Hello? It's Me

Hello. There has been a long string of unfortunate events, for me, for friends, for acquaintances, for distant relations, and total strangers. I feel them keenly. My thoughts and heart are preoccupied with our collective trauma, with world events, and the long lasting effects of all of the stuff we have faced, endured, witness, suppressed... it's been too much. I worry about us, you, and me, and the total strangers. I am concerned about the pandemic of depression, the ache of pushing through one crisis after another, and so little relief. It's never felt like this before, not on this scale, not in my experience. I have had practical strangers pour their hearts out to me, desperate for relief, caring, sympathy, healing? Even that televised slap (if you don't know, just be glad) felt like a metric of distress, of mental collapse and broken communication. So much hurt, exhaustion, strain, and our reactions can be be misplaced, displaced, to retreat, or surrender. I have retreated, for better or worse. It was partly a pity party, I'll admit. And maybe that's just as well. Maybe it's better to sit with my thoughts and feelings, rather than blurt it all, or come out fighting. Anyway, I was enjoying blogging regularly, feeling like, if nothing else, at least I had a tidy and up to date blog. I recognize that writing helps me sort the tangles and details of living, even distills the hard bits, so I can see clearly all of the good, the beauty, the successes. When too much sad and stressful, disappointing things overwhelmed me, I couldn't take thinking about it, let alone trying to put it into print.

Someone reached out to me, offered a virtual hug, and a reason to smile. And it made a tremendous difference. Little is solved, as far as the things that I have been grappling with, or concerned about, for my friends, for those strangers, but I went through about two weeks of snapshots on my phone, and happily, there is plenty of evidence that I have seen beauty, and good, and successes, and I want to put a pin in it... hold it down, and come back here to remind myself, to appreciate the progress, the smiles, the sweet. Sweet, like our kitties, napping together, and the view from that bathroom window. The window, on that day was a source of intrigue as heavy machinery has been grading the, now, empty lot, and they took a way a ginormous palm tree. I am sorry for the birds, but the process was riveting. Amelia, thank you for befriending me.

Bambi and Alex, taking steps toward matrimony. They are firm about keeping things small, intimate, and I respect that... but I can't help taking pictures! I love what I see... two dear people who have the gift of bringing out the best in each other.

Even when I get too blue to blog, I can't give up Instagram. I love taking pictures, and the convience of having them all in order, with notes and details, is irresistible. I have been trying to keep up with some of William's projects, recording and sharing them, including the paper moon, the cart... more, lots more. William has been a gentle hand on my shoulder, equally nudging me forward, and supporting me. He helps me get a lot of things accomplished.

Maria, and Max, too... diligent and hardworking, making so many strides in their pursuits. Maria attended the FIRST Robotics Competition in San Diego, and enjoyed both robots, and seeing the team recognized for some personally gratifying achievements, plus we saw many dear friends. I will post about these moments, soon. Max is pushing through the long crunch season, like Geoff. The company's annual drive to complete a new game is more intense than ever, and it's not an easy introduction to "9 to 5." When Max clocks out, he is more than ready to game, read, write, walk, and converse with his siblings. He's ready for the break that is coming soon. We all are!

We are popping out... I still wear a mask. I figure, as long as Maria has 'exposure to COVID' notices from school, and has to test, I will wear a mask in public. Other than worries about getting sick, the outings are helpful, even if still a bit strange, tiring. It was always a concern of mine that any time spent isolating, in lockdown, would be too convenient for me, too easy, because of the car crash PTSD, all I ever wanted was an excuse to stay home, away from crowds, noise, busy corners, and taxing stimulus. Now I find it harder than ever to be in a car, or crowd, to navigate things and activities all around me. And about the crowds... our town is a favorite of tourists, but has always quieted down in the fall, until summer holidays, but not since COVID. I guess people are seeking out the beaches, restaurants, trails, and sights, more than ever, and we have been quite astonished at the year-round hustle and bustle, even at the local market, the places where things used to be winter-mellow. A week-day hot chocolate, a stroll around garden centers, the corner table at the taco place we all love, these are nice. And maybe, soon, we can bring back our Picnic Days. I do miss those.

Small wheels that pivot... the cart is looking better and better. I am glad Geoff enjoys his projects, and helping with other people's projects, and I am glad he can still work from home, so he can step away from the desk, stretch, and clear his head for a moment with other things besides, graphs, and code, and new platforms.

Bambi, Alex, Tori, Armand, Max, Maria, Lucas. I like this last picture when they obliged me a group photo, and some of them have the "how many pictures is she going to take?" expressions.

