Freedom's Just Another Word

I had the most fantabulous weekend. It kicked off with the first of a double-dose of the enchanting Cassie – who celebrated a birthday last week by the by – and we wandered a little mountain trail with our darling dogs. The wild flowers are in full array and the whole place is bursting with green. (Might I just say that I love her!!!)

In the afternoon, Ed’s best friend descended from Santa Rosa with his expecting wife and their son for a barbeque. After great food and a bit of chatter, they packed up and went home following a trip to the local, home spun, organic ice cream store (aptly named The Scoop.)

On Sunday I had the most perfect morning with my new old friend Ella, who I mentioned a while back that I recently ran into after losing touch for some fifteen or so years. I can’t even begin to tell you I much I adore reconnecting with Ella. There are some people who are just kindred playmates in this life – Ella is this for me. (Cassie is like this too, but in a different way – equally magical.) Ella is totally toys and sparkles (she has a whole ROOM for her inner child to play in her house!) We went to the Alameda flea market where I got a bitch’n new vintage personal-sized fan and she got (among many other fun things) plug-in light-‘em-up plastic deer lawn ornaments (which I named Stephanie and Winona, despite the fact that they have antlers… I haven’t been totally explicit with Ella that they’re pre-op transgender M to F’s… but they’re totally living with the girls now so they’ll be happy, happy, happy!) She gave me a Looking Good for Jesus change purse out of her collection of change purses (He’ll oogle if you’re frugal) and a typewriter key bracelet. I loooovvvveeee toys and presents and I’ve been eyeing a typewriter key bracelet online for months now. It was just so … joyful!

Then came the second dose of Cassie (with her girl-thing in tow this time), when she came to look at a house for sale in my little town. The house isn’t going to work, but it was lovely to see them out and about.

We moved on to the shoot ‘em up part of the weekend and went to see Shooter. Silly boy movie – big explosions, etc.

When Monday morning rolled around, the reality of Ed being out of work and my time clock counting down began to set in – in the best of ways, really. I began going through my files and packing up papers and materials to bring back into the office and recycling things I’ll never need to look at again. It had a real feeling of T-minus-something-and-counting. A feeling like the next part of my life is about to begin.

Food, Glorious Food!

Max and I met for lunch in the dining room at the Palace Hotel. We split the arugula Salad and I had this wonderful organic chicken topped with fennel salad, oranges and a light orange sauce (with a few capers thrown in for measure.) We split desert too – something like a cream puff with Bavarian cream, candied cherries on the side. It was all really, really, really nummy. Afterwards I strolled the ferry building shops until it was closer to time to board (picked up some herbs du provence at LuLu and some lapsong souchong tea from the Imperial Tea Court to compare to the Silk Road’s version I recently ordered from Canada (which was on the doorstep when I arrived back from DC last night – around midnight – yahoo!)

Might I say that I’m totally digging on the lapsong souchong tea. Ed and I stayed up until about 2 am sampling the Silk Road’s stuff. It’s absolutely enchanting. (I’m still in search of the perfect glass tea kettle in order to try out the tea flowers that Cassie gave me last weekend.)

Okay… enough about food for awhile (though Crème Violette sounds divine, doesn’t it?)

I Linger on Her Thigh

I linger on her thigh a fatal moment. - L. Cohen

I watched the Leonard Cohen I’m Your Man documentary last night and was simply not impressed. But my love for the man wasn’t tarnished. I could be happy being lulled to sleep by his resonant deep voice each night. He doesn’t sing, he preaches. You have the likes of Bono saying things like, he walks up to the edge of the abyss, looks in and laughs. He’s trying to be clever and yet I wonder if he’s ever listened to the man. Cohen doesn’t walk up to the edge of the abyss and laugh. He worships at the edge of the abyss. He goes there and grovels. It’s why he’s so desperately beautiful.

