The Changing Seasons

Maybe I am just getting old enough to see the change of a season way too early or maybe it is global warming.  Today, walking into Kaiser, the wind blew and dry leaves fell from the trees and skittered across the parking lot in front of me.  Our sky today was mostly cloudy and it is cool.  Summer has slithered away as if it never arrived.  A strange summer of emotional ups and downs at our house, our tomatoes are ripening late and the corn is stiff and dry awaiting Halloween.

Life has changed quickly here and we both feel odd.  As if the lone survivors from that distress signal, we bob in the water with frenetic schedules, gym routines and dog walks to bolster our emptiness.  The season is changing here quickly too, along with our lives, and we each grieve all that we have lost and wonder what lies ahead.  Each of us have new jobs that shake our comfort zone and test our abilities to soothe ourselves within, savour a hot cup of coffee or mate' with some chocolate and find a movie on Netflix that will make us laugh.  We need to laugh much more.

For us, we are far from family who have their own gatherings in States far from us and our friends seem to have moved onto something else completely.  For me, I felt the loneliness of all that change and tried to run it off, do errands to chase that lethargy and finally come home to my book and some home made popcorn.  Whatever it takes to get through this desert. 

Fall has emerged, sliding in sideways with cooler days, the start of school, the changing light, the sun now lower in the sky and the memory of fall, my favorite season with its chilled mornings and deepening color.  Still, our resident hummer drinks from his red apothecary and darts in and about the sky above the patio, chiding his compatriots for entering his blessed airspace.  He gives me hope that time will ease our individual discomfort and we shall look backwards and see that our troubled times have shed their husks for warmer wrappings.

Prickett's In The Rear View Mirror

Today was my last day of employment at the best job I have ever had in life.  I don't know how it came to be that it took over 30 years to work with such hard working, patient, accepting, bright, fun, strong and loving people.  I was very lucky to have had the chance to work and thrive this summer in the company of a small band of humans who treat others as they wish to be treated. The Golden Rule is still alive and well at Prickett's.

Truthfully, the people of Prickett's Nursery held up the mirror of their fine selves in order to reflect all that I had missed within myself that is as grand, as kind and as fun loving.  Prickett's showed me the best of myself by teaching without judgment, working hard together to serve others, tirelessly supporting and encouraging one another and laugh and care for one another.  I am blessed.

Leaving Prickett's is the hardest change that I have made and yet, I leave with my head held higher and my heart so very full because I feel special and I feel loved.

Funny how people can sneak up on you if you are expecting the worst.  In fact, I came to Prickett's broken and afraid having left another job a few months previously.  I had been harassed and treated in a hostile manner by my Supervisor for reasons I still cannot fathom and I flinched at anyone coming near me.  I was angry and edgy as I entered the Prickett's Outdoor Sales crew on the busiest weekend of the summer.  For me, I did my best to put on my party face each day and some days it was hard to reflect a positive attitude that was genuine because of the harassment I had lived through.

However, as the days and weeks of this summer wore on and I began to feel more confident, reveling in the openness of that corner location, working hard in the sunshine and finding a way to fit in and learn about my fellow nursery workers, I began to heal.  I began to heal without knowing that I was changing.  I began to feel a part of something simple and sweet.  I began to feel appreciated.  I found a communion with many customers and I often saw neighbors and old friends as the nursery became a stage for helping others create their gardens.  Prickett's became my touchstone and my fellow workers became my clan.

I am moving forward to pursue new opportunities and try to make more money.  It was achingly difficult to end my job at Prickett's and yet, I do so with a sense of myself that reflects who I am instead of who I am not.  I am deeply grateful and honored to have had the chance to know such lovely people in my life.  Thank you Prickett's.  In the rear view mirror I see you waving at me and I am crying my way down the street waving back. I will miss you all terribly.  You are amazing. 

Uphill All The Way

A strange summer is grinding its' way to September 1st as our days remain sunny with lots of stress and storm clouds summoned to the horizon.  Life moves onward whether it feels like it or not and though I pay an expert to remind me of this, I need that.

A cold virus made its' way through the labyrinth of my usually excellent health and my day off came to a screeching halt with a sore throat and angry lymph nodes.  Alas, one of my stellar co-workers shared their germs with me!