Every Saturday... Dungeons & Dragons. Dungeons & Dragons & Friends & Laughter & plans, engagement, support. This time Tori had some special treats to celebrate the groom, and the bride, and friends, and dragons. Tori's cupcakes were both delicious and beautiful.

Maria is sticking with her love of school, with following her curiousity and love of learning. No signs of "senioritus," thus far. She was so glad, thankful to get a chance at the screen-printing, to go to the Regional event for robotics, to read The Poisonwood Bible, and now The Grapes of Wrath. Math is going well, so is English, and government and economics. She is thinking of going to prom, maybe even grad-night. I am pretty sure all of these things are going to be upon us in, seemingly, no time, and then it will be graduation time. Twelve years ago, Maria showed an interest in embroidery. I set her up with a hoop, needle and floss, and she caught on readily enough. But it didn't hold her interest for much longer than it took to stitch that one flower. My own experience with sewing was similar. I dabbled as a girl, but never got proficient, never stuck with it. But the skills sort of stuck with me. I have found that all of the lessons and passing interest in things have come back in later years, and have helped launch renewed interest, and the patience to improve and enjoy... crochet, embroidery, quilting, handsewing and mending, even making clothes. I am glad she tried embroidery, and I was even more glad that I didn't press her or force it. On her own, in the Fashion Design class, she's picked it up, again, and I love what she's making!

I've seen a meme, or quote, something, going around Instagram... an audio clip plays, of someone telling us that we don't have to perfect our hobbies, that there's no rule that says we must become experts to enjoy our pastimes. It's brilliant, I think. I have wasted too much time concerned about how good I can be at something before I am worthy of it, before I can say I enjoy it, or can share it, or claim any ability, or attachment. I used to hold too much favor for the idea of natural talent, and I would give up or feel embarrassed for things I wasn't good at. For certain, I am ready to celebrate anyone else's amateur status, their effort and enthusiasm matters more than the results, for me. Now, I am increasingly eager to give myself the same grace. I play ukulele. I play infrequently, and badly, but when I play, it makes me happy. I bake, occasionally and I have made some delicious cakes, and some really ugly ones, but I like doing it. I have ridden my bicycle 4,540 miles... not in a jersey, or with special shoes, never in a race, or on a course, but happily, and surprisingly regularly. I like to think that if we all just dabble, and play, try new things, whether we are fair-to-middling, or even kind of awful, but happy, amused, engaged, and if we encourage each other in play, expression, in exploring... it might help, it might bring some of the relief, caring, healing, that so many of us are seeking.

Bird House Notes: Days are hard, harder, and harder, and even as I consider this truth, I am chagrined... because, you know: War, famine, violence, poverty, heartache, all the things people are enduring, and suffering, so that I feel positively ridiculous thinking I have hardships. But I do, and so does just about everyone I hear from, talk to, observe. And at some level, I am feeling their anguish, too. Even our cats'! Out of, seemingly, nowhere, they are in a three way turf war, psychologically in an utterly confounding conflict. Sakamoto is terrified and hides. Cairo is confused, cowering, and tormented by Feynman, who stands guard near Sakamoto, and will growl and attack Cairo. Uhhh... sigh. Was I going to delve into cat drama? What I want to do is to express my compassion, my deep concern for everyone that is struggling, and my awe and respect for everyone that is doing the essentials, attending to anything, small or great. Did you move your laundry around, order a pizza, mail a letter, sit with a friend? Applause! I feel like I could redefine "disfunctional." I am operating in a paradoxically high functioning realm of disfunction. Somehow, I move forward, even as I feel I have reached what surely must be bottom, or the end of a rope. Not my rope. Some rope. My rope snapped a long way back. I was aiming for encouraging... I am thinking of you, and you, and hoping that you are finding respites, support, motivation, a good plumber, or whatever helps. March 30, 2022

Where Did The Time Go

This may be the peak of my daffodil season! I have been so happy about these, about finally finally planting bulbs, even when I was embarrassed that I let them get a bit oogy, and I thought they were destined to rot in the ground. Even when I was second guessing my meauring skills, whether I buried them too deeply, or too close together, whether squirrels would dig them up, or a blizzard would destroy them, even though we have never ever even had an inch of snow. Next year! I love to think of next year, or this Fall, actually, when I plan to plant twice as many. I want to fill this whole section with daffodils, and I want other varities, like the pale ones with orange cups, and the ones that are fragrant. Oh, just lots and lots. And more grape hyacinth, and what are those other classics... Crocuses! I hope I remember that this is worth the wait, worth the planning and small effort, and likely there is a bigger lesson in this, something about the value of acting on hope, applying effort and labor to intention. So, for the record, the Gardening Journal (that doesn't really exist, yet) I planted the bulbs on December 28, 2021. And that's when I should plant more, again, this year. I'll mark it on the calendar. Oh! What if we aren't in a pandemic, and people are hanging out, and all sorts of wonderful progressive things are happening, like peace and healthcare, and civil rights, and then I could have a birthday party and invite absolutely everyone, and we would fill the bed with bulbs, and I would send friends home with bulbs, and we'd eat tacos and roller skate in the driveway.

