10:45am Writing Practice 22°/Boise
Here it is, Christmas Day and I've already written in my notebook but this idea compels me to jump in here and write a little more. Christmas has kicked my ass all my life and I'd like to try to track some of them, to remember Christmases I've had and the feelings that came with them. Because no matter where there were, what house, what city, who I was with or what gifts were given, Christmas has never been right, has never felt like the movies we are shown about the true meaning of Christmas. And the stories that came with the holiday, the religious aspects and the fantasy aspects, the trees and ornaments and lights and gifts and decorations have just never fit somehow. What is it really all about and how can I resolve this in my life, in the big picture of who I am after all this time. I'm 63 years old. That means that I've lived through and participated or abstained from 63 Christmases in my life. That's a lot of opportunities to figure out what it's all about, don't you think?
I look out my windows on a day that is so clear and bright, the sun sparkling on the foot of snow that has fallen the last few days, and I can feel a sort of magic, conjured from the habits and beliefs that have formed and informed my life from the beginning. We don't enter life as a clean slate, more like a human sponge soaking up all that is around us. This soaking begins in the womb. As we absorb nutrients from our mother, we also take in her heart beats and temperature, her thoughts and desires and beliefs. A pregnant mother can hide nothing from the child growing within, she shares all that she is on so many levels and most of it is unconscious. When the child enters life and begin the breathe and function and grow on its own, it is already formatted for the life it will enter. The patterns for the life and the structure of the belief system is already in place.
The first Christmas I can remember is when I was 5 years old. My mother had married my step-father in August and she had traveled from Santa Ana, California on the train to collect me from my aunt's ranch in Keating, Oregon, near Baker in Eastern Oregon where I had been living with my little brother, Gerald, for an unknown length of time. She left Gerald there and the trauma of being left behind and abandoned would haunt him for the rest of his life.
There is no holiday from grief.
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Sunday, December 11, 2016
Sunday Check-in
8:55 Writing Practice 28°/Boise
I finished off my last spiral notebook yesterday and thought I'd get in here with the typed journal for a while and see if I can get some real writing done ... or at least started. In the nine years I've lived here in this house, I've written 28 notebooks (18 in the last 3 years alone) and only 8 notebooks and some loose pages in the 13 years before I got here. So in fact, living here and being stable and staying put has really improved my creative output of pages, at lease on a regular basis.
But for now and the months to come, I'll need to write this way in order to begin to share what I write. This journal is already full of information and ideas --- it's like a whole notebook of it's own or more. Maybe two. This will be my 80th post this year which is dang amazing! Of course, none of it was written with a view to sharing, I just tapped each one out and hit post. But still, this is the kind of writing I'm going to need to do (typing) if I hope to get a book written.
Calendars are mostly sold. I only ordered 60 this year, no reorders, and they arrived perfect and great quality. I'm very pleased! I have 8 left to sell or give away and Gigi has 4 at her shop. Hopefully she can sell them. It's only Dec 11 and I'm almost finished with calendars for this year. Wow! Last week I packaged and mailed all the orders even if they weren't paid for yet. I decided to act on trust this year and save myself the hassle of multiple trips to the post office. Now all I have to do is sit back and await the arrival of checks or deposits into PayPal. Cool, huh? I've received 2 new orders that need to be mailed so I'll have to round up padded envelopes for them or ship Priority for $6.80. That costs me an additional $1.80 each above First Class and for just these 2, it may be worth it. But I do still have 8 calendars to sell, I may be shipping more. Plus I just remembered that I have to send 3 to Botswana. Maybe. The seasons in my calendar are backward to their seasons, they may not like that. Plus they don't have a lot of the holidays that we have. It's hard to say if the previous calendars have been appreciated. Or even used. And it costs me $23 just to ship them. Hummmm. I'll have to see how this all shakes out, I may not send them this year.
I refinanced my house since the last post, my new payment is $685 mo. No PMI! I can continue to pay the same payment and knock 6 years off my loan, although I'll have to ask Mark Onnen to help me figure that out. Right now, I'm saving $128 mo but the interest was going to go up in February and then again a year later. Even without PMI, the payment would have been $843 mo for the rest of the loan. But get this! I've received 4 bonus payments toward principle of $1000 each, that last one arriving just a week before closing on the refi. Isn't that just the coolest? That means I'll be getting that back in a check from Idaho Housing sometime next month, after the dust settles and all fees and balances are paid up. Free money! Evidently that was some sort of incentive added into my modification 5 years ago (has it been that long already?!) for me to make payments on time. But I didn't even know about it, I always make payments on time so they just added those bonuses without me even noticing. I wondered how my principle balance was going down so fast and now I know. I had one last bonus coming next year had I not refinanced but hey, interest rates are going up, now was the time to do a refi before all hell breaks loose in the country. IF Trump takes office, that is ... I still have hope that sanity with prevail somehow and that this sham of a man will be sent packing.
