I recently attended a public meeting, and a beautiful woman in her seventies stood, greeting people as they entered the building. She looked really together, not one hair out of place, coordinated clothes, and shiny shoes, perfectly applied lipstick. The woman stopped me as I passed through, and started grilling me. Did I know what the meeting was for? Was I new to the protocol, familiar with the issues? I was smiling, answered yes, I was familiar with protocol. She started oppressing me, took my arm, as if to stop me. I realized she wanted to boss me around, especially when she pointed directly to a seat. “Sit there.” That gave me pause. The meeting was open seating. Continue reading “I’m tired of fixing” »
I’m tired of fixing
October 28th, 2014
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Ode to Lucky
October 21st, 2014
This is a story about Lucky, my cat from 1982.
One late summer evening in Craig, Alaska, my second husband and I walked back from the docks to our home on Loop Road. A perky white kitten scampered along, curious and running beside us as we walked. “If that cat follows us home, he’s mine, because I love him.”
“He’s lucky to have found us.” Roy, stated, which is how Lucky got his name. Continue reading “Ode to Lucky” »
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Let me go after 75
October 14th, 2014
Me happy at Chichen Itza, Mexico
Ezekiel Emanuel wrote an article in the Atlantic Monthly, Why I hope to die at 75. He asks the question, “Are we to embrace the “American immortal” or my “75 and no more” view?” He plans no life sustaining medical procedures or tests after the age of 75. Ezekiel is not trying to die, but won’t prolong his life in any event of illness.
I suggest people read Emanuel’s article and decide for themselves how they feel about elder research for longevity. We should be having big conversations about what we truly want for our country.
Mortality seems to be a topic people do not want to discuss, because we obviously face unknown territory. I was forced to think about dying at age sixteen, when my father committed suicide. I earnestly contemplated what mortality meant for us, and tried to understand death because I was afraid of it, since my father’s suicide had been such an unnatural shock. Continue reading “Let me go after 75” »
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Axe throwing
October 7th, 2014
I have been throwing an axe for years.
West Point, California women annually throw their axes on Lumberjack Day in competition, before a standing bull’s eye. Axes fly end over end, and smash into shaken beer cans located in the center of the bulls’eye. West Point, Calaveras County, west of Nevada in the Central Sierra Foothills, once flourished as a logging community, but no longer. The eight hundred person town has a forty-year history of annual parades, with over 75 floats and afternoon logging activities. Professional logger skills are performed in an arena format by members of the community.
After watching my first competition, I spoke with my favorite thrower, confiding that I also wanted to compete.
“Yeah, right,” she said. Continue reading “Axe throwing” »
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Sierra Gold Rose
September 30th, 2014
Home smells like a Sutter’s Gold rose in Mom’s backyard. Even though Mom didn’t water it; the gold glory crimson, orange, yellow grew over eight-feet tall outside of her kitchen window, loaded with full body brilliant perfumed blossoms in Tiburon during spring and summer.
Mom said the rose thrived on neglect, but maybe it was the Miwok Native American earth where Mom’s house was built that nurtured it. We found evidence of beads, mortars and pestles in the yard. Our subdivision house was built post WWII, on Richardson Bay, nestled in a cove at the base of a rock sprinkled mountain with a 360-degree view of seven Bay Area counties. People planted roses in their yards, but our Sierra Gold was perfectly number one. Continue reading “Sierra Gold Rose” »
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passionate immortality
September 23rd, 2014
Book of Kells pages
I cannot expect my children to transcribe 35 personal journals I’ve written on this earth. Like a hoarder, I’ve held onto my journals as valuable to others, but understand it is not truly the case.
My friend’s mother passed away years ago, leaving over 1000 journal/scrapbooks organized like resources for a human Google search engine. She organized a lifetime of topics, magazine articles cut out, photographs from botany to zoology, shelves filled her entire home, bedrooms, livingroom, diningroom and her garage.
My friend kept only one index of her mother’s, because it was her handwriting, reminding her of mother’s passion. Many scrapbooks were donated to a small logging camp’s ‘library,’ which may not be accessible to other people who want a look at those books. I want to see the volumes all together. I went to look at her collection, and the place was closed indefinitely, no sign of ever being open again. Continue reading “passionate immortality” »
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Guarding Against Forgetting
September 9th, 2014
The Old St. Hilary’s Catholic Church in downtown Tiburon, California is the most recognized historical structure in town. It is no longer only a Catholic building, but stands for history of the old days. Tiburon Landmarks Society commemorated the building with a project. They recruited local volunteers to needlepointing local wildflowers designs on kneelers for each of the sixteen pews. Since the Tiburon Mariposa lily on Ring Mountain became protected as an endangered flower the same year my brother died, and was represented as one of the flowers on the kneelers, I volunteered to make a kneeler, but the coordinator gave me a blue iris design instead. I didn’t really care, I just wanted my work to be in the old church. Continue reading “Guarding Against Forgetting” »
Where does the inside meet the outside?
August 19th, 2014
my tubes in snow
My childhood friend’s very short mother stood eye to eye in front of me, a seven-year old, and shook her finger at me, “YOU are so BIG!” I remember thinking, “big was bad.” I wondered why I was not seen for who I was. When I grew to over 5’10” and over two hundred pounds at certain points of my life, men and women have called me ‘a force.’ Something is dreadfully wrong. I scare people who think they know me, but they don’t know my insides.
I do not think of myself as big, or a force. I am strong enough to move a roll top desk by myself, shovel a ditch and spread forty five-gallon buckets of pea gravel into a zen garden. I have always felt like an athlete, not a fast one, but capable of swimming over a mile at a time without struggle. I rely on my strength to feel accomplished. I have felt shame and confusion from being judged because of it.
My pinball approach to life, acting and then feeling weird about what I did, is part of my character. I’m trying to articulate what is going on inside of me. Continue reading “Where does the inside meet the outside?” »
I am familiar with suicide
August 12th, 2014
Koko the firecracker
Suicide runs in families, and my family’s first suicide was when my grandfather gassed himself in his office. His two surviving sons were kids, and when they grew up, they both killed themselves, bullet and gas. Robin Williams lived in my town. He was on the same track team as my high school boyfriend. We were in the same high school drama department. Although I didn’t know him as a famous man, I know what depression and a substance problem do to people. He described the issues clearly during many personal interviews. Continue reading “I am familiar with suicide” »
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Miracles large and small
August 5th, 2014
Sergio Lennon contemplates life
My high school friend recently witnessed the birth of her grandson. I can only imagine watching such a miracle, to watch life enter this world. She felt miraculous inspiration, to see an extension of herself, brand new, come through her daughter.
My oldest son turns thirty in a few days, which seems like a landmark age, for him and for me. I was thirty-two when he was born, but it seems like yesterday. I wanted him to live, and when they cut his cord, I said something like, “He’s his own man now.” Corny, but true. My son is his own man now, turning thirty in one week. The twenties are done for him, here comes his next decade. Of course, the same goes for me in the decades I’ve been around, but witnessing other people growing up and old seems more miraculous. Hopefully, we both stack up memories through the development of our lives. Continue reading “Miracles large and small” »
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