Showing posts with label Mendocino. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mendocino. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Wednesday, April 02, 2014
Wordless Wednesday
The actual cozy shack... Our home in Mendocino/2004. Feels like a lifetime since then!
Friday, April 12, 2013
Now and Zen
Blogging feels different now. One reason could be that I started into it almost 8 years ago. Shit happens in 8 years.
Back then, I lived in a tiny homesteader's cabin surrounded by a ring of redwoods and Monterey pines in Mendocino. It was a funky little place, but the setting was serene and lovely. We made it our own and called it the cozy shack. Hence the name.
I worked full-time as a receptionist and administrative assistant at Thanksgiving Coffee Company. Older daughter was just finishing her freshman year at Sonoma State. Younger daughter was in middle school. My son had been living and working in Santa Cruz, but came to stay with us for a few months that summer, pulling espresso shots at the local bakery. The man was head bottler at North Coast Brewing Company back then, home of Rasputin and Red Seal ales. We worked hard to keep our little family going. We were blue collar workers with decent vocabularies.
I sometimes wrote about crazy stuff. It was an intense time and there was plenty of intensity at home then, too. My seemingly-angelic youngest child became an adolescent and did some serious boundary-pushing, which coincided perfectly with that magical time we call menopause. I lucked into a much improved job with the school district. Which was good, since it had been a very long 5 years with the coffee people. The man stopped bottling beer and began making gorgeous handmade doors at Mendocino Doors. Older daughter decided she would not return to college after her second year. Younger daughter was floundering at high school. Neither of which we could have predicted. So much for predictions/expectations.
The man's father died rather suddenly in 2009. And less than a year later, we were pursuing this place. It has now been 2 years since we left the mainland.
We make less money, but have far more satisfaction in our life here than we have known in our 50-plus years. The kids are resilient and self-sufficient, despite the fact that they live where life is ridiculously overpriced. When they grow weary of struggling in Babylon, we'll be here. Plenty of room for expansion on this property.
I'm not writing as much as I'd like, but will persevere. I feel braver about sharing the stories and observations I once considered cringe-worthy. There is something freeing about losing one's second parent, when it comes to the telling of tales.
Some of my recent posts may come off as melancholy or too personal. Not trying to bum anyone out, nor do I seek sympathy or commiseration. Just attempting to shed light on some of my dark corners.
I have noticed, this time around, that blogging is still prone to the same sort of thing that plagues Facebook and the Internet in general. Herd mentality and all of that rot. I admit to appreciating interaction here, but am not courting followers as I did when as a newbie.. Expectation and attachment are a couple of things I am forever working on.
Things have quieted down in blog land over the last 8 years. Many former readers have moved along. A few from the early days are still around. And some readers are actual friends I know and in some cases love. I find that comforting, in a world where cyber friends often outnumber the flesh and blood variety. I've always been tactile.
I do enjoy visiting blogs, but will admit that I don't always comment if it is too much work signing in, using Captcha, etc. Especially on this damn cell phone. I do understand why bloggers use these safeguards. Just keepin' it real.
Back then, I lived in a tiny homesteader's cabin surrounded by a ring of redwoods and Monterey pines in Mendocino. It was a funky little place, but the setting was serene and lovely. We made it our own and called it the cozy shack. Hence the name.
I worked full-time as a receptionist and administrative assistant at Thanksgiving Coffee Company. Older daughter was just finishing her freshman year at Sonoma State. Younger daughter was in middle school. My son had been living and working in Santa Cruz, but came to stay with us for a few months that summer, pulling espresso shots at the local bakery. The man was head bottler at North Coast Brewing Company back then, home of Rasputin and Red Seal ales. We worked hard to keep our little family going. We were blue collar workers with decent vocabularies.
I sometimes wrote about crazy stuff. It was an intense time and there was plenty of intensity at home then, too. My seemingly-angelic youngest child became an adolescent and did some serious boundary-pushing, which coincided perfectly with that magical time we call menopause. I lucked into a much improved job with the school district. Which was good, since it had been a very long 5 years with the coffee people. The man stopped bottling beer and began making gorgeous handmade doors at Mendocino Doors. Older daughter decided she would not return to college after her second year. Younger daughter was floundering at high school. Neither of which we could have predicted. So much for predictions/expectations.