OK, what's next. It's sheet-wash day and I just put the wet sheets into the dryer. I'm using a flannel on the bottom and a cotton for a top sheet, along with my heater blanket. It's perfect! I've been sleeping very good all week and waking just after 7am and not falling back to sleep after I take my ASEA and go back to bed. I do my breathing and stretching and have the ball under my neck a while and then get up. Also, I've not felt the need for a nap in weeks, not sure why. I seem to happily putter around my day getting stuff done or sitting on the computer. I still have Ray's zoo book to finish and Jodie's book, before I can start my own photo book project. I'm going to use my Practice Happiness calendar photos to make a photo book and write something for each practice. I have an idea it will be cool but I'll have to do one and see. That's what I'll be working on in January and February. Right now I can get a deal through Snapfish and I don't know what it will cost after the 1st but I'm going to make one and maybe use it to send to publishers. Surely there's a market for a book like that. Plus it all depends on what comes as I write it.
Oh well, off I go to work on Ray's book. I moved the laptop into the living room again last night. This seems to be where I sit to work online and create stuff so I'll just go with it. I sat right here for hours on end and designed the calendar this year as well as last year. This must work for me --- pain-free creating in a soft chair with good back support. I can dig it.
I finished off my last spiral notebook yesterday and thought I'd get in here with the typed journal for a while and see if I can get some real writing done ... or at least started. In the nine years I've lived here in this house, I've written 28 notebooks (18 in the last 3 years alone) and only 8 notebooks and some loose pages in the 13 years before I got here. So in fact, living here and being stable and staying put has really improved my creative output of pages, at lease on a regular basis.
But for now and the months to come, I'll need to write this way in order to begin to share what I write. This journal is already full of information and ideas --- it's like a whole notebook of it's own or more. Maybe two. This will be my 80th post this year which is dang amazing! Of course, none of it was written with a view to sharing, I just tapped each one out and hit post. But still, this is the kind of writing I'm going to need to do (typing) if I hope to get a book written.
Calendars are mostly sold. I only ordered 60 this year, no reorders, and they arrived perfect and great quality. I'm very pleased! I have 8 left to sell or give away and Gigi has 4 at her shop. Hopefully she can sell them. It's only Dec 11 and I'm almost finished with calendars for this year. Wow! Last week I packaged and mailed all the orders even if they weren't paid for yet. I decided to act on trust this year and save myself the hassle of multiple trips to the post office. Now all I have to do is sit back and await the arrival of checks or deposits into PayPal. Cool, huh? I've received 2 new orders that need to be mailed so I'll have to round up padded envelopes for them or ship Priority for $6.80. That costs me an additional $1.80 each above First Class and for just these 2, it may be worth it. But I do still have 8 calendars to sell, I may be shipping more. Plus I just remembered that I have to send 3 to Botswana. Maybe. The seasons in my calendar are backward to their seasons, they may not like that. Plus they don't have a lot of the holidays that we have. It's hard to say if the previous calendars have been appreciated. Or even used. And it costs me $23 just to ship them. Hummmm. I'll have to see how this all shakes out, I may not send them this year.
I refinanced my house since the last post, my new payment is $685 mo. No PMI! I can continue to pay the same payment and knock 6 years off my loan, although I'll have to ask Mark Onnen to help me figure that out. Right now, I'm saving $128 mo but the interest was going to go up in February and then again a year later. Even without PMI, the payment would have been $843 mo for the rest of the loan. But get this! I've received 4 bonus payments toward principle of $1000 each, that last one arriving just a week before closing on the refi. Isn't that just the coolest? That means I'll be getting that back in a check from Idaho Housing sometime next month, after the dust settles and all fees and balances are paid up. Free money! Evidently that was some sort of incentive added into my modification 5 years ago (has it been that long already?!) for me to make payments on time. But I didn't even know about it, I always make payments on time so they just added those bonuses without me even noticing. I wondered how my principle balance was going down so fast and now I know. I had one last bonus coming next year had I not refinanced but hey, interest rates are going up, now was the time to do a refi before all hell breaks loose in the country. IF Trump takes office, that is ... I still have hope that sanity with prevail somehow and that this sham of a man will be sent packing.