My partner has a week left before she is officially laid off from a job of 11 years that she once loved.  People around her have bought the jargon of the evil empire and talk in tongues about the wonders of Pacific Retirement Services from Oregon.  PRS is commencing a friendly takeover through their corporate moves though most residents and staff are all too glad to speak the praises fueled by faux pep talks from the suits of PRS.  Very sad and very true.

One thing I have noticed, although my partner has watched me walk through two years of trying to find jobs, receiving rejections or no notifications at all for hundreds and hundreds of jobs for which I have applied, it is now personal to her.  Today she filled out an application for a cannabis club admin job.  Ah, how times have changed.

Life twists and turns and we all try to plan and finagle to put ourselves in a good light, maneuver our desires to help our families and our households, find a job with health care benefits-good luck!-or just find a job we can live with day to day.  For most of us, losing a job means that life will become much, much harder.  That story has come to rest with us whether our families pay attention or not or whether our friends stay in touch or not, whether there is life after the County of Sonoma and Friends House(now not so friendly) or not. 

I feel so very fortunate to have worked for such wonderful people as David, Deanna and Denise of Prickett's nursery this summer.  They gave me an opportunity to shine and help sustain my life.  They, along with my extraordinary co-workers, have healed the wounds created by my last job at Friends House.  Thank you Prickett's for believing in me, allowing me to learn and thrive in the sunshine with the chickens darting around my feet and for doing so with kindness, patience and love.  You really do rule.

May life move forward for both of us here. We are struggling. May we find ways to heal and come to peace about the past and all the wretchedness of this year.  May we stop finding the stone so big that we keep having to push up this hill of life.  May we get to the summit soon.

My Sister's Keeper

Two sides of the same
 coin,
 we grew up
 a decade apart,
as alike as we are different,
I see my own self in the mirror that
 my sister holds up for me
 as we live our lives in separate places,
another dimension,
another State.
She is as much a mystery as a part
 of my own flesh and bone,
 a hero,
 a glowing lamp,
 another limb.
My Sister's keeper,
 I shall be the sentry and the confidant as
 our years pass,
holding her spirit,
 her pathos and her pith sacred and whole in
 this place where I am the youngest soldier.

A Surprise Guest

Today was a slow day in the nursery.  Though working with my favorite crew, a full blown blue sky kind of day that turned hot after lunch, the hours began to drag.  My Friday and it was too quiet there at the corner of two busy roadways in amongst the blooming beauty.

We all tried to find things to do and I was still holding that tension from another job interview last week.  They said they would call me with their decision though they have not.  For most of us looking for work in this messed up world, if they don't call you right away, your application is probably on the cutting room floor. However, dreamers still dream and though it is sad commentary on my life, I did foster a slim hope.

While watering the roses, I felt the warmth of a northern California day which has been much less here than most summers.  It is cold at night and in the morning, often with fog and some drizzle.  It is depressing.  Our tomatoes are not ripening.  Not enough heat and not enough blue for me.

As I came to the end of a row of tree roses, watering and watching the cascade into the pot, a Verio came and landed sideways on the stake holding up the tree rose.  He was less than eight inches from my hand holding the hose, perched and thinking about the fountain of water.  He looked at me and I at him.

A surprise guest, the Verio took flight quickly on wings that made his journey seem effortless.  I felt as if everything stopped for those few moments he paused on the stake and eyed me.  All of my troubles paused too and I held his gaze with fascination and surprise.  A brief moment of divinity and he was off flying on those wee wings and onto something new.

Franklin's Gift 12/17/06-8/3/96

I just could not get here yesterday with all that has been swirling in the water around me and I had quite a few moments unloading pallets of pottery, watering the perennials and vegetables, and helping others find just the right plants for their gardens. I thought of my father and his youngest daughter on 8/3/96.

It does seem that all I have written about here relates to death and yet, that is life as well.  Some deaths mark our lives in a way that will never return us to that place in our lives where we remained unmarked.  Everything shifts and we know it deeply and it is good thing we were paying attention.