I had such a stellar weekend; it seems like counting pennies to retell it – all these shiny things. Yes they are good. I reconnected with an old friend, Ella, who I haven’t seen in forever and somehow we lost touch and I simply love her. I cannot express how good it was to see her again after all these years. She is the same yet even more beautiful, she is the same yet very different – deeper, calmer, lovely. It was such a prize to see her. She is filled with so much light and it reminds me to be happy just to walk with her. It’s odd. I used to think she was filled with sadness, but now I realize I misunderstood. It was me, I think. Not her. We will see each other again now.

I briefly mentioned a visit up the Coast to a vacation rental community with some friends a few months back. Two of said friends, heretofore shall be named Emma and Nigel, were married in a clandestine ceremony (aka eloped) in November. They were both to come up with Cookie on Saturday night for dinner and a show, an a capella performance I think I referred to previously by a local group called Solstice. (Since I’ve learned this is a very popular name for all women vocal ensembles – include derivations like Soulstice, etc.) Nigel wasn’t able to make it in the end, but without him we had a wonderful time. I made so much food I haven’t had to cook again all week and there’s still more to go – baked ziti with herb roasted chicken, creamy pesto and capillini, rosemary sour dough bread with fresh garlic and rosemary olive oil dipping sauces, a massive salad…. You know, all the heart healthy stuff.

Cookie spent the night. He seems to stay up quite late and thus sleep in quite late. Ed and I were able to run a hoard of errands before he even knew we’d been gone and out to Terra Linda, San Rafael and back. Once he rose we took a promenade around town (he’d never seen it in the daylight before), picked up Honey Vanilla Lavender ice cream at the local parlor and ate while we strolled and then Gaye showed up for an afternoon hike. Ed whisked Cookie back to the City and stopped for a last round at the range (did I mention he loves the shotgun I bought him for the holidays? Come the revolution, those pigeons best watch their tails…)

Those are all the shiny things. It was a stellar weekend. Come Monday I was still content with the right amount of fullness and emptiness – the right balance of together and alone, new and old.

Lately, I’ve just felt like playing. It’s such a great little playground we have here… this planet, this life, this skin, these kisses. Like the man says, I linger on her thigh a fatal moment…

TYWWBTBFSTT!!

I think Chris Baty is fabulous (do we think he’s single, age appropriate and in the market?) I totally love his idea of the Adventure Log 2007 aka TYWWBTBFSTT (The Year We Will Be Trying Big Fun Scary Things Together.) I’m so there! That’s my kind of fun. Hold my hand, let’s jump! I don’t like, however, that people announce the big fun scary things before they do them. I think the rule should be that you only get to talk about them while you’re doing them or, in the example of base jumping, after you’ve done them. To me, adventure is the thing of action, not the thing of identifying the potential later action.

If I lived in Williamsburg, Virginia, for example, I would sign up to take John Pomp’s valentine’s day glass blowing class for couples. (Doesn’t that sound like fun!?!?!!!) But I don’t.. /sigh. I don’t think it’s scary, but it does sound like big fun.

Yesterday I took my (relatively) new neighbor, Jaye, on a hike to Phoenix Lake. She and her husband have lived here several months and have yet to avail themselves of the mountain. I hope the trek made the mountain more accessible and less a mystery. It was nice to chat with her – cultivate a friendship. There’s not a big deep big click there, but I imagine, overtime, that might be possible.. there’s a little click. That’s good enough for a new circle in the ever widening eccentricity of circles that to me is community.

I’m so madly different than I was even five years ago.

Derailment

Firstly the NaNoWriMoing isn’t Wri-ing right along. I’ve hit a stand still. I won’t say that I’ve given up (yet?), but progress has ground to a screeching halt – metal against metal, sparks flying. That’s okay. It is what it is. There’s been such a fanfare of activities, holiday this-ing, dinner-thating, lunch in the City, guests, and oh yes, the biggest time-suck of them all, the latest season of the Sopranos is out on DVD.