OK, what's next. It's sheet-wash day and I just put the wet sheets into the dryer. I'm using a flannel on the bottom and a cotton for a top sheet, along with my heater blanket. It's perfect! I've been sleeping very good all week and waking just after 7am and not falling back to sleep after I take my ASEA and go back to bed. I do my breathing and stretching and have the ball under my neck a while and then get up. Also, I've not felt the need for a nap in weeks, not sure why. I seem to happily putter around my day getting stuff done or sitting on the computer. I still have Ray's zoo book to finish and Jodie's book, before I can start my own photo book project. I'm going to use my Practice Happiness calendar photos to make a photo book and write something for each practice. I have an idea it will be cool but I'll have to do one and see. That's what I'll be working on in January and February. Right now I can get a deal through Snapfish and I don't know what it will cost after the 1st but I'm going to make one and maybe use it to send to publishers. Surely there's a market for a book like that. Plus it all depends on what comes as I write it.
Oh well, off I go to work on Ray's book. I moved the laptop into the living room again last night. This seems to be where I sit to work online and create stuff so I'll just go with it. I sat right here for hours on end and designed the calendar this year as well as last year. This must work for me --- pain-free creating in a soft chair with good back support. I can dig it.
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
James and the gym, calendars are done.
9:50am Writing Practice/ 36° Boise
Yesterday I joined James at the gym at 10am and skipped writing. I'll do it again Wednesday morning and perhaps that will become the routine twice a week --- I can live with that. I had a piece of toast and my vitamins before I went and then an egg sandwich on dill rye when I got back at noon. It's good to shake up the schedule sometimes and adding more exercise to the plan is always a good idea.
James and I are back friends again after a three month break. I'm so relieved and happy! We talk talk talked yesterday and walked and peddled and stretched. He's a perfect work-out pal! He told me the latest with Bryce. At one point he was saying how Bryce never listens, he only talks, that he'll ask a long, involved, deep question and not give him, James, a chance to answer it before taking off on another long question. My observation was that Bryce isn't ready for answers yet, he's just now beginning to explore the questions. That struck James as a profound insight and hopefully will help him understand a little better about where Bryce is coming from as he, Bryce, continues to mature. I said that I thought Bryce's maturity was delayed because of the religion he was raised in, he was never taught to question or observe except from a very limited perspective; now he gets to open up and blossom out and who knows where that expanded thinking will take him? He's still in the beginning stages of becoming who he really is after being molded into a clay puppet all his life. The good news is, I feel confident that James will be OK no matter what happens with Bryce! I won't go into details about that but I'll say that I feel very good about his continued life should Bryce leave him. And that's all I'll say about that.
After working on it for three full days, the calendar is finished and ordered. I got a good deal through Snapfish, I just hope the quality is good. I ordered 60 because I got 70% off yesterday for Cyber Monday. But then the shipping fees were horrible so it's a good thing I got such a good deal. The actual cost per calendar this year is $9.04 each, shipping and all. Not bad! Add the envelope for a buck and that brings them to $10.10 each. To mail one First Class is $3.78, bringing the total to 13.88 each. I'm selling them for $24 each, two for $44, three for $66. My net for one is $10.12, for two is $9.56, for three is $10.70. That should work out fine for all concerned.
I still have plenty to do to get ready to mail calendars when they arrive next week. I have to write the enclosure letter for this year's photos, I have to message everyone who ordered already and give them payment instructions and I need to contact everyone who ordered last year but not yet this year and ask if they want one or more. I'm keeping some for gifts so I really only have 54 or so to sell. I'm going to try not to reorder any and keep it simple and organized.
And then I have to design Ray's zoo book. I'll start creating the photo file for that today. And I'm going to create a book for Jodie using the photos I took at her mother's place a few days after she died, titled, The Dobble Ranch: The Way She Left It. Maybe I'll take some more shots this Friday when I drive to Baker. I'd like to get a shot of the entry to the ranch I've got photos of Jodie and David talking by the horses. It should be a neat book to have. I hope she likes it, it will be her gift this year instead of a calendar.
That reminds me ... I called on Thanksgiving Day to wish them a nice holiday and Keith answered. Jodie wasn't home and Keith filled me in on how bad their life really is, or at least how bad his life is. He says he's just a ranch hand to her, that's all. He was very bitter. He was going to spend the day with his mother in town while Jodie joined her sisters and her own family in Durkee at Jonette's. I listened and said many times, I'm so sorry to hear that. I had nothing else to offer. Sounds to me like their marriage is over, like it will limp along until he decides to leave. I don't think Jodie cares one way or the other. His whiny ways has done her in. Frankly, I couldn't take it either but it makes me sad for them. They started their lives together with high hopes and then it all went downhill from there. Jodie needs a man more like Uncle PeeWee, a tough, strong, self-motivated ranch man, only with a soft heart. Is there such a person? Probably not outside of Hollywood .... I'll stand by to be supportive of whatever happens. Dang. First Nickie and Kurt got divorced and now maybe Jodie and Keith will split up. Dang.