The man's father died rather suddenly in 2009. And less than a year later, we were pursuing this place. It has now been 2 years since we left the mainland.
We make less money, but have far more satisfaction in our life here than we have known in our 50-plus years. The kids are resilient and self-sufficient, despite the fact that they live where life is ridiculously overpriced. When they grow weary of struggling in Babylon, we'll be here. Plenty of room for expansion on this property.
I'm not writing as much as I'd like, but will persevere. I feel braver about sharing the stories and observations I once considered cringe-worthy. There is something freeing about losing one's second parent, when it comes to the telling of tales.
Some of my recent posts may come off as melancholy or too personal. Not trying to bum anyone out, nor do I seek sympathy or commiseration. Just attempting to shed light on some of my dark corners.
I have noticed, this time around, that blogging is still prone to the same sort of thing that plagues Facebook and the Internet in general. Herd mentality and all of that rot. I admit to appreciating interaction here, but am not courting followers as I did when as a newbie.. Expectation and attachment are a couple of things I am forever working on.
Things have quieted down in blog land over the last 8 years. Many former readers have moved along. A few from the early days are still around. And some readers are actual friends I know and in some cases love. I find that comforting, in a world where cyber friends often outnumber the flesh and blood variety. I've always been tactile.
I do enjoy visiting blogs, but will admit that I don't always comment if it is too much work signing in, using Captcha, etc. Especially on this damn cell phone. I do understand why bloggers use these safeguards. Just keepin' it real.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Catch Your Dreams
...Before they slip away. (Name that tune?)
Here's a photo of my beautiful dream catcher, which was made by friend and fellow blogger, Joe. His blog is Round Circle, and I was privileged to meet Joe and his family when they passed through Mendocino.
The dream catcher was damaged by our then-kitten a while ago-she thrashed one of the eagle feathers. I recently sent it back to Joe for repair. It came back looking better than ever.
I wasted no time hanging it in our bedroom window. Peace and love to you and yours, Joe.
Here's a photo of my beautiful dream catcher, which was made by friend and fellow blogger, Joe. His blog is Round Circle, and I was privileged to meet Joe and his family when they passed through Mendocino.
The dream catcher was damaged by our then-kitten a while ago-she thrashed one of the eagle feathers. I recently sent it back to Joe for repair. It came back looking better than ever.
I wasted no time hanging it in our bedroom window. Peace and love to you and yours, Joe.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Peacemongering
The Iraq War turns ten today. The heaviness of that sentence does not escape me. I never supported it.
Ten years ago, I lived on the Mendocino Coast with the man and my two then school-age daughters. My memories of that phase of our lives are fairly bleak. The man was struggling with some mid-life issues, mostly with his family of origin. He was depressed and I felt helpless to help him. I wondered whether our relationship would survive those harsh days. Thankfully, it did. He went through his own personal hell, and came out of it stronger and much wiser. His issues with his family were worked out, and he enjoyed a renewed relationship with his dad. Which I am so grateful for, since his father died just six years or so later.
We both worked full-time--he at the local brewery, me at the local coffee company. We lived next to the harbor, where we could smell the sea and hear sea lions barking. That region is one of the last bastions of raw, rugged beauty left in California, and we were thrilled to have moved there from the central Sierras about a year and a half earlier. My daughters were 10 and 16, had good friends, and a supportive, loving family.
The man and I were still disgusted that Bush II had slithered into office, and was now beating the drums of war. Because, he told us, we had to keep America safe from more attacks like on 9/11.
Even though Saddam and Iraq were not responsible for that day, nor did they possess the capability to manufacture weapons of mass destruction, which we were led to believe. And which many DID believe, blindly.
The mood at home during that period was increasingly somber,
and we adults felt voiceless and powerless as we continued to express our disagreement with the now inevitable invasion of Iraq. At work, we were both surprisingly outnumbered by those who thought we had no other alternative, and the anti-war protests in our town were matched by very vocal, very redneck-ish groups of war supporters. Even my own father, a lifelong progressive democrat and pacifist, was reluctant to voice any dissent. He just wasn't sure it was wrong. Yet.