Secondly, I didn’t mention this business about this old friend of mine hitting the bottom of the cage a few weeks back now. I say old friend as in former friend – he wasn’t old and he was no longer a friend. I’ve tried to write about it, but everything that comes out sounds petty and stupid and crazy. I didn’t attend the memorial (which was yesterday) mainly out of respect for his wishes. Though some contend that his wishes might have changed over time, I made the mistake of acting on those contentions while the dude was still fluttering up on the perch and getting bitch slapped for my good graces. I vowed to never let that happen again – an easy and painless vow to keep.

Without going into a great deal of detail, it’s him that needed to make his peace with the world – it wasn’t me who needed to make peace with him. I’m good with who I am mostly. Or rather, how I’m not good with how I’m walking on this planet, I feel quite fine about how I’m going about figuring that out and setting my feet right on the world. That was his fucked up journey, not mine. They just collided and it was an unfortunate collision from the start.

It’s the tense times, the unpleasantries, that I have a tendency to sit with and try to suck the marrow out of. There are lessons and learning in life that are not painful, even joyful dare I say, but when the lesson is so easy it’s hard to take pause and acknowledge that change and growth happened. When it’s accompanied by pain, that is when you really know you’re alive. It doesn’t make the joyful stuff less meaningful, important or real – it just makes it a little more invisible. When it leave a scar or mars us, there’s some proof it happened. Or so we think in these fallible, silly lives.

I have to say, ultimately it’s like those first oil-streaked pages of the Messiah handbook in Bach’s book, Illusions. If God asked you to sacrifice - your life even – would you do it? And the multitude says, “Glory to be sacrificed, crucified.. honor to be nailed to a cross, tortured and killed!” And then the Messiah says, “And if God asked you to go forth in this world and be happy?” And the crowd goes silent. And he simply says, “I quit” and walks away.

People will endure excruciating pain and discomfort in the name of their God, beliefs and religions – but far fewer will endure their own happiness – far fewer will boldly live in bliss and joy as a way to honor their Gods. I don’t know what that says about people. I don’t know what it says about their Gods. I’m not suggesting that unhappiness, conflict, tension, discontent are all failure. They’re just parts of the road – like being born and dying – they’re merely facts of the journey, places in the sidewalk that we must step. But come on, not every dot on the twister board is red – switch it up people – you have fucking choices and it’s up to you to use them. Poking the same spot in life marked “painful” doesn’t lead to transcendence – it merely dulls the sensation and eventually normalizes it. What good is that?

Anyways. I digress. So another old friend (this time I would say that old infers a longevity to our friendship) was in town from Houston, to attend the memorial, and I fetched her from the City on Friday. We roamed a crest trail with the dog and sat and talked into the evening – about nothing in particular. It was sweet to catch up – to hear – to listen (that one is a talker..heh!) She’s a social worker with chronically homeless folks in Houston and in her late forties has gone back to school into a master’s program for social work and political science. I’m proud of her – she’s beautifully full of conviction and determination and making a better world outside herself and this in turn makes a better world inside herself. She doesn’t make a lot of money (and probably never will) but she is happy. This is so important. She is happy.

We laughed and I quizzed, “is it that Lesbian’s identified that Social Work is a chronically under-paid profession and thus flock to it?” If you want to meet cool chicks, don’t look in the G.A. line, look in professions that pay well below living wages – they are eeking out meager, starving existences in questionable neighborhoods with rampant poverty, high crime rates and slum lords. (Of course that’s not true… well.. it’s sort of not true. You can meet them at softball games too. Okay. I’ll stop. I’m kidding. You know I’m kidding.)

If you’ve ever read Studs Turkel’s Coming of Age it’s not the people who made millions in high-powered business professions who at their end of days look back on a life well lived, content with their contributions and creations. But living in poverty doesn’t guarantee happiness either.

The old friend of which I initially wrote – he didn’t live in poverty, but he also served others, sometimes even selflessly – but he still was such a bitter, miserable, cruel, thankless and unhappy coot. Goes to show you. No guarantees. But then again, maybe he had his proverbial coming to Jesus (I don’t mean that literally.) Maybe he found peace there at the end. I hope so. I genuinely do.

