I have a high class problem, living in two places. Poor me. Our kids grew up and moved out, we have property in Calaveras County and in Bel Aire, our Marin County subdivision. Each month, I drive three hours down the Sierra foothills and stay for a week to pick up our mail and handle appointments. My husband stays on Bald Mountain Road and runs our ranch. He doesn’t seem to miss the Bay Area like I do. I love both places.
I am reassured to see my Bel Aire neighbors living with their routines. Trees and bushes in their yards grow bigger every year. The ashes of my people are here.
My eighteen year-old cat is still alive and lives quietly in our yard. He is an old suburban cat, used to pesky blackbirds and skunks. If he moved up to the Sierras with us, mountain lions would eat him in a heartbeat. He belongs in his yard. Thank God for two reliable high school girls who feed and keep him going in Bel Aire.
The cat and I have telepathy. He knows I need him. It can’t be easy for him to live in a little cat house under the eaves, knowing the girls will show up to feed him.
Life just is.
Carol King’s song So Far Away says it, so far away. Melancholia feels like it might kill me tonight, but feelings are not going to kill me. I do not like unpleasant emotions. I want a guaranteed “happy-happy-joy-joy” all the time.
If I had my way, nobody would feel sad or lonely. Is that being a Pollyanna? I wish for Merry Christmases and figgy pudding. Everyone would have great jobs, and we would live near each other. Mountain lions would not eat surburban cats.
I am not surviving a devastating Italian earthquake or the nightmare of Brazilian presidential impeachment. I have learned to experience negative emotions, and change my perspective. I have learned to recognize self-pity for what it is, even though I still want my way.