It's funny, I can't take my plans, even my fantasy plans, out of the driveway. Everything good, in the last two years has been in the driveway. I'm kidding, but not. I used to ignore the driveway. I used to think it was only a too large space that we were stuck with, practical, but oversized for its purpose, and wasteful. But since lockdowns and COVID and all of that, I adore our driveway, our wide, open, spacious and generous driveway! Our movie nights, and campfires, and stargazing, the picnics, and craft camps, even future events, have all revolved around the asphalt pad in front of our home. I may have a plaque made to commemorate the love and company we enjoyed here, the days and nights when this was a safe, welcome space for our loved ones to gather, and we endured, and we comforted one another. I even miss the nights when we fumbled through how to manage social distancing... to play games, or share food, or celebrate special occasions. Those gatherings are fewer and further between. Maybe, possibly, we can see real hope, a real chance to come out of The Stay At Home Season?

Paul and Janece reached out for a campfire gathering this week. And I was happy to move the chairs around, make some hot chocolate. We sipped chocolate and shared news, laughed, just our usual easy friendship pleasures. Our young ones are in their last semester of high school. And I can't believe how right I was when I declared that these years would fly by, and I would ask "Where did the time go?" Oh, my gosh, where did the time go?

In the midst of conversing, my attention was diverted, and I found myself admiring my pretty friend. I wanted to tell her, to interrupt the conversation and say how pretty Janece is. Instead I raised my phone to take a picture. She turned to face me. Later, I wrote about what I was thinking, to save the moment. I am glad I did. After the sun had set and we sat in flickering light and shadows, they shared news with us. Our friends are moving away, heading out for a new experience, for a chance to make life easier. Naturally, I have the best hopes and wishes for them, but not before I object, and protest, and wish that there was some other way. Ten years, I thought is a long time, but ten years is a flash, a snap in time, when it's spent with friends that you click with, with friends that in short time become more like family than people you met through blogging. Their calling is born of necessity, but they are embracing it, taking the adventure, and I hope to be a best kind of friend... one that supports them, and helps them move forward, and one that will always hold space for them, to stay connected, to share whatever new attachments we can make. Well, those are my noblest intentions, and aspirations, but I will always think this is one of the cruelest results of pandemic, of politics and economy and billionaire greed. I am disillusioned... no yachts, nor rockets, no tax evading corportate avarice, however shiny or glamorous will ever compare with families in safe homes, and children in good schools, with affordable healthcare for all people, and working a job should mean that you can thrive, not barely survive.

Sigh

I meant for this to be all about flowers and found nests in the nasturtium, my pretty friend, and looking forward to plans, to spring and summer and fall, again. I want to be looking forward, but just now, all I can think is where did the time go?

Bird House Notes: Yesterday I made flour tortillas. And. Well. Flour tortillas are a taste of heaven, and we were delighting in them all day long. Good for lunch. Good for an after school snack. Good for dessert. And it may seem like an overstatement, a bit much for something as basic as a tortilla, but then again... if you have had one, soft, warm, a bit dusty from flour, straight from the comal, then you know, and you may be nodding your head, and thinking of comforting moments in your life, when the world felt good. I am so thankful to be imbued with food as an emotion, as sentiment and affection, as a narrative of my ancestors, healing, love, survival, connection, and to have the impulse to share it all. March 11, 2022

How many years has it been since we, in California, voted to get rid of Daylight Savings? The measure passed. The people have spoken. I cannot fathom that we are *this* intelligent and creative and miraculous, but we go to war, and withhold healthcare, and change the hour on our clocks twice a year. March 13, 2022

Make Joy

The healthroom is almost almost complete. So close! For me, the hardest part was making paint and tile choices, but now comes the second hardest (slowest) part and that's putting everything back togethter! All of the things that were in the bathroom were packed, and shuttled and crammed into our bedroom, mostly, and then I spent weeks and weeks pretending that none of it was a problem... not messy, dusty, stressful, cluttered, trip-hazardy, nada. Now I am in restoration mode, and I am slow, but at least I am being intentional... I am deep cleaning, purging, trying to be mindful about what stays and what goes, and so, I hope that when I get things in order, and looking good, they will be genuinely good, organized, only the "brings me joy" things will remain. I want to confess that "I am embarrassed about my pace, about the extent of the dust and stuff," but life has been one thing after another, and suddenly, I am older, injured/pained, slower, a bit pandemic stunted, and the kindest thing I could do is say, "Ok. But I am still trying."