For my own self, in tribute to his life, in tribute to his leaving, to memorialize his time on this earth, I would set to work on peeling a few layer of bitterness from my own life and commit to be kinder and more joyful. That seems like a nice karmic end to the story of our walk on this planet.

I should say, all of this happening now is not an accident. I did not contrive it, but certainly the fates are having a hand in these days.

Wiley is fetching another old friend from Oakland today, who is in town from Philadelphia/New York for a harm reduction conference – in this case old refers to longevity of acquaintance and friend is used loosely. I have a fondness for the woman, I’ve never approached her as a confidante or felt great affection between us however. I like her, I admire the work she has done in the community, she is kind and enthusiastic and has wonderful determination with endless optimism.

She is a natural leader, yet she’s unassuming and non-threatening. It’s fucked up, but strong women who are charismatic and convey strong opinions are eaten alive – every aspect of their personal and professional lives are scrutinized. While men are revered, women are often torn to shreds and fed to the dogs. Somehow she’s escaped this fate by maintaining a down-with-the-people, down-trodden and humble leadership style. Don’t be too outspoken, always play nice with a smile on your face. She’s not ineffective and she really hasn’t sold anything out – she’s adept at flying under the radar screen. I think she’s got something going – if you’re a woman and you’re a leader, it’s best to do that by not letting anyone else realize that you’re leading and not receiving any recognition or credit for what you’re accomplishing. There is something SO fucked up about that. I am so over that. And I’m looking forward to her visit this afternoon.

I leave for Baltimore (the City that Reads – you know, because it tops the nation’s chart in terms of illiteracy rates.. so the town adopts a grammatically ill-conceived ironic motto. Dude, cities don’t read, people do) later this week and by tomorrow have to book ticket for DC the end of the month. I’ll mostly be out of town from now until then, thus my dwindling hopes about the future of my NaNo-ing this month. But maybe the time in hotels will actually be good? Like I say, I won’t write it off (heh) until failure in truly inevitable and staring me down in the 11th hour.

Okay… it’s time to hot tub (verb) until my conference call starts (in 15 minutes, yes on a Sunday) and lasts (excuse me!?!?) for three and a half hours (are you serious!?!) until guests arrive.

I feel like I haven’t wrapped up these trains of thought.. let’s just let ‘em go though the junctions – lights flashing, bells ringing, full speed ahead, and see what happens…. I’m not afraid of a little train wreck on a Sunday afternoon…. Let’s raise a glass to derailment.

Rural Life

Yes, the meaning of life, the universe and everything came and went and I still haven’t divined the perfect party. But in the meantime I met a small cadre of friends for Mediterranean food (the restaurant was admittedly too loud, and I wouldn’t go back again for a soiree of that nature) and a terrifically valiant attempt at bowling (we were only able to bowl a single game before being casually kicked out of our lane in favor of a league of some sort.) It was fun while it lasted, even though it went by too quickly. My favorite people. Much laughter and happiness. I love my friends. They’re so fabulous each in their own right. Each mightn’t always appreciate the better qualities of the others – that’s not so much a prerequisite in my universe – but I, I see what’s marvelous in each of them and lucky for me, when gathered under a single roof, they remarkably get along just ducky for an evening now and again. Me. I’m blessed.

Beforehand, Ed and I took Secret Agent Dog to the beach for the day. He took the day off on Friday after a much heated argument on Thursday where he contended this wouldn’t be possible after all (after planning and agreeing to it several weeks earlier.) Oh, I think not. So we had a great time at the beach – Ms. Honey Bee ran to the point of exhaustion and slept like a rock. It’s great to see her genuinely tired, not just bored-tired. (With my feet in the state they’ve been this year there just hasn’t been even half the exhausted days that either of us require in order to be truly happy.)

I’d hoped to spend a day lazing in my garden, poking and pruning and the whatnot, but yesterday I felt a bit under the weather and largely just lounged like I rarely do. Sedentary isn’t my favorite position, but yesterday it suited me fine. I think I’m better for it today, but the garden isn’t.