Well, it's time for breakfast and then back to creation mode with photos and books. I'll do Ray's book first, then Jodie's. I have an idea to make photo books with my Practice Happiness photos but that will require a more advanced level of writing. I'll get the other things finished first and then see what wants to be done next.
Good job today!
Yesterday I joined James at the gym at 10am and skipped writing. I'll do it again Wednesday morning and perhaps that will become the routine twice a week --- I can live with that. I had a piece of toast and my vitamins before I went and then an egg sandwich on dill rye when I got back at noon. It's good to shake up the schedule sometimes and adding more exercise to the plan is always a good idea.
James and I are back friends again after a three month break. I'm so relieved and happy! We talk talk talked yesterday and walked and peddled and stretched. He's a perfect work-out pal! He told me the latest with Bryce. At one point he was saying how Bryce never listens, he only talks, that he'll ask a long, involved, deep question and not give him, James, a chance to answer it before taking off on another long question. My observation was that Bryce isn't ready for answers yet, he's just now beginning to explore the questions. That struck James as a profound insight and hopefully will help him understand a little better about where Bryce is coming from as he, Bryce, continues to mature. I said that I thought Bryce's maturity was delayed because of the religion he was raised in, he was never taught to question or observe except from a very limited perspective; now he gets to open up and blossom out and who knows where that expanded thinking will take him? He's still in the beginning stages of becoming who he really is after being molded into a clay puppet all his life. The good news is, I feel confident that James will be OK no matter what happens with Bryce! I won't go into details about that but I'll say that I feel very good about his continued life should Bryce leave him. And that's all I'll say about that.
After working on it for three full days, the calendar is finished and ordered. I got a good deal through Snapfish, I just hope the quality is good. I ordered 60 because I got 70% off yesterday for Cyber Monday. But then the shipping fees were horrible so it's a good thing I got such a good deal. The actual cost per calendar this year is $9.04 each, shipping and all. Not bad! Add the envelope for a buck and that brings them to $10.10 each. To mail one First Class is $3.78, bringing the total to 13.88 each. I'm selling them for $24 each, two for $44, three for $66. My net for one is $10.12, for two is $9.56, for three is $10.70. That should work out fine for all concerned.
I still have plenty to do to get ready to mail calendars when they arrive next week. I have to write the enclosure letter for this year's photos, I have to message everyone who ordered already and give them payment instructions and I need to contact everyone who ordered last year but not yet this year and ask if they want one or more. I'm keeping some for gifts so I really only have 54 or so to sell. I'm going to try not to reorder any and keep it simple and organized.
And then I have to design Ray's zoo book. I'll start creating the photo file for that today. And I'm going to create a book for Jodie using the photos I took at her mother's place a few days after she died, titled, The Dobble Ranch: The Way She Left It. Maybe I'll take some more shots this Friday when I drive to Baker. I'd like to get a shot of the entry to the ranch I've got photos of Jodie and David talking by the horses. It should be a neat book to have. I hope she likes it, it will be her gift this year instead of a calendar.
That reminds me ... I called on Thanksgiving Day to wish them a nice holiday and Keith answered. Jodie wasn't home and Keith filled me in on how bad their life really is, or at least how bad his life is. He says he's just a ranch hand to her, that's all. He was very bitter. He was going to spend the day with his mother in town while Jodie joined her sisters and her own family in Durkee at Jonette's. I listened and said many times, I'm so sorry to hear that. I had nothing else to offer. Sounds to me like their marriage is over, like it will limp along until he decides to leave. I don't think Jodie cares one way or the other. His whiny ways has done her in. Frankly, I couldn't take it either but it makes me sad for them. They started their lives together with high hopes and then it all went downhill from there. Jodie needs a man more like Uncle PeeWee, a tough, strong, self-motivated ranch man, only with a soft heart. Is there such a person? Probably not outside of Hollywood .... I'll stand by to be supportive of whatever happens. Dang. First Nickie and Kurt got divorced and now maybe Jodie and Keith will split up. Dang.
Well, it's time for breakfast and then back to creation mode with photos and books. I'll do Ray's book first, then Jodie's. I have an idea to make photo books with my Practice Happiness photos but that will require a more advanced level of writing. I'll get the other things finished first and then see what wants to be done next.
Good job today!