But it was wrong, and it is still wrong. Millions of people's lives have been and will continue to be impacted in countless ways, mostly of the horrific variety. We apparently have learned nothing from the Vietnam war... Which my hero, Rachel Maddow
reported on last night. It seems that some L.B.J. audio tapes have surfaced, from the Thursday before the 1968 presidential election. The year that Dick Nixon beat Hubert Humphrey by a narrow margin. President Johnson was very close to a peace treaty with Vietnam. In fact, he even made a speech to the American public that an end to the war was within reach. Days within reach, even. Tricky Dick managed to back burner the democrats plan to end the war, since that would have almost certainly spelled defeat for republicans, if the democrats stopped the war. He said that we should hold off and let him take office first, and then he could stop the Vietnam war in a more practical manner. Nixon won that year, and the war we could have ended went on for five more years. All in the name of political victory.. How many additional lives were lost or otherwise decimated during that five year span?
I'm tired of war, and war profiteering, and increasing numbers of young people coming home destroyed by this illegal war. Even if they were lucky enough to come home alive, and not lose limbs, they are too often seriously damaged... With not enough support here to recover from all manner of PTSD. These soldiers will be our police, firefighters, and school bus drivers in the near future.
Even though they could have unchecked serious emotional and mental health issues. I find that worrisome-and tragic.
So, forgive me for not patting myself on the back today. I never wanted this war or the war in Afghanistan to begin with. I believe strongly in the power of peace, still. And always will.
Ten years ago, I lived on the Mendocino Coast with the man and my two then school-age daughters. My memories of that phase of our lives are fairly bleak. The man was struggling with some mid-life issues, mostly with his family of origin. He was depressed and I felt helpless to help him. I wondered whether our relationship would survive those harsh days. Thankfully, it did. He went through his own personal hell, and came out of it stronger and much wiser. His issues with his family were worked out, and he enjoyed a renewed relationship with his dad. Which I am so grateful for, since his father died just six years or so later.
We both worked full-time--he at the local brewery, me at the local coffee company. We lived next to the harbor, where we could smell the sea and hear sea lions barking. That region is one of the last bastions of raw, rugged beauty left in California, and we were thrilled to have moved there from the central Sierras about a year and a half earlier. My daughters were 10 and 16, had good friends, and a supportive, loving family.
The man and I were still disgusted that Bush II had slithered into office, and was now beating the drums of war. Because, he told us, we had to keep America safe from more attacks like on 9/11.
Even though Saddam and Iraq were not responsible for that day, nor did they possess the capability to manufacture weapons of mass destruction, which we were led to believe. And which many DID believe, blindly.
The mood at home during that period was increasingly somber,
and we adults felt voiceless and powerless as we continued to express our disagreement with the now inevitable invasion of Iraq. At work, we were both surprisingly outnumbered by those who thought we had no other alternative, and the anti-war protests in our town were matched by very vocal, very redneck-ish groups of war supporters. Even my own father, a lifelong progressive democrat and pacifist, was reluctant to voice any dissent. He just wasn't sure it was wrong. Yet.
But it was wrong, and it is still wrong. Millions of people's lives have been and will continue to be impacted in countless ways, mostly of the horrific variety. We apparently have learned nothing from the Vietnam war... Which my hero, Rachel Maddow
reported on last night. It seems that some L.B.J. audio tapes have surfaced, from the Thursday before the 1968 presidential election. The year that Dick Nixon beat Hubert Humphrey by a narrow margin. President Johnson was very close to a peace treaty with Vietnam. In fact, he even made a speech to the American public that an end to the war was within reach. Days within reach, even. Tricky Dick managed to back burner the democrats plan to end the war, since that would have almost certainly spelled defeat for republicans, if the democrats stopped the war. He said that we should hold off and let him take office first, and then he could stop the Vietnam war in a more practical manner. Nixon won that year, and the war we could have ended went on for five more years. All in the name of political victory.. How many additional lives were lost or otherwise decimated during that five year span?
I'm tired of war, and war profiteering, and increasing numbers of young people coming home destroyed by this illegal war. Even if they were lucky enough to come home alive, and not lose limbs, they are too often seriously damaged... With not enough support here to recover from all manner of PTSD. These soldiers will be our police, firefighters, and school bus drivers in the near future.
Even though they could have unchecked serious emotional and mental health issues. I find that worrisome-and tragic.
So, forgive me for not patting myself on the back today. I never wanted this war or the war in Afghanistan to begin with. I believe strongly in the power of peace, still. And always will.
Monday, February 25, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
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