A “vacation” from our “vacation”
June 8, 2013
Tomorrow we leave the foothills for the ocean. We will drive up I-99 and I-5 through what remains of the hot, dusty central valley (we’re already near the northern end of it) toward Mt. Shasta where we will camp for one night. We have taken this trip before, but I wasn’t awake then. Now I am. My eyes and my camera are ready to take it all in. Other than the hot, dusty part, I am looking forward to seeing the middle of the state again, especially Mt. Shasta.
Mt. Shasta
After our first night away we will travel up to Brookings, Oregon to take care of some details. When we left here last year there were a few strings attached. We’ve got boats to attend to and a storage shed with who knows what left in it. Unfinished business. Problems we walked away from. Like we moved out of a house and forgot to sweep the floor. Now we’re ready to complete the task.
This will be a good trip one way or another. Unfortunately there will be little time to visit with friends or laze around on the beach with the dogs. This is only the first part of the last part of our moving process. I’m sure we will be back a few more times this summer. I hope to come back here to the campground in a week loaded down with new memories but less stuff. If nothing else, this is what a midlife transition is all about—gathering new, fresh memories and letting go of old, heavy stuff. Let the final purge begin!
The break I forgot to mention
Happy Chaos
One of the main motivations for me to come back to California, other than having an actual job, was that I would get to see my two daughters, Jennifer and Rebecca, and would be able to attend Jennifer’s graduation ceremony in the middle of May. She has just finished her Master’s program in psychology, following a similar path as the one I recently completed. Our interests merged and converged many times over the years until it’s hard to know who influenced whom. She is an artist and a musician and a dedicated yogi and she inspires me regularly. Needless to say, I am extremely proud of her. She will be a good therapist, and the world will always need good therapists.
Jennifer’s moment
I would’ve come to the graduation regardless, but living just three hours away made it that much easier. So, I packed up my Nissan, programmed my GPS and dove into “the city” again. Rebecca and I shared a hotel room near the Oakland Coliseum, and although the room turned out to have a serious mold problem, Rebecca and I got a chance to spend a lot of quality time together. We even talked to each other in our sleep. (This is a family joke since we all talk in our sleep, though none of it ever makes sense.) We shared meals and remembered all the times we came to San Francisco when she was young. I discovered that she hates Star Trek because that was the main thing we watched when she was growing up. That is so unfortunate. I wish I could change it, but, well, the past is the past. And now I know.
One perfect San Francisco day
For the whole weekend, Jennifer’s partner, Brenda, did all the driving around San Francisco and Oakland. We all thanked her profusely, knowing what an important job that was. It took most of the pressure off the trip for me. There is nothing like being chauffeured around a gorgeous city on a gorgeous day. The weather was unbelievably perfect, nothing like the fog shrouded San Francisco I remember enduring when I lived nearby. Everything seemed to glisten, and you could actually see a clear blue sky. Jackets were not even necessary. In San Francisco. This is amazing. The gods must have been smiling down on this little group of graduates and their loved ones. Not even a gust of wind broke the mood that day.
It was quite a woman party for those three days. Two of Jennifer’s aunts from SC, who remember things I don’t from way back when Jennifer was a wee little one, were there, with their lovely southern accents and easy ways of navigating life’s challenges. They convinced me that I was, and still am, their sister. I felt loved and appreciated. We were able to reconnect at a deep level through our memories and pride and tears. This seemed appropriate at this time in our lives. We’re older now, quite a bit older, and we understand what was going on back then, much better than we did back then. We told lots of “remember when” stories, caught up on who’s doing what, and pondered how we got here from there. It reminded me of the subtitle of this blog: Just Another Midlife Transition. I think that short visit to the past may have opened the door to the next chapter of this story, how I got here, and where I’m going…but more on that later.
Jennifer, Brenda, Lyn and Kathleen
During the “art show,” which turned out to be quite an extravaganza of creative young people doing all their creative things in ways that only they could imagine, I was reinvigorated to get my art supplies out, find a space to dance freely, sing as if no one was listening, and continue writing just because it feels good. My soul stirred. It was inspiring to say the least. I met several of Jennifer’s classmates and instructors and felt like I was reliving my own experiences of just a few years ago—lots of artsy types, floating around, making clever comments, and always with a twinkle in their eyes. I knew I was in the midst of the next generation of spiritual healers and felt blessed that my daughter is a part of this amazing group of people.
You had to be there…
I could say so much more about this. I love both of my daughters more every day. I am so happy to know that they each have gentle spirits and caring hearts. And though I will never stop being their mother, I feel like I have done my job well. Seeing yourself reflected in the eyes of your children is a priceless gift. Seeing them happy is the ribbon on the package. I look forward to spending more quality time with them this summer. I won’t let myself think about leaving because I know I will be back, again and again, as long as they are California girls. It’s like I planted two trees here and they have taken root and are thriving in this vibrant place. So now my job is simply to come stand in their shade and admire their beauty whenever I can.