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
Almost Thanksgiving and Moving to Mexico
10:31am Writing Practice 39° Boise
I've been hand-writing my journals the last few months. I finished setting up my office in the back bedroom and it's so warm and cozy, I love going back there but here's the thing: I still love to sit in the chair in the living room to write. I lean back here in my chair and just take off, the words flow out of me and I can easily tap into the inner worlds where the writing comes from. Not to say that anything important comes out --- but whatever it is, it's real and it's me and that's what primes my pumps each day. My laptop has been stationed in the back office and I go in there after my morning writing out here and I pull up Facebook and do that for a bit, connect with people outside my head (or so it feels) and then I make breakfast and that's usually that. However, I can feel the need for writing practice while typing, for sure. I feel rusty and I'm tripping over words and having to stumble along here. I can sure tell I haven't typed anything much for a few months. It's not that hard to unplug the laptop and bring it in here. I have an extra power cord and when I'm done, I can unplug it and take it right back in there.
But for today, I'm going to leave it here. I have the 2017 Practice Happiness calendar to design and I'm behind. The last two were assembled right here in this chair and after struggling to do it in the back office and now running out of time, I've caved and brought the laptop out to design the thing here. I've selected photos, got a list of 19 subjects to work with and have found quotes for 4 of them. Now all I need to do it continue with the quotes and then begin to put the practices with the photos in Picasa. Then I can get it all going on Snapfish.
My plan had been to have then finished and ordeedr by last week but I designed a bunch of watercolor note cards instead. Almost 100 of them. Sheesh. I could not tear myself away! The idea with them was to market them to realtors and I had a lunch date scheduled with Burma for Thursday last week and wanted to show her. And then I took some to Gigi's shop on Sunday. And then I met another realtor yesterday and showed her and she actually bought some. But then I rescued her open house sign from my garbage, where it had been placed on Saturday at some point. She was very grateful to get it back and that's probably why she bought the cards ... as a sort of reward. Oh well, they're getting out there and that's the important part. The cards are beautiful and I can print them fast and sell them cheap. How fun is that?!
Thanksgiving Day after tomorrow and I thought it was going to be a long, lonely day but now I'm cooking a turkey dinner and Pam and Janna are coming over. Stephanie might come too. I ran out to Walmart to buy a boneless turkey breast roast and a box of stuffing, although I should have bought 2 boxes. And I need more gravy mix. And a can of cranberry sauce. I like the jelly kind in a can (which just shows what kind of upbringing I had) but I wonder if I could find a recipes for using fresh or frozen cranberries? I wonder if I want to bother?
Stephanie just texted that she probably can't come, she has high school friends in town and wants to see them. I get it, she's young, we're a bunch of crones and we don't even drink.
So the menu is:
Off I go to get my breakfast and work on the calendar for the rest of the day. I cancelled plans for tomorrow so that I can work on it and get it finished, so now I have a wide open two days to get it done. Yaaaay!
I've been hand-writing my journals the last few months. I finished setting up my office in the back bedroom and it's so warm and cozy, I love going back there but here's the thing: I still love to sit in the chair in the living room to write. I lean back here in my chair and just take off, the words flow out of me and I can easily tap into the inner worlds where the writing comes from. Not to say that anything important comes out --- but whatever it is, it's real and it's me and that's what primes my pumps each day. My laptop has been stationed in the back office and I go in there after my morning writing out here and I pull up Facebook and do that for a bit, connect with people outside my head (or so it feels) and then I make breakfast and that's usually that. However, I can feel the need for writing practice while typing, for sure. I feel rusty and I'm tripping over words and having to stumble along here. I can sure tell I haven't typed anything much for a few months. It's not that hard to unplug the laptop and bring it in here. I have an extra power cord and when I'm done, I can unplug it and take it right back in there.
But for today, I'm going to leave it here. I have the 2017 Practice Happiness calendar to design and I'm behind. The last two were assembled right here in this chair and after struggling to do it in the back office and now running out of time, I've caved and brought the laptop out to design the thing here. I've selected photos, got a list of 19 subjects to work with and have found quotes for 4 of them. Now all I need to do it continue with the quotes and then begin to put the practices with the photos in Picasa. Then I can get it all going on Snapfish.
My plan had been to have then finished and ordeedr by last week but I designed a bunch of watercolor note cards instead. Almost 100 of them. Sheesh. I could not tear myself away! The idea with them was to market them to realtors and I had a lunch date scheduled with Burma for Thursday last week and wanted to show her. And then I took some to Gigi's shop on Sunday. And then I met another realtor yesterday and showed her and she actually bought some. But then I rescued her open house sign from my garbage, where it had been placed on Saturday at some point. She was very grateful to get it back and that's probably why she bought the cards ... as a sort of reward. Oh well, they're getting out there and that's the important part. The cards are beautiful and I can print them fast and sell them cheap. How fun is that?!
