Happy Days

My son is here. I am thrilled to have one of my tribe with us. You have no idea...

Facing Future

This has been a year of painful realizations. Maybe it's because I now spend more time alone than ever in my life. Which I adore, and wish I had begun sooner. Or, I could blame it on the madness of menopause.  Or the emptiness I continue to feel over the loss of my father.  Whatever the impetus, it's been a raw and rough-edged time.

Many of the friendships which have existed for decades are virtually unrecognizable to me now.  Is it them or me?  Some of both, I think.  

My father spoke of a similar phase in his life about 20 years back.  Same age as I am now. It seemed impossible to imagine at the time.  But I was 20 years younger, and could not have foreseen the changes in myself and those I thought would always be around.

My former tribe has disbanded, due to age, politics, apathy, addictions, and the death of a famous lead guitar player. I'm okay with that.  My one regret is placing so much value on things that were ultimately unsustainable.

My "Baby"

The only thing that's tough about living here in paradise is missing my "kids."
They're all in Northern California and are good at being independent. Which is what any parent hopes for, naturally.

So much of what we are striving to achieve here will hopefully be theirs to continue in the future. And though none of them are ready to abandon life on the mainland yet, they know that this place is here for them when they want to participate. It's our legacy, and will be theirs, too.

My youngest child sent me this photo today. It was taken in 2007, when she was still in high school. That kitten is our now-six year old cat, Tatiana. The one that came with us when we left Mendocino.

This child of mine has come a LONG way since her very turbulent and often painful adolescence. (Some of it chronicled on this blog.) So has our relationship, which was quite strained for a stretch. Because everything changes, always.

Facebook Rehab

It's been a month since I deleted my Facebook account. Here are some observations...

First and foremost, I feel less overwhelmed/frustrated/agitated as time goes on. There were too many meaningless details in that world for my psyche to process. And most of those details had absolutely no bearing or impact on me personally. Yet there they were, all day, every day. From many people who would never think to call me on the phone, or send a letter. Since I speak to my 3 children regularly, I do not need Facebook to know what they're up to. The same can be said for my close friends--the ones I've known for decades. We communicate in other ways.

The thing that really clinched it for me was realizing that more than a hundred Facebook "friends" were observing my day to day happenings, and in some cases, I had never met them, or else we had not communicated since high school-or longer. And that made me feel strange. It wasn't that I had issues of any sort with these people, only that it felt creepy to share personal stuff with people I did not know.. Especially when they rarely, if ever commented or communicated. That felt like straight-up voyeurism, and there are countless lurkers out there, who want to read all about you, yet never share their own happenings.

Blogging is a better format for me. I generally think about what I want to post, rather than the stream-of-consciousness, share everything style of Facebook posting. My blog is an opportunity to write about what's happening, or express my opinions in a more edited and less in your face form. And it's kind of like a diary--a diary that now spans close to 8 years of my life.

The benefits of no more Facebook have been clear. Am reading books like I have not done in years, and am focusing on writing every day. I am less drawn away by the distractions, and able to be present in my new life here. I feel like my life is my own once again, and not public domain. My man notices the changes too, especially since he never submitted to Facebook. My father was on it for a time, until he deleted his account about 6 months before his death. He called to tell me that he was deleting it because he found it tedious, trite, and increasingly annoying. (He was never one to sugar-coat!) I am so thankful he did that, since there isn't much creepier than dead people's Facebook pages. Case in point? My man's now-deceased father's page. Where people STILL comment as though he is somehow seeing it. This despite the fact that he died over 3 years ago! Sigh...

I guess I just am not Facebook material, and am alright with this realization. Many I love enjoy it, so no judgement if you do as well.

On Returning

to blogging...

This time, I will write whatever the hell I want. For no one in particular... Just to set some thoughts free. Last time, the blogosphere became just another sort of clique.