One of the workmen, after a long hiatus, arrived today to continue efforts on the closet for the hot water heater. He’s off gathering supplies. One of Ed’s former co-workers from Petaluma (we went to a party at his house last weekend – much fun was had by all. Mountains of children and Secret Agent Dog with a ball. Singapore Slings. Need I say more?) arrived at the house this morning with his two year old daughter. The lot of them, with Secret, headed to the park so I’m alone in the house with the whir of the appliances – washing machine, dishwasher – hummmmm, buzzzzzzz.

The mother of my favorite twins on the planet rang this morning to announce the arrival of the latest addition to their fabulous family, Buster the brown-haired poodle puppy. She was seeking input on veterinarians and we did a bit of dog-mom chat – including the obligatory complaining about the farmer’s market ruining the lawns in the local town park.

We’re heading to the Peninsula in not too long, to have an early dinner at Ed’s mom’s house – hopefully George will have driven to the coast this morning and picked up shrimp and we’ll be having this amazing barbeque shrimp/scampi thing he does. I start to salivate just thinking about it. I hope, I hope, I hope.

Alright, so this entry ain’t so titillating. I’ll conjure some juicier bits later.

Accidents Will Happen

My neighbor gets a double mastectomy on the 23rd. She’s got such a great attitude about all this, it’s rock’n. I want to try to do something kind for her before then – or maybe after. I have to think about it. In other fronts, we’ve been having a great time getting to know the couple who bought the house across the street. We took them for dinner week before last and last night they returned the gesture. For some reason, when I’m near them, I start talking like a chatter box when normally I’m rather reserved. It’s strange. As far as I can tell they’re not turned off, so all is good. We’re thoroughly enjoying their company. She works at the college of art and he’s a web designer.

I’m drinking Private Stock Captain Morgan spiced rum right out of the bottle. It’s sooooo nummy with this scharfenberger chocolate I picked up the other day when I was in The City. Fortunately there wasn’t a lot left in the bottle otherwise I fear I’d be hammered by now. Instead, after the hot tub I just took, it just makes me feel a little toasty and jovial on this balmy Thursday evening. The sky is pink.

I accidentally hired a gardener today. Worse accidents have happened. I intended to have a guy come over and fix the irrigation. I’ve been watering with a cheap ass plastic sprinkler that gets stuck in a tilted position and stops doing its vacillation thing – making discrete areas of the lawn perfecting saturated and soggy and leaving the majority of the grass parched and browning. I paid top dollar for an irrigation system to be installed year before last and for whatever reason when I turn the damn things on the pressure shoots the sprinkler thingies high into the air, breaking them into bits on the way. It’s lethal. It’s beyond putting an eye out, those things could rip off a limb when they shoot. This makes watering the lawn perilous at best. So I intended to hire a guy to come flush the system and take a look at the irrigation and see if he could fix it. What I got instead, or rather, in addition to that, is the irrigation fixed and this other guy who stuck around for eight hours weeding, mowing, raking, sweeping. After eight hours and two hundred dollars later the place looked stunning. He had me write the check payable to the local liquor store.

My Two Cents

About once a week I go to the post office. I have several packs of thirty seven cent stamps. I suppose I could walk in there with a whopping fourteen pennies or however many I need and get all those stamps to make the rest of lot legal, but I enjoy going to the post office. It's only a few blocks from my house, it's a nice to see the post ladies, tether the Honey Bee and watch her nervously through the window, maybe run into the random neighbor out doing their errands. But more than all that, there's something very satisfying about giving my two cents, quite literally, and getting that stamp. It's one of those rare times where my two cents are genuinely wanted - they're considered so valuable that I even get something in return!

There is precisely one perfectly clean room in the house - actually, between both cottages - just one. It's the mudroom. I cleaned it today. It was tremendously satisfying. Occasionally I go stand in it and pretend the rest of the house is equally shiny, dusted, windexed and smelling antiseptic - ammonia and laundry soap. Instead, I know in my heart of hearts that beneath the dishwasher lurks more rat poop. Rat poop I haven't been able to get at yet and sop up (SHIVER.) This preys on my neurosis like you can't imagine.