On 8/3/96 I had already spent about 10 days at my father's hospital bedside watching him gesture to images that floated above his head.  People he knew?  Ghosts?  He could not talk nor swallow from a stroke that left him changed forever.  First my sister and I began our long stretch as his sentries.  Then she had to fly home to Texas to check on her life and I remained, vigilant and straining to hear the telltale signs of death that was creeping towards us.

I have no idea what the nurses, aides and doctors thought that tiny woman with a journal was doing yet I think they had seen it so many times before.  They were wonderful and kind and patient and wise in a way that both of us needed. They allowed my father to pick his time and they carried a stillness with them that honored the process of death.  Remarkable really.

I was restless and afraid that day on 8/3/96, pacing and getting up and down from my chair as I watched my father's breathing become more and more labored, gasping for air and fighting with life in the moment. He would not let go.  For some reason, I finally got up from that chair at about 12:45 PM and walked over and peered down into Dad's eyes. 

I started to cry and I let him know that my sister's were on their way from Texas, that they loved him and knew that he loved them.  I told my father that I loved him, knew he knew what was happening, that I would miss him and that he could go.  Right then, tears ebbed and fell from his eyes as he and I cried. He looked up, beyond me and he was gone.  It was almost as if he blew past my head up into the corner, the energy and force of Frank leaving that room was powerful. 

For me, that feeling of telling my Dad that it was OK to leave us and then feel him leave has marked my own beliefs of our timing, why we stay here on earth, why we let go and still wondering why I am here.  I miss my Dad and his many slogans, eccentricities, generosity and I don't miss all those scary places that were present in the years he lived with my mother.  Those were hard times.

I miss you Dad, thank you for the values, ethics, honesty and wisdom that you left with me.  Peace be with you.

July 23, 1991

There are many images of that night and the days that followed which are mine alone, the witness's story untold, and they are the pith and salvation of my spirit in life, that essence that makes up my heart and mind.  It is a story but really, it is about the death of someone who was pivotal in my life yet someone I still know so little about.

My mother died on the evening of July 23, 1991.  Her husband called, in a panic, to say she had stopped breathing.  Actually, he meant that she was dead.  I remember asking if he had called the paramedics but later understood that a "no code" was their non communicated arrangement.  So, I fled in my car, late on a foggy northern California night across county roads toward my mother's ocean view home. 

There was a strange silence in the house but it was as if specific lighting had been set upon her once beautiful face.  I believe that she was still there and the light on her face was her waiting for me before she made her grand exit.  Truthfully, she had died sometime before, though she died alone in the house because her husband, always a very self-centered man, had gone to teach a class. His wife was dying but it was always, all about him.  That part of the story can only be stranger than we understood then given my mother's attachment to the many men in her life who were larger than life and clearly, the focus of her love and devotion.

Her hands.  I remember her graceful, long fingered hands, resting on the bed covers as the sentries to her last breaths.  She had suffered so much in life yet in death, she coasted to the finish line.  I raced to her bedside, saw her hands, moved up to her face where that light from within shown and took in the fact that my mother was dead. I touched her left hand and bid her a shock filled adieu in my mind.  I went to sit on the couch and come back to myself.  I looked up, moments later, and the light on that face had gone.  She was gone.

The few hours that followed were strange as I watched the funeral home come and load my mother's body, and drive off in the fog.as I watched from the deck that was so often her view of the ocean.  The funeral and my mother's body buried in the Catholic cemetery, the lone bag piper and the many people who came to her service and never acknowledged her three children are a testament to how my mother lived her life. Except Marge Ling and I am indebted to Mrs. Ling for her kindness on that day.  The fact that my mother's husband selected the church which is central to the Alfred Hitchcock movie "The Birds" is a dark joke between my sisters and I. 

Still, I remember 7/23/91 as one of the anniversaries that I always know in my mind and my flesh as a time of deep feeling, sadness, understanding, compassion and wisdom for all that came before that day.  I sometimes visit my mother's grave in Bodega Bay though not often because it is not how she wished to be dispatched and we all know it.  She was did not wish to have her body buried though I imagine that she may have "viewed" the funeral, the piper and all that drama with interest for all that bluster in life about making her death simple. 

May peace be with you Mom, today and always, regardless of your path in life, you are remembered and mourned.