So much of my life has been social. I liked it that way. In fact, there is an old family tale about my early interest in people. We had a wonderful babysitter named Colantha. She looked after my brother and me when I was 3-4 years old, while my dad was getting his master's degree and my mother was working. One day, when it was our nap time, a friend of Colantha's came by for a cup of coffee. I apparently heard the chatter of the two women, and snuck into the hallway to listen-in. Before long, I was caught snooping. Colantha scolded me, saying: "Anne, what are you doing? This is none of your business! I replied: "People ARE my business!!" And that pretty much describes me for about the next 40 years. I thrived on knowing lots of people, which kept me happily distracted. My old pal Jim even referred to me as the social director, and called it my "real job."

Somewhere over the course of the last ten years, that changed drastically. Blame it on menopause, my eye-opening job at Thanksgiving Coffee, or the disappointment in one too many long-term friendships. The fact is, I now thrive in solitude and adore the beautiful silence of our Hawaiian hideaway. Sometimes days go by, and I see no one but my beloved. There was a time when that scenario was my worst nightmare. No more. It's beneficial for introspection, writing, and just being.

Especially these days, when I am trying to come to terms with the death of my complicated, beautiful father, and the various intricacies of my grown children's lives.

I can't let myself get pulled into popularity contests anymore. I admit that this is no easy task for someone like me, who has spent far too much of her life worrying over what people might think. After all, life is so fleeting, so ultimately insignificant in the great scheme of it all.

Wordless Wednesday

April 12th, 2011

Wordless Wednesday

Wordish Wednesday

Something amazing is about to happen. After pretty much a lifetime in this Golden State, except for a 5 year stint in the Midwest after my parents split up, I will soon be a full-time resident of another state altogether. A far away place. The place we've dreamed of.

So much is a question. Or a risk. We are willing participants. Ready for our biggest adventure yet. How many chances will we get to live out our lives on a beautiful island in the middle of the ocean? My guess is that this is it.

I love California... the state of my birth and my ancestry. So much history. My kids are here. (For now...!) Just feeling restless in a healthy way. It's a big world out there, and life is flying by. We plan on making what's left of it memorable.

Econ 420

"However, others in the field believe that the government's $10.5 billion figure is absurdly low. Dan Hamburg, a former congressman from Northern California's sinsemilla belt, says the Mendocino County Board of Supervisors estimates bud production in that county alone at between $1 billion and $1.5 billion, worth far more than timber and grapes. " Steven Wishnia, AlterNet

Keep in mind that Mendocino County is a very small California county, with a 2007 population of 86,273. (By comparison, San Francisco county's population is 764,976.)

So, tell me again that taxation/legalization of cannabis is not a viable option. Oh, but wait! The children! It's a drug, and drugs are bad. Nothing like the ones my doctor tells me I need. Besides, kids should stick to booze. It's so much more... normal. I say let's utilize this obviously lucrative cash crop. Let it grow.

If anything at all is going to change, then we have got to go about life in very different ways than we have been lately. That would be my definition of evolution.

Let It Grow - Eric Clapton

History

" Now that the Paulson plan is off the table, it's time to start dealing with this like grown-ups. This is a difficult situation. We are a month away from an historic election and the economy is in crisis. And we are going to see some new plans on the table over the next few days that will likely be a big improvement in the substance, but which may very well have to wait until the American people weigh in. Or not.

But if a new plan is to be presented by the Democrats, it means they are going to take ownership of the crisis and they'd better start thinking about passing it with a progressive argument. The Republicans are not going to be on board "

Digby, by way of today's Daily Kos

Take It Back

Spread the message...November 4th is almost upon us. Yeah, yeah, yeah...we're all 'sick of this year's election.' Reject apathy! This is the most important presidential election in my almost 51 years. It will determine the fate of my children. And yours too, if applicable. I don't know about you, but I didn't go through a total of 27 months of pregnancy, 36 months of nursing, and almost 3 decades of sporadically sleepless nights to leave my kids a world ruled by violence,hatred,and greed.

Dear Hillary,

The Party's OVER.



.