Thanksgiving Day after tomorrow and I thought it was going to be a long, lonely day but now I'm cooking a turkey dinner and Pam and Janna are coming over. Stephanie might come too. I ran out to Walmart to buy a boneless turkey breast roast and a box of stuffing, although I should have bought 2 boxes. And I need more gravy mix. And a can of cranberry sauce. I like the jelly kind in a can (which just shows what kind of upbringing I had) but I wonder if I could find a recipes for using fresh or frozen cranberries? I wonder if I want to bother?
Stephanie just texted that she probably can't come, she has high school friends in town and wants to see them. I get it, she's young, we're a bunch of crones and we don't even drink.
So the menu is:
Boneless Turkey Breast Roast
Stuffing and gravy
Cranberry Relish
Mashed Potatoes
Rolls
Pie
Green Beans in some form
Salad
Pie
I'll provide the top stuff, Pam brings the middle and Janna the last. That should be a fine feast but no sweet potatoes. I wonder if I can live without that bit of sweetness. This meal is already very high in sugar and carbs. I think I'll let it be. Now all I have to do is finish the calendar, get the house spiffed up and vacuumed, go to the store for the extra supplies I need and then I get to spend my day Thursday getting ready for dinner. Maybe I'll get a centerpiece and maybe I'll use the white lace table cloth with my red dishes. It will be so nice to have a small dinner party here.
This makes the third party this year. I had Stephen's birthday bash in March, my Sober Day party in my newly renovated back yard in August and now this dinner. I'm doing well with my willingness to be social in spite of it all. And I'm happy to report an upsurge in good feelings --- I've written all about it in my other pages but I decided to get up and have a life, whatever is left of it, and stop laying around moaning and wailing. I may even move to Mexico!
I have heard of a little town on the north shore of Lake Chapalla south of Guadalajara called Ajijic (Ahi-heek) in the Sierra Madre Mountains. High enough to give the area a temperate climate but south enough for it to never get too cold. And there's all that fresh water! And it's not far from Puerto Vallarta and the ocean vacation play land. Living there would be inexpensive and perhaps a great place to write books, since I would have a housekeeper to take care of me. I'm getting my passport renewed and will fly down there in February or March to check it out and if all goes well, I could actually pack up this house, put it in storage, vet the cats and load us up somehow and hit the road south .... way, way south! Nathan retires in August and I would ask him to go with me to help me get there safe and then fly him back home from Guadalajara, which should be a straight shot from Denver.
I'll rent my house to Stephanie, her lease is up next September, and she'll take ideal care of my sweet home. I'll have to build a carport next spring and make sure all systems are go here so that I don't leave her with any problems. I'll only get minimum rent, just enough to cover expenses, but it will be so worth it to have her here and not have to worry about a thing. Being so far away, it would be so nice to take off and trust, leaving it all in her capable hands. Then whatever debts I take will me I can quickly pay off from there, my living expenses will be to low. I could start out in an apartment and then move into a house if the right situation comes up. I'd like to have a safe place for the cats as well, they wouldn't like to live indoors for the whole time. I might go for a season or for a few years. If I can work there and I like it, I may stay and never come back except to visit. I hear that I have to came back every 6 months in order to renew my visa, which would be fine. I can fly anywhere from that airport in Guadalajara, visit all over the world if I want to. The cats will have to stay behind with a sitter but they should be fine with that.
As I type this all out, I'm imagining a different life and it's fun. Talk about living far from home! I could write that memoir as I'm doing it and tell the stories from the past at the same time. That would give Learning to Live Far From Home an interesting angle that might make all the difference. Yesterday I wrote all the other times I've risked hasty or unlikely moves ...
1) Baker to Portland, 1971
2) Hermiston to Portland, 1977
3) Portland to Hawaii, 1981
4) Portland to Hanford, 1981
4) Hanford to Baker, 2002
5) Baker to Boise, 2003
6) Boise to the happiness tour, 2005
7) San Luis Obispo to Hannibal, MO, 2006
8) Hannibal to Boise, 2007
I have a long and illustrious history of uprooting and taking off at the slightest provocation! I've had 55 addresses in my life since age 5 (before that, I was shuffled around with relatives, I don't think there ever was a "home" to speak of) and I'm not finished yet. I wrote that all out not long ago but I can't remember where I saved it right off the bat. So this latest idea of a new life in Mexico makes perfect sense for my life path, I think I need to do this. The idea of NOT doing it makes me sad and bored ....
Off I go to get my breakfast and work on the calendar for the rest of the day. I cancelled plans for tomorrow so that I can work on it and get it finished, so now I have a wide open two days to get it done. Yaaaay!
Monday, October 31, 2016
Halloween Day
I did my writing practice earlier today, in my spiral, but now I'm going to move some of that writing over here just to see what it sounds like in type.
