I Have a Soft Spot for Strays

Ten years ago I moved an interesting woman in with our family. I’ll call her K. 

I’m very attracted to crazy energy; my theory is that these people

 vibrate at the same frequency as my mom and it’s somehow comforting to me.  

It was supposed to be a pit-stop while she waited for an apartment 

to become available, two weeks tops. 

Two weeks dragged on and soon we reached five weeks with K. 

Those five weeks were filled with all kinds of interesting moments.

Salmon was frequently left out. Our dogs quite appreciated

 the pungent aroma wafting through the house; 

it was reminiscent of the docks at San Pedro. 

K had decided a device that she called “a molecular disrupter” would help with her 

physical ailments. It was a small, square, electronic box with a knob on the top that 

was attached to a needle that you could turn up or down. 

In order to use “the molecular disrupter” one needed to wrap foil on their feet, or 

sometimes the foil was wrapped around the crown of the head.

 I never quite figured out what the different placement of the foil was all about. 

K had many routines. One of these routines was to brush her body when she woke in 

the morning and before she went to bed at night. 

One morning she swept off a ‘spot’ while brushing her skin. 

She was convinced this ‘spot’ was a tick. 

In a panic, K insisted I rush her to the entomology department at

UC-Riverside to have the offending ‘spot’ identified. 

I’m not even kidding here…it was a bread crumb.  

K felt our family life was so “Leave it to Beaver-ish” that she entered our name

-unbeknownst to us-

for the Trading Spaces reality tv show. 

We didn’t make the cut. 

Pete and Jayne eventually gave me an ultimatum, “Either she goes or we go.” 

I think they meant it. 

I pushed as aggressively as I could for her to find a place…and she did.

When moving day came I was surprised to see her lying on our sofa 

when I came downstairs in the morning.

 Something felt wrong.

If I were a dog (I spend a lot of time with dogs) the hair on the back of 

my neck would have stood on end. 

These were her words:  “I’m afraid I’ve gone blind. I can’t see.”

I sat. 

I thought.

 I didn't speak for a long while. 

Then, as though the Buddha came to intervene, I found the words. 

I drove K to her new place. 

The next day her eyesight miraculously returned. 

She came to retrieve her 1998 Volvo that was sitting in our driveway.

For years the oil stain that was left behind on the driveway was a reminder of 

how patient my family is with me and my idiosyncrasies. 

They love me through every adventure that I drag them through…

that’s the only birthday gift I need! 

The Cowboy

I was told it was going to reach the nineties yesterday by Ruth in the office and there’s no air conditioning here in Chimayo; global warming will be changing the air conditioning situation here soon I suspect. 

The door to the balcony is open to allow the cool mountain air to circulate. 

I drank sangria with abandon this holiday weekend, my head is a little fuzzy and I think I should go and take an ibuprofen. No clock, no electronics of any kind in this throw-back New Mexico B & B, so I’m not sure what time it is. It’s dark and it has the feel of early A.M.  

I press myself up and walk around the huge, old bed; the pine floor squeaks with each step I take.  Cringing, I hope not to wake Pete. As I make my way to the bathroom a sliver of moonlight is thrown across the floor at my feet. I grope around in the medicine bag hoping to find what I’m looking for without turning on a light. Finding the meds I quickly swallow two and head back to bed. In the distance I hear howling, it starts with one animal and then he is joined by several more. I think at first that its coyotes and I smile, but soon I recognize the barking is actually my domesticated friend the dog. I crawl back in bed and the barking goes on…maddeningly, all night. The hooting and howling stops as the first rays of daylight burst from behind the mountain and I drift back to sleep.  

I wake (maybe) an hour later to the sound of a cowboy singing, literally a guy in a cowboy hat is playing guitar outside in the courtyard. I roll over and ask Pete to check his watch; its 7:15. My head is throbbing and I lay still. The “Johnny Cash” wannabe had played all the previous night, he was well received by the other eight guests, mostly grey haired and pretentious. After each set they would applaud and he would drop a little anecdotal fact about himself, “yes, yes I have been playing a while, I started when I was six years old, and (haha) I’m nowhere near that anymore.” Then he would begin to smoothly croon his next tune “ice cream on my lips, chocolate, vanilla…” and this went on for the next couple of hours.  

My head has moved to a low thrum and I roll over and snuggle into Pete’s chest. As I listen I begin to snicker. Pete pulls back and looks down at me. What a quintessential New Mexico experience. What are the odds that we would be in this moment having this experience with these complete strangers? 

Always looking for the good moments in each day is something I strive to do, kind of like an art form I want to perfect, in any case it was a quirky moment that I appreciated. I must go now and change the bedsheets in the extra bedroom as I await the arrival of an artist that we met at the B & B who will be staying the night with us before she catches her plane back to Texas in the morning, but that is a whole other story.  

Move a Muscle, Change a Thought

   I’d like to present myself as a fully enlightened being after all these years of meditation, self-reflection, thousands of dollars spent on therapy, 

but still, I’m human…

and lately I’m struggling hard with aging and 

the effects it’s having on my body. 

Some days my training kicks in and I know that I’m strong and healthy and that aging is a privilege that some don’t get. Yet, there are other days that I have to fight to suppress the negative language that pushes up from deep within my 

subconscious about my body.

I realized last night that some of the thoughts that are sprouting up are not mine, 

but seeds that were planted long ago by others.