Today was a magnificent day because today LB and I went to Bon Tempe after she finished work and walked the Shady Side Trail with Secret Agent Dog and her best bud. It's been over two weeks and I'm not sure who enjoyed it more - me or her. I'll say me. She'll say her - or rather, she would say her if she could say her but she can't so she won't. Instead she says something like arf (but it comes out sounding squeaky.)

None of the workmen showed up today. What's up with that? They have been fastidious and fabulous and prompt and reliable. Today - not a word. Maybe they had premonitions about the rat poop and stayed away. I love them. I miss them.

I don't think I've taken the opportunity to say WAY TO GO, ITALY!!! That was a stellar World Cup match and no one, clearly, is more deserving. Shame on that brutish thug, Zindane.

More Later

I’ve been busy. No. That’s not it. Too many plans, people, things. I need my time alone – but not too much. I’m looking for that good in-between. I’m feeling crowded. I get pretty agro when I feel crowded. I like the time I spend weeding the garden, pruning, working the soil. Get down in the dirt with me. There’s plenty of room down here in the dirt.

So today I’ve extracted a quiet day (so far) off the loom of them. Somehow the alarm failed to go off at 7 am, so I rolled off the bed at 7:11, not as pleasantly as I’d have preferred. Pulled on my sweat pants and FBI glow-in-the-dark T-shirt (at the aiport Kiosk store in Washington Dulles, United terminal, near gate C17), brushed my teeth, rolled up my yoga sticky matt and out the door to meet Kaye, the neighbor lady. We do yoga together on Saturday mornings. Actually, it’s her routine, I just encroached myself into it. She’s been welcoming. We ladies stretch together.

After an hour or so of contorting, pushing, pulling my body every which way till Tuesday, I stopped at the coffee roaster enroute home for a nice cup of organic Mexican Jose (aka Joe.) After I’m all slippery and loosed up, the caffeine goes down smoother, surer. While I waited for Ed to more fully awake, I continued fertilizing the lawn – there still more to go, but enough for the morning.

And then we hopped on the mountain bikes and road the ten miles to Larkspur. Ed went out drinking (bad man – I hate it when he drinks, he promised he’d stop, dog house and all that rot) and took a taxi home from The City – leaving the truck at the ferry building. However annoying that is, it’s better than irresponsibly driving drunk I suppose. And admittedly, it was a beautiful morning for a ride – a light breeze, still early enough to escape the heat of the day. We had to stop at the Pet Food Cottage to pick up the Honey Bee’s chow before turning back home.

Swooping into the cottage, we off loaded the dog food and bike, did a quick change of clothes, scooped up Ms. Secret Agent Cookie and road the bikes up to LB’s house to watch the US v. Italy World Cup match. And what a stellar showing by the US. (LB says, “we must believe.” I say, “believe what, that Italy is going to kick their ass?” She says, “no, that they’ll win.” “Hmmmm… The World Cup, or just this match?” I ask. “Let’s just start with the match,” she says.) But really, coming up with a draw when the US is two men down is about the same as Italy losing, really. They should feel shame.

We’d intended to go to the beach today, but we’re bagging on the idea. It’s 2:30 in the afternoon, there’s more gardening to do and yet I feel like I’ve done enough today.

As much as I do, I don’t want sustainability and environmental issues to be the it girl of this era. I’ve been thinking about this quite abit. I’m in a hot spot, again, of a movement. But this time I’m dabbling around on the fringe and not wanting to jump in. Or I do, but not holding hands with a crowd. If I wrote about that, that would be an entry.