Sitting Here In Limbo

That SUNNYHILL sign was nailed to the mighty cypress in 1933. It greets you as you drive down our dirt driveway. The name is an appropriate one, because our spot is just past the fog-line, and it's sunny when the nearby village is not. Our place and the surrounding property have been in the landlord's family since well before 1933. One building was originally a redwood shingle mill. I will miss the green meadow behind the cypress tree, and so much more. I will not miss the dank, dark winters in this "fixer-upper" that can't be fixed. The new place is truly a home. We'll all be just fine.

We're wrapping things up, and will be in the new place completely next week. There is an emotional limbo that occurs when one is between homes. We've moved almost everything except the big stuff. The movers will deal with those items.

There may be a lack of blathering here for a bit. Between getting moved and then settled-in, dealing with visiting family members, and working...there may be little time for such frivolity. After almost three years of this blogging stuff, I admit to a certain degree of burnout.

Fear not! The McCain posts will go on. (And on.)

Time Loves A Hero

Several elections ago, this was my quest. I was living, working and raising my children in La Selva Beach. I decided it would be a splendid idea to volunteer my precious time in support of the above ticket.It was exciting.I was 35.What did I know.

I found my old precinct laminate whilst packing up and clearing out our crap, and scanned it for your enjoyment. Or disgust, whichever the case may be.

A couple of those names make me wretch nowadays. That's something. I was once proud to support each and every one of them. My, how things do change.

Magical Child(ren)

At the airport with my son and daughter~November 1992

I had a baby today. Twice. Ten years apart.

Happy Birth-day to my April 10th babies and to me, the vessel.

Mother and son~1982

Son examining the coffee bean grinder~1983

Enjoying his 3rd birthday party~1985

Silly in San Francisco~2007
(He's 26 today)

**********


Mother and youngest daughter~1992

Baby girl having a tea party~1993

Her 5th birthday~1997

Peace out~December 2007
(She's 16 today)

Rhody

The back of the new place. That's a rhododendron, to the left. A very old one!

A closer look. It's right outside what will be youngest child's room.

Best of all, it's just beginning to bloom. And they're pink!

Red Room

Front room and hearth of the house we are moving to. The walls, ceilings, floors, and built-ins are solid, old-growth redwood.

Then

January 1975~San Francisco

I was home for a holiday visit from San Diego, where I attempted to attend college. Seventeen and a few months. As I recall, I came home late from seeing friends, and decided to take a serious(?) self-portrait. Was I really ever so young, so sweet? (Shit. Now I sound like Kathleen Turner on Larry King last night.)

The picture wall behind me was in the kitchen at my Mom's. I put it together about a year before, when I still lived at home. Naturally, I remember every photo behind me. I love the one in the lower left corner. That's of my grandfather Malcolm at the Sausalito Yacht Harbor. He kept his sailboat, "Baby Grand" there. My father kept his boat there too. ("Serenade") They were both 38' Dasher Class. Wood, not fiberglass. I posted of a photo of us sailing here.

Sadly, I don't know where the photo of Malcolm is today. Maybe dad has a copy. Other shots include: My baby brother, my step-sister, and my great-aunt Gert.


"I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through"

Bowie

Another Time's Forgotten Space

Happy Fucking New Year, Kids. It's bound to be better. Unless it gets worse. Anyway, Much Love to All.

I think this was the New Year's Eve Show that we saw Larry Bird and Kevin McHale backstage with Bill Walton. (C.B.? Was it the 1987 show?) Of course it was. That year marked the end of my marriage and the beginning of an excruciatingly harsh lesson I had yet to grasp. I learned it alright. Major collateral damage came with it. Damage that will not be denied it's right to stick around. A pricey lesson.


New Year's Eve is my favorite holiday. The whole out with the old, in with the new ritual just works for me. A yearly purge. Even if N.Y.E. Shows ceased long ago. We've adapted and grown (somewhat) accustomed to hanging around the shack, celebrating in a more subdued manner. Settled? Check. Boring? Check again. Well on our way to old. Our New Year's Eve supper: Black-Eyed Pea and Spinach Salad & Curried Red Snapper. Later on, we'll sip Lambic and bid good riddance to a fairly shitty year. Cheers!