Some stories need pictures
kokopelli, the trickster, must have followed me all the way from New Mexico
Next day: Success! Thank the heavens for Starbuck’s. I’ll deal with the hard chairs and loud music and drama queens. It feels great to be online again, even if it is just for an hour or two. Till next week….
Off the Grid, more or less
Everything in life has its ups and downs. This campground is beautiful with lots of trees and water and wild animals and quiet moments. What it lacks is access to the internet or cell service, or anything like a modern town within 50 miles. There is one RV section on the top of the hill where everyone is supposed to go to use their cell phones. The lodge has internet service, but it is v-e-r-y slow. I mean, r-e-a-l-l-y slow, like my grandmother’s ten year old molasses. Hardly worth dragging all your gear up there. I knew I would be driving to one of those “modern” towns once in a while to do my online business, but I still had to keep reminding myself that I couldn’t just “google it” when I had a question or wanted to know how far something was from me. What a transition. Try it. Turn off your cell phone and your internet, and even your tv for one week. Tell me you don’t feel tortured.
After the first week here, I realized that I would be “off the grid,” for most of the summer. That has implications for revitalizing this blog. There will be no spontaneous posts when the inspiration arises. I must ponder and prepare and plan to spend time transferring what is old news to me out into the ether to be shared with my loved ones. I will take plenty of photos, I’m sure, but I will need to post them in a marathon session whenever I go to the Starbuck’s in Marysville, which is just 50 miles away. It’s OK though. I needed a challenge. My life hasn’t been challenging enough for the last few years. This will be fun.
And, by the way, it is much closer to simplicity that you could ever imagine.
Oh. Here. Again?
another barn with a story
Sacramento was the last big city I saw before heading north and slightly east toward the Sierra Nevada foothills. From that point on it was mile after mile of fields and hills dotted with cows and trees and farm equipment. Mile after mile. This is America. Fields and cows. The rest of the scenery didn’t elude me though. I saw how beautiful it was. I remembered walking in the hills of Windsor and Spring Lake near Santa Rosa. I noticed the oak trees and the huge rocks poking up through the brown hills and what looked like an invasion of lichen and green moss all over everything vertical.
Gradually, I went up the hills, pedal to the floor, leg determined to make it to the top. I soon realized that the “foothills” were higher up than I thought. Each road seemed like it would never end. Then it did, and when I turned onto the next road, it went on forever, round and round and up and down and up again, soft brown hills and fields disappearing into the distance below. I kept looking at my GPS to make sure I hadn’t passed the campground fifty miles back. Finally I saw a small sign that told me I was still on the right track, fortunately, or unfortunately.
When I got to the campground gate, I pulled over, turned off the car, and cried out of pure exhaustion. I sat there for five minutes or so, in a state of shock. I could not believe I was so far away from everything, again. And I could not believe that I was looking at the most peaceful, most curious little deer just ten feet away from my car. It saw my tears, stared at me for a few seconds, then trotted away into the Manzanita forest. I woke up and decided it was time to start over.
The body has its limits
Historic Route 66, otherwise known as Highway 40.
By the time we got here on May 2nd, I had done some real damage, not to my car, but to my lower right extremity. Every joint in my right leg hurt, from my toes to my ankle, to my knee, all the way up to my hip. The muscles and the bones hurt too. For a few minutes I thought I might have bone cancer. Then I realized that was stupid and put some eucalyptus/menthol-laden cream on the tender places. It helped. I didn’t have cancer, just some sort of repetitive movement syndrome. I felt like I had aged 20 years in that short two weeks…at least my lower right side did. Anyway, it’s almost a month later and it still aches a little at night, but, now I know it was caused by all that pent up anxiety and my need to get to the destination and unhitch the wagons, so to speak. During those fourteen days I forgot about “the road” and just put myself into auto-pilot, taking my right leg for granted. Sometimes our bodies force us to slow down and pay attention to “the road.” Now I’m here. Paying attention is inevitable.
Wait. What are you doing again?
The name of this job is called CampHost. It sounds kind of cool, like you get to welcome people into the campground and show them all around the place, and set the stage for each and every camper to have a wonderful time. We could do that with no problem. Campers are usually pretty easy to please. They know they’ll be roughing it sometimes, but they also want to have some “amenities,” like a pool and a clubhouse where they can play games or do some line dancing or watch a movie. But we’ll be hosting none of that.
Our real job is to sell camping memberships. Nothing high pressure, which is a good thing since we decided long ago to walk away when someone tries to pressure us into buying something. High pressure sales = slimy and disgusting! We’re hoping our charm and sincerity create a new way of selling something that, after all, is a great stress-buster. Just walking through the park allows you to let go of anything that is not right in front of you. We figure, if people are already camping, they might be interested in camping more, and that’s where we give them our no-pressure spiel and let them decide. As the campground manager says, “This place sells itself.” We can only hope.
California, here I come, right back where I started from….
all my worldly goods…well almost…
January 20, 2013 was over four months ago. On that day I wrote my most recent blog post. Four months is a long time for a writer. A lot has happened. More than I can pack into this small space. So, I guess I’ll have to be concise, like my professor told me a couple of decades ago. Condense. Say what’s important. Forget the fluff. Get to the point. I’ll try.