Of course, I think Hedgehoggy would want to hear about what’s on my feet to make it real. Right now, there is Rhythm and Blues polish on my toes – just an exciting electric blue making them glow like crazy. And then there are the rather mundane white cotton socks. My shorts are army green and my tank top is mottled black with bleach streaks from when it went in the wrong load. The royal we (that’s me and Ed) are reading the Horse and his Boy or the Boy and his Horse (whatever-the-hell-it’s-called) – the third in the Narnia series (the first being my favorite thus far.) There’s a box of stewed tomatoes in the middle of the living room floor – for the life of me I don’t know why.

Oh yeah, we went to a monster yard sale in between things this morning. I found nothing to buy, yet like a seedy back-alley character the neighbor man showed me his etchings lamps and gave us three, for free. They’re sweet and lovely. I think many of the neighbor’s raise their brow in pity and wonder at our lack of furniture. I took the lamps but they’re table lamps and we have no tables.

The other day it rained, a few scattered sprinkles, during a walk on the mountain. This is nearly unheard of in this part of the world, in June. It made me happy. I loved, loved, loved it. I loved it as much as Fondue and riding my bike along the canal on a breezy Saturday morning. Things that make me happy: In addition to those things… wood ducks, wild native grasses, the twins.

More later.

My Normal

Well, the good thing about Ed being home/around is that he can pick up extra dog-walking duties. Don’t get me wrong – my favorite thing to do each day is to walk the dog. I totally love that – not only do I like the hike for me, I also get to see her in her most joyful moments. It totally rocks. But I had to go into the City yesterday to be fitted for and pick up my orthotics (yahoooo!!!!)

That endeavor involved a ten mile bike ride to the ferry – a half hour on the ferry each way, forty-five minutes in bus rides in the City (both ways) and then the ten+ mile bike ride back home. I left the house at eleven and returned home at five, but/and that involved having to wait an hour in the City for a ferry back (poor me, so I just had to stop by the Scharffen Berger chocolatier at the ferry building.)

I actually arrived back at the Larkspur landing at 3:30-ish – but took my sweet time coming home. Honestly it’s usually just a thirty minute bike ride – ten miles doesn’t take so long and it’s mostly on a bike path, aside the creeks and canals that run to the Bay. It was so lovely outside, however, that I decided to come up the back side of the mountain on the way home. Wow. I haven’t done that in awhile. Wiggly. I can’t believe I made it, with a backpack of shoes, a change of clothes and er… all that chocolate even!

The best part of huffing and puffing up the mountain is that from the peak all the way to my house it’s downhill. I descended into the soccer field where all the trail heads converge, and there in the middle were all the ladies with their dogs. I stopped and chatted while the dogs ran crazy around the field and everyone asked after the Honey Bee.

Ed was still gone with the Secret Agent Monster as I rolled up to the house, tossed the bike in the back, stripped and plunged into the hot tub, still covered with mud even. I tried to hose some of it off, but it stuck. Indeed, there was still mud stuck to my legs when we were out at the fondue restaurant, celebrating the several job offers Ed’s received and discussing the pick of the litter. Have I mentioned how much I love that fondue restaurant? It’s the bomb. It’s also a franchise, so it’s possible you could check it out (The Melting Pot), albeit a bit pricey. All hail fondue!

What a far cry from where we’ve been. When Ed and I first started seeing one another, he was an under-educated and under-employed boy of twenty-something - constantly broke and unemployed. He worked odd construction and labor jobs –boat building, maintenance repairs, work in the shipyards, as a painter, etc. etc. There’s been many years between now and then, we’ve gone from those days of $15/hour service and construction jobs to debating over fondue which six figure salaried position has the best benefits and equity packages. I’ll take these days over the past any time.

We’re happier too now – even through my complaining. Even though some days I do feel so totally done with us. I wonder if that’s normal. If there’s just some days everyone, no matter how committed, just feels done – doesn’t want another day of the same face, body, problems, etc.? I don’t know what’s normal. This is normal for me. What is, from day-to-day, that’s my normal. And right now, it’s okay. Right now, it’s good.