Say hello to Reginald. Reginald, Fairie Saint of Self-Regard. I am certain that this dapper llama would have only kind and patient things to say about how I ought address myself, what phrases and expressions I utter when contemplating my existence, worth, and self-view. Oh, and say hello to my chamomile! Didn't I say I want to grow chamomile, to have enough to cut and bring inside? Haven't I dreamt of the day, and sighed aloud, to have a garden, and flowers, and a home of our own? How ever do I manage to get down and muddled in my thinking, when there are flowers growing outside my kitchen window, and a blue arched niche, where I can set a pitcher of soothing blossoms? There is dust here, and stashes of things I need to manage, and chipped plates, and clothes that need mending, and sometimes, really quite often, I find something more compelling to do than sort my books by color. I am so fortunate.

I am very happy to share that one of William's many projects is complete! The two sinks in our primary bathroom were taken out, and could have gone to a landfill, but I had this hare-brained idea about them being nest boxes, and William took me at my word! You guys, look what he did!

The pitched roof, and paint! We kept the hardware in. I was his assistant when he was squaring it all up for the roof. He added the fence boards, so they would have privacy from the goats, a little more coziness. I love the green paint, which is the same paint he's using to finish the cart. Naturally, the goats were the most interested in the new furniture, especially Grace. The chickens lay most of their eggs in the goats's hay manger, so it's only fair that the goats might eat from the hen's nest boxes.

I planted an egg in the nest, to give the hens the idea. Then I planted a hen on the nest boxes to give them even more hints, but Willow did not catch on. It will take time. If they never take to it, I might plant herbs in the sinks, or employ the whole thing in a roadside stand where I sell art and eggs, lemons, passionfruit, chamomile, and tacos.

The days go on. No one needs me to mention war, to link to climate change perils, or count the dead from COVID. It has been one thing after another, and then some. We need a vacation. I bet you need a vacation! It's been too much, and how many times have I said that since... 2016? Complaining, even listing the hardships, is a strange thing. Some people do it so readily, and even seem to elicit support, empathy, a good-humored laugh in solidarity. I keep biting my tongue, surpressing, downplaying, hoping I will be cured by optimism, relieved by denial. And the days go on. I would have lost the bet on things getting better. Thank goodness I come across words and expressions that help me live with all of this... this harrowing stuff of war and hate, of racsim, disease, distrust, and too, the indescribable beauty of an egg, and painted walls, cut flowers, of friends sitting around a campfire, in relative peace.

"I am washing my face before bed

while a country is on fire.

It feels dumb to wash my face

and dumb not to.

It has never been this way

and it has always been this way.

Someone has always clinked a

cocktail glass in one hemisphere as

someone loses a home in another,

while someone falls in love in the

same apartment building where

someone grieves. The fact that

suffering, mundanity and beauty

coincide is unbearable and

and remarkable.

~Mari Andrew

An egg! In the nest box! Remarkable. What good and clever hens. This one someone did all on her own.

Wherever you are, whether safe and content, or struggling, or both, I hope you find an egg in a nest, or that you can paint a wall, eat a delicious orange, hold a baby, put on clean socks. I hope that you find a YouTube channel that makes you laugh until your sides ache, or that you share a phone call with a friend, and it makes the day feel lighter, more promising. Good things are better shared.

The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil is interesting. This is the treason of the artist; a refusal to admit the banality of evil and terrible boredom of pain." ~Ursula K. Le Guin

Take joy... look for it, and exclaim, and share it, make more of it, make more of it than seems necessary, because joy is essential. I should paint these words on every wall, or at least keep them close at hand, and ready to slay the foes of art and happiness.

Bird House Notes: I have been sitting here for ten minutes trying to think of something to chirp about. I'd like it to be something current, but not devastating, not like the news headlines, and I'd like to be personal, so I am not divulging other people's big announcements, new life chapters. I would like to not whine, or grieve, or shudder. I made a tasty sandwich, with a deep stack of lettuce leaves, a hint of mustard. We are out of sprouts. If someone asked, though, "How are you?" I would sputter, with simulated confidence, like Han Solo, "Everything's under control, situation normal. We're fine. We're all fine here, now, thank you. How are you?" March 7, 2022