It's Monday again. And Halloween. The fourth Halloween without Stephen and 157 weeks since he’s been gone. Should I stop counting? Part of me knows that in some form I will always be counting his loss for the rest of my life, simply missing him, but another part know is that he’s always with me and always will be. Missing him and counting his loss is buying into the illusion of death but it’s not real, it just appears to be real. If I practice releasing the illusion of death, practice releasing the idea that Stephen is gone, I will more quickly come to terms with a new reality, one that includes him in my daily life in a joyful way, not in a sad and grieving way. It will be a much easier way to live, much lighter and more fun --- more active.
It's Monday again. And Halloween. The fourth Halloween without Stephen and 157 weeks since he’s been gone. Should I stop counting? Part of me knows that in some form I will always be counting his loss for the rest of my life, simply missing him, but another part know is that he’s always with me and always will be. Missing him and counting his loss is buying into the illusion of death but it’s not real, it just appears to be real. If I practice releasing the illusion of death, practice releasing the idea that Stephen is gone, I will more quickly come to terms with a new reality, one that includes him in my daily life in a joyful way, not in a sad and grieving way. It will be a much easier way to live, much lighter and more fun --- more active.
I may
finally be ready to rise up from my crouching grief pose, balled up and weeping
on the rocks. I’m ready to forgive
myself for failing him --- failing to save him.
He never asked me too, after all.
But he was afraid, he told me he was.
He was experiencing a world I could not see or even comprehend. With methamphetamines, he shot himself down a
water slide straight to hell and he couldn’t get back from that place. I wish there was some way to tell his story
in such a way as to expose this fact of brain damage from the drug and make
it understood that it’s a one way trip, especially when a needle is involved. Once the intravenous use starts, the door
back to sanity slams shut and bolts and the nightmare begins in earnest on both
sides of the door. I guess that’s why
they call it slamming.
This
is what I didn’t know or understand 3 ½ years ago when Stephen and first used meth
in his veins. I didn’t know that as the
needle found its mark and the plunger was expressed, the liquid hell carried
him off, never to return. I need to ask
if others have come back from that swift slide out on the tide of
methamphetamines. I know people have come
back from heroine used in the veins but I don’t know about methamphetamine
recovery.
And
if I can find the words to tell the tale, would anyone listen? I, personally, was never attracted to LSD or
anything in a needle; in fact, the very idea repelled me. Why? I
was willing to smoke marijuana, snort cocaine, and I ate mushrooms twice. And also I drink alcohol to excess for many
years. But why didn’t I allow myself to
go all the way with drugs when I did “all the way” with so many other things?
Friday, September 30, 2016
More McDaniel History
9:09am Writing Practice 64° Boise
It was so warm yesterday and overnight, I left the windows open in the house and it's still only 73° inside. Outside is soft and welcoming, a light breeze stirring the branches of Stephen's tree and wafting in through the window next to me whispering sweet nothings about the beauty it has seen already today. And it's still early! It's a gorgeous, pure perfect day and I could be sitting out on the deck writing in my spiral but no, I have my butt firmly planted in my writing chair and I'm going to do my work and enjoy my life from here right now. Later today I'll be going out, I'm taking my bike to Pam's at 4pm so that she and I can ride around the North End and then find a place to have her birthday dinner in Hyde Park.
Today is Rocky's birthday, too. He's 12, but he doesn't know nor care about that so I'll just give him some love like I do every day and tell him how beautiful and wonderful he is so that he can agree with me and then carry on with his life. I expect him to be around for many years to come, he's in terrific health and showing no signs of decline so he could be end up being the world's oldest cat. He can stay with me for as long as he likes and I'll love him to whole time.
I slept plenty last night, got a solid 7 hours before waking up to pee at 6:15am, then back to bed and back to sleep until after 8am. I turned off the light at 11:30pm last night and went right to sleep. I took a half of a PMer because I just couldn't risk not getting the sleep I needed for all I have planned to do today. I'm a little muzzy and could willingly go back to bed a while longer but I'm up now and the coffee is hot --- I'll get over it soon.
After much searching through Granny's OreIda box, I found the stories I was looking for and have been pouring over them, trying to piece is all together in my mind and understand all the various relationships. Seems that Had McDaniel died in 1881 and left his wife, Rachael, with 3 young children at home at age 50. So I'm trying to figure out how his kids were spread out so far like that. Here's the line up:
William Harrison McDaniel, born in September 15, 1832 in Virginia (Father was Joseph)
Rachael Riley McDaniel, born August 4, 1837 in Bay City, Michigan
They married on March 13, 1856
1) William, born May 18, 1857 (All 7 children were born in Michigan City, IN)
2) Samuel, January 17, 1862
3) Nellie, November 22, 1864 --- died in 1880 at age 16, buried in Michigan City)
4) Abigail, November 30, 1871
5) Edward, January 2, 1873
6) Twins, Rachael and James, July 1, 1880 --- James died at birth, buried in Michigan City
William Harrison "Had" McDaniel died in 1881 and is buried in Michigan City along with his parents and two of his children. He was 50 years old and owned a butcher shop in town.
