don't talk like we did at all and the divide still feels very painful.  That is, however, what can happen in life.  People make choices that move them away from us and we must accept the unacceptable.  Life is a dramatic event after all.

Nine years ago I knew very little about myself and what life would hold for me.  This old house has been a witness to beautiful Fall colors and the most amazing sunsets just over the fence. There have been hopeful Springs that were sometimes rainy and sometimes drought in the making.  This old house has stayed hot in summer and held us dear as we sipped iced tea on the back patio as the hummingbird who lives off the abutilon has come and gone and his kin. 

Nine years ago I did not realize that I would soon lose Major to bone cancer and a few years later, Rosie as well.  I have made great friends and pissed them off and they have left forever.  I have lived next door to people who never say hello and watched as the small plants that I put in the front garden have become massive and full of blossoms.  I have watched those plants create a bird habitat where each morning with a little help of some wild bird seed, gold finches, towhees, black capped chickadees, blue jays, crows and another hummer all come to feed and find shelter. I love watching them and it makes me feel real.

Nine years ago I came with a breaking heart to this cold, old house that needed to be fixed up and loved and she has held me close through the darkest nights of the soul and some of the most jubilant.  I am grateful to the spirit of this old gal, built in 1953 and now with a few repairs over those years, a veteran who shines in the golden sunset on a warm evening in October, 2012. 

Penny Inhales

I think I might be heading for a world record of unemployment periods in the last two years or maybe not.  I know I have lots of company, I just don't know how to find those fellow humans.  They may be home watching T.V. Trying to reinvent oneself creates a great disturbance in the force or at least, my force, my life.  I feel pretty disturbed. 

And so, once again, I am gathering volunteer gigs from our local area.  For me, having nothing to do does not mean I head towards the T.V.  Truthfully, I did get some brochures on travel cruises because I need a big change.  Then, duh, I realized that cruises don't happen during the winter!  Can you say...iceberg ahead!  Ah, well, I can dream of getting away with thousands of others.  Having no job means one had lots of time to ponder getting the hell out of here.  How is another matter.

Yesterday, I drove up Petrified Forest Rd. to Equi-Ed and a potential volunteer opportunity. A new idea thanks to my brother-in-law, I wanted to be around horses and help my fellow humans.  Equi-Ed allows people with disabilities to find new ways to move and new ways of seeing themselves with the help of horses and their trainers.  For me, a chance to shovel some horse poop and be outside was key.  The program director walked me around the facility and I met several horses. 

However, it was Penny, a big, bay horse who towered above me in her stall, who made an impression I will not easily forget.  Penny, her head above me, pressed her nose to the gate of her stall and inhaled deeply.  She actually inhaled me as a greeting.  Her nostrils wide and right in my face, I felt the wind of her breath against my cheek.  Wow.  Incredible.  That settled it for me.  I am ready to show up and do whatever is needed.  Penny lifted my spirits up and I really needed it.

I am doing my best though I feel discouraged as never before, attempting new ideas, running farther on my run days, contacting new volunteer directors, meditating and trying not to worry so much.  It is frightening to have so little money and even more frightening to have so little chances to get a job, keep a job and thrive in a job.  It is everything, but it is essential if you are going to live here, in the most expensive county in California, or anywhere from Ashland, Oregon to Austin, Texas to somewhere in Vermont. 

For today, I am thankful for a big horse with a lungful of horse breath.  Thank you Penny!

The Seven Month Itch

Today I noticed, on my dusty descent to our wee corner, that something was different on our street.  Let me just digress a moment or two to say that for the last two and a half weeks, there has been an absence of the front loaders, dump trucks, 18 wheelers with pipes and lumber, workman yelling at one another, leaving their tobacco chewing tins in our gutter, dust and grime and dirt chucked up onto our sidewalks and cars. It has been quiet here without the TerraCon boys.  No kidding, I have heard birdsong during the day.

Still, cars screech around the corner and tear off down the street as always since we live in an urban neighborhood where people here act anything but neighborly, and plumes of dust launch into the air and down into our yard.  Our plants are still covered with filth.  Our fence is pitted with dirt from the heavy equipment since March rolling past our house. 

Today, the removal of the final front loader, steel planks and yes, the PortoLet seemed like a big change.  We have all been waiting and waiting and waiting for TerraCon to re-pave the streets that they turned into a pitted, muddy mess.  Especially gone are the loaders and the yelling hard hats.  No rattling windows but the grime remains.  Seven months of living in a war zone and now, waiting for a clean slate of paved road is something akin to the dangling participle.

I have a not-so-special place in my heart now for The City of Santa Rosa's lack of information or simply respectful preparation of what was coming when their subcontractor, TerraCon, invaded our privacy and our street to "improve our infrastructure." Nothing short of a clusterf..k, the end of the project looks like the circus came to town and left in a whirlwind of litter, dirt, candy wrappers(tobacco tins) with disappointment in its wake. 

Hell, a heavy rain right about now could wash us cleaner than a paving job.

 

A not so fond remembrance of this summer's main attraction.