 Even at this age I’m still fighting the messages I received having

 grown up in a misogynistic family: 

“men can carry extra weight so much better”, “she’s a homely girl”, “do you really need that second helping?”, “that makes you look like a slut”, 

“aren’t you pretty when you put on make-up and fix your hair”, 

“you’re too thin”, “you’ve put on some weight”. 

There was always some kind of critique about my looks and 

this critique was always given because 

“they cared about me”. 

 No matter how much work I do to further my spiritual growth, by that I mean becoming more and more detached from worldly bullshit, 

I believe that I will always struggle with this to some extent. 

However, I need to pay closer attention to which thoughts are mine 

and which have been planted by loving, 

but very flawed human beings. 

My hope is that this blog will get each of you thinking about what you carry that might not be yours? Once you discover the answer to this question 

I hope that you too might begin to change your thought process. 

To paraphrase the Buddha, 

“ the less that I suffer the less suffering I will inflict on others.”

Sweet Ginger....

She sits in her nest licking treats from my palm, quiet tears are running down my face

as we wait for the sedative to take effect.

 I am mourning the loss of my beautiful, vibrant girl.  

Empathic.

 Two beings inexplicably connected.  

Her spirit was still radiant.

 Yet the reality is her mind and body were shriveling.

 Lost most days in senility.

The pain of my GG passing seems almost unbearable tonight.

Yet, it will be borne.

Time will soften this pain…

until then I will weep and mourn with the understanding that we 

were blessed by her…more than words can express.

Reality.....

These last few weeks have been challenging. There were a few times in the last ten days that 

I wasn’t sure I was going to keep going on this new path.

I had no idea what classroom management would look like with sixty wild, funny, little nymphs. For some it is the first time they’ve ever set foot in an organized, school style setting and I am woefully lacking in experience. 

I think we are finally finding equilibrium.

This weekend I registered and began studying for my second round of state testing for my teacher certification. This test will cover math and science. Suddenly this Humanities-loving scholar gets to revisit algebra, geometry, ratios, and a whole bunch of science stuff I barely made it through thirty years ago.

Then I got a call on Thursday saying my last class for licensing was cancelled due to low enrollment. After many phone calls, and much scrambling, I applied for, was admitted to, registered for, and maneuvered my way around the online system at Santa Fe College to get into the class I needed. I have an assignment due on Sunday. I ordered the book that I need for this assignment tonight and hope that it comes before I

leave for Kansas City on Thursday.

Pete’s oldest and dearest friend’s daughter is getting married on Saturday in Kansas City and all I was thinking is “how am I going to fit it all in? Homework, test prep, my own curriculum to prepare, dogs to walk, travel….”

Tonight, as I finished a short assignment for my new class, I impulsively asked Pete to go for a walk. 

Lately that impulse has been negated by a waterfall of

 “things you still need to do”….but not tonight.

After our walk I rolled out my yoga mat for a short practice.

Then I sat on my meditation cushion. Still. Quiet.

The patio doors open. Crickets humming.

And my practice kicked in.

Reality…...

I have a roof over my head. The ability (and means) to go to school and work. A partner who can still make my heart flutter after a million years together. A daughter who is strong and brave, 

braver than I ever dreamed of being at twenty-two.

This path that I have been traversing for so long has enabled me to live from a 

place of gratitude for what I have and enables me to truly see it, even when 

I fall into a crevasse of self-pity. I just don’t stay too long these days.

I'm Not Sea-faring. I'm Not River-faring. I'm Not Pond-faring.

The man jokingly says as he hands me a release form, “Here, you have to sign this in case you die. This way no one can sue us.” My heart beats a little faster, I remind myself that we do the same thing for yoga classes. It’s just a formality. I sign the form and pile into the crowded van. A short drive and we are at the river bank. I was hoping for at least an hour drive to prolong the inevitable. The beach is filled with rafts and people in various states. Some are already in helmets, rafts are pushing off in small groups, and our group is milling around the boats while the guides begin to pass out life vests and paddles. We are instructed to put them on and cinch them tight. If it’s loose the scenario is that if you fall out of the boat and they try to pull you back into the boat,

 the vest will slide right over your head…..

I cinched it up so tight my ribs hurt.

We stand and listen to the safety tips:

If you fall out of the boat grab the line around the perimeter of the boat.

If you are floating too far from the boat keep your feet headed down stream 

so as not to bash your head on a rock.

If you find yourself under the boat, put your hands up and walk them to the edge 

until you can push the boat up and get out…..

at this point I’m looking around to see if anyone else is concerned.

 Nope, they look pretty calm.

On to the next rule:

If you find yourself under the boat and it’s not tipped over, do the same as above.

Wait? If I find myself UNDER a boat filled with people

I’m going to be so freaked out I will surely die.

My stomach is queasy from sheer terror now.

I lean over to Pete and say “I’m not sure I’m going with you.”

He pats me on the arm like I’m a fucking kid and says, “It will be fine.”

No, I don’t think it will be fine at all, but I keep quiet.

My mind is churning furiously and I notice that the other rafting company has given their patrons helmets. We don’t have helmets. What happens if I bash my head on a rock without a helmet?

Yeah, I don’t think this is a good idea at all.

I’m not sure if I was brave or I just didn’t want to be the only one to chicken out, but I stepped into the raft. I lodge my foot under the center flotation device as directed and I give Pete one final look as we push off to run the rapids of the Rio Grande…..and I’m sure you’ve already guessed that I had a great time.