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.