First, here’s a brief summary of what’s happened between my last blog-a-thon and now. In September of 2012 we moved into our house. We unpacked, spread out and thought about having a garden in the spring. Hurricane Sandy blew through in December and we emerged without a scrape. We got in the habit of watching the news and the weather every day just in case another monster storm crept up the coast. We sat on the couch a lot. We read a lot, cooked a lot and filled up our freezer with local grass fed, free range meat and organic vegetables. We got into a simple routine. Then we realized how quiet it was. Soon the silence became annoying. Sam was happy. I needed more. I started to look for a job. I got one, teaching yoga twice a week at the YMCA. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. I continued looking.
By January, I was obsessed with finding a job, and the more obsessed I became, the quieter my phone became. Out of about 70 resumes I submitted, I received seven phone calls, five of which turned into actual interviews. One of those was a potentially perfect job in a very exclusive nursing home in Williamsburg. The problem was that it only paid $9.00 an hour. I wanted that job. But I needed to be compensated. I turned it down and told the nice lady who interviewed me to call me if something else came up that paid more. She said she would. I could tell she wanted to, but she was on a budget too. The other four were with agencies that provided services for the elderly or for people with developmental disabilities. Two of them actually smelled old and musty. The other two were so new they looked sterile. None had the caring, compassionate feeling I was looking for. I know how demanding those jobs can be, so I understood the level of grumpiness and burnout that the staff emitted. Still, I needed more. I knew I wouldn’t be happy, and I still wanted to be happy. I told myself I hadn’t spent all that time and money in school so I could work in a mediocre job for less than mediocre pay with coworkers who weren’t happy. I felt entitled. That may have been a mistake. In any case, they didn’t call back.
In between looking for “real” jobs, I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of our decision to move into a house on the Chesapeake Bay. Sure it was beautiful, and quiet, and surrounded by nature in all its glory. Our neighbors were nice and we had plenty of space to spread out. The dogs loved being able to roam around in the soy fields, and I got to visit my family every couple of weeks or so. We even planted some flowers and walked down to the “rivah” and put our feet in several times. Those things were nice. But we were burning through our savings and there seemed to be no new source of income on the horizon. I knew it was time to cook up a new plan, and worried about it in the middle of the night until I felt like I might explode. We still had the RV, even though we tried to sell it for four months, and it looked like “the road” was knocking at the door again. From February to March, the new plan grew and morphed into what we are now doing: selling camping memberships in central California. Imagine that. We’re right back where we started one year ago…well, almost.
On the road to…??
seagrass against a blue sky
Well, it’s been way too long since I’ve posted anything here. I miss it. I miss the traveling and taking pictures and seeing new things and dealing with whatever comes up. Now that we’ve truly settled down it occurs to me that simplicity is in the eye of the beholder.
When I started this blog I had a vision of leaving a very complicated, relatively stressful life behind in California and heading toward some long, deserted, warm beach “on the East Coast” for the rest of my life. I have put my toes in the water more than once, but not enough to make it a hobby.
That dream may still come about, but not yet. I guess I wasn’t ready for the lack of direction or purpose. I seem to need some regular activity to keep me grounded and awake. Traveling worked for a while, but, well, it doesn’t pay that much and we all know about the whole fossil fuel dilemma. In any case, it’s time to get serious again.
I started teaching a couple classes at the local YMCA and it does feel good to put my teacher hat back on. Yoga is the force that calms me, and lets me fly. I thought about doing a yoga blog, but aren’t there enough of those already? Still, something new is brewing beneath the surface, for better or worse.
For now, let’s just see where the wind blows us and what comes forward from the depths of my not so simple mind. Let me incubate for a while and see if I need to start over or just switch directions.
The main lesson I learned on the road to simplicity in these last 8 months is that simplicity is where you find it. Just like enlightenment, it is not a destination, and it is definitely not something you can hold on to. We all need to simplify. I know. I’ve asked people. So, it can become a lofty goal, walking on that beach with not a care in the world. But where’s the purpose in that? Where’s the color and the smell and the taste of the fullness of life? Maybe too much simplicity means no life.
I guess I’m still on the road, but now I have a different perspective. I’m back in the moment, not grasping for tomorrow, but appreciating today, simple or not.
Thanks for reading. Namaste and Au Revoir.
Today’s image of simplicity
Once you start really paying attention, simplicity is all around you. This morning it was a little squirrel, dashing around from tree to tree, stuffing acorns and other nuts into his tiny little cheeks. He saw me coming, skittered across the street in front of me, then stopped to see if I was still coming. I think he saw the camera and decided to give me a split second to capture his image…or maybe not. Maybe he was doing what squirrels do and I happened to be there to watch.
squirrel on a fence
I believe this squirrel’s life is pretty simple, not easy, but simple. Wake up, look for food, store food, eat some food, go to sleep. Repeat. Oh, yeah. Tease as many dogs as possible. Sounds like fun to me.
on the road to simplicity 