It's Me

There are hippies who live next door who have impromptu drumming circles on the weekends. (I wouldn’t call them hippies, but they call themselves hippies.) They’ve offered an open invitation to their events, and while I don’t mean to be unneighborly, it’s doubtful I’ll ever take them up on the invitation. The invitation is kind and genuine, I believe. They have been gracious neighbors. The dog barks at them while they do Tai Chi in the yard (I surmise that the slow movements resemble aggression to her, she moves slow like that when she hunts. I think she’s trying to tell them, I know you’re there! I’ll kick your ass.) You see, it’s all how you look at things. Most people who practice Tai Chi likely wouldn’t view it as an act of aggression, despite the fact that it’s a marshal art – but the dog knows. It’s how I feel about them – you’re nice, but there’s something not right.

Despite the fact that I know, at least casually, many people in this town, sometimes I feel lonely. I don’t completely understand this. I’m happy here. I love this town. I felt even lonelier when I lived in the City… nothing worse then feeling lonely when you’re surrounded by millions of people (including those you count as friends) – it just proves that it’s not about access to people, it’s about something inside – some inadequacy, inability to make the connection. And it’s not even about not spending time with people. It’s about the quality of the connection. (It’s not you, it’s me.)

Proverbs and Tales

Looking. Finding words, from way down here, deep in the belly of the soul. Spitting up once in carbon, graphite, now ones and zeros, flickering light and darkness. Thanking angels for language, which is never enough.

Suspended above an ocean, sometimes dozing, sometimes reading, an ocean of what? A seascape of dancing spinner dolphins and murky depths where old creatures live or none at all. A landscape spangled with humanity ruining rivers and trees where they congregate. Perhaps their fear of being alone is that much greater than their fear of killing things. Living in that deep, cold isolation, feeding on the refuse and remains of the creatures of the light sounds all at once so distasteful and essential. I travel toward the sun, toward the most remote place on earth, above it all, sometimes dozing, sometimes reading, mindless mostly.

I touch down.

I think we draw pictures with our lives. I think it’s important to remember that we all deceive ourselves into believing we’re benevolent creatures. We do bad things and we tell ourselves we’re justified, no one notices, how somehow it’s okay, somehow this doesn’t make us unkind or how it’s not a contradiction, or that it’s human nature, or that it’s our nature. All too often we veil our cruelty in love or wisdom. I can’t help but believe this is wrong. I can’t help but feel we’d provide at least palliative relief from most of our ills by proceeding on the notion that we need to apologize, that every moment we’ve got something to atone for and something to forgive. If everyone lived his or her life in the axle of humility we’d be that much better off. Sure, it’s not the answer, but it’s an answer – or at least a jumping off point.

What I’m thinking is that we need to deconstruct our successes and failures. We’ve been given this reflective capacity and we need to use it. Resting on laurels is a hollow retreat from living. Becoming moribund at that thought of our shortcomings is an equally empty venture. I guess especially in the context of our society, being recognized for an achievement is suspect when the social mores and values are so ailing and dubious. If we could simply reinvent this stuff and take some responsibility for cultivating community as opposed to social enclaves maybe we could really celebrate achievement in a new context. It seems to me, in order to do this all right, all roads lead to anarchy.

I only recently heard someone explain the difference between community and social enclaves. Sister Somebody, a nun who is an ethicist, I don’t remember her name off the top, explained that mostly we live in social enclaves, groupings of people who come together because they share a common interest. So I interpret this to mean people at the bar who hang out together, folks who meet in the context of a sporting event, sewing circles, etc. Community, on the other hand, is people who share common values, morals, ethics, etc. The distinction seems very important to me and one that has been all but wiped away from our common understanding and dialogs about community.

What this tells me is that in order to take any responsibility for cultivating or participating in community, first we have to define and articulate our beliefs, values, morals, ethics, etc. I think back on my education and I just don’t recall any framework for doing this. Even organized religion, which is maybe the closest thing that exists for organized schooling in this regard, outside of ethics majors, etc., merely dictates and strives to instill belief systems rather than teaching us the logic for defining our own paths. What really do we have other than a handful of proverbs and tales?