There is a 23 year spread for those children! When the twins were born, Rachael was 43 yrs old. The twins were born in 1880 and her oldest daughter, Nellie, died that same year. Nellie would have been her right hand helper with all the work at home and with the new babies but she was lost. What heartache that must have caused Rachael. And yet the reason for the tragedy is lost to time and so is her mother's grief.
When Had died, Rachael was 44 years old and had 3 young children still at home:
Abigail, age 10
Edward, age 8
Rachael, age 1 year.
And she owned a butcher shop. No mention is made if she worked the shop or what happened to it except that it was sold and then she moved to Spokane. Maybe the older boys worked the shop. William, the oldest at age 24, would have been plenty old enough to be trained and ready to take over the business that his father left. The next oldest, Samuel, would have been 19 when his father died, a grown man in those days.
So the big picture of the family is this: they were firmly settled in Michigan City, Indiana and had been for many years. The states of Michigan and Indiana were Rachael's home states, all she had ever know. All of the family children were born and raised in Michigan City, they owned and operated a business there, they had a house, although no mention is made of it, but it must have been big enough and nice enough to accommodate the family. They must have had friends and attended church. They had a well established life in Michigan City, Indiana and yet in 1885 or thereabouts, Rachael Riley McDaniel packed her belongings into trunks, gathered up her three small children and took the train to the Washington Territory, a trip of at least a month, maybe up to 6 weeks.
When I sit and think about Rachael McDaniel and what her life must have been like in 1880, after losing Nellie and then one of the twins at birth and then the next year, her husband, I see a woman in great pain and with plenty of reason to grieve. In addition to her losses to death, her own parents had moved from Michigan City to Spokane at some point (I haven't found that info or date yet) and she was missing her mother. I feel certain that her decision to uproot and move out West was based on grief and loss and a desire to be with her parents and feel cared for and secure once again.
And thus ends my writing for today. I'm beginning to feel like I know these people and can almost picture them. So much sadness in life and that goes for everyone, all of us, all down through time.
It was so warm yesterday and overnight, I left the windows open in the house and it's still only 73° inside. Outside is soft and welcoming, a light breeze stirring the branches of Stephen's tree and wafting in through the window next to me whispering sweet nothings about the beauty it has seen already today. And it's still early! It's a gorgeous, pure perfect day and I could be sitting out on the deck writing in my spiral but no, I have my butt firmly planted in my writing chair and I'm going to do my work and enjoy my life from here right now. Later today I'll be going out, I'm taking my bike to Pam's at 4pm so that she and I can ride around the North End and then find a place to have her birthday dinner in Hyde Park.
Today is Rocky's birthday, too. He's 12, but he doesn't know nor care about that so I'll just give him some love like I do every day and tell him how beautiful and wonderful he is so that he can agree with me and then carry on with his life. I expect him to be around for many years to come, he's in terrific health and showing no signs of decline so he could be end up being the world's oldest cat. He can stay with me for as long as he likes and I'll love him to whole time.
I slept plenty last night, got a solid 7 hours before waking up to pee at 6:15am, then back to bed and back to sleep until after 8am. I turned off the light at 11:30pm last night and went right to sleep. I took a half of a PMer because I just couldn't risk not getting the sleep I needed for all I have planned to do today. I'm a little muzzy and could willingly go back to bed a while longer but I'm up now and the coffee is hot --- I'll get over it soon.
After much searching through Granny's OreIda box, I found the stories I was looking for and have been pouring over them, trying to piece is all together in my mind and understand all the various relationships. Seems that Had McDaniel died in 1881 and left his wife, Rachael, with 3 young children at home at age 50. So I'm trying to figure out how his kids were spread out so far like that. Here's the line up:
William Harrison McDaniel, born in September 15, 1832 in Virginia (Father was Joseph)
Rachael Riley McDaniel, born August 4, 1837 in Bay City, Michigan
They married on March 13, 1856
1) William, born May 18, 1857 (All 7 children were born in Michigan City, IN)
2) Samuel, January 17, 1862
3) Nellie, November 22, 1864 --- died in 1880 at age 16, buried in Michigan City)
4) Abigail, November 30, 1871
5) Edward, January 2, 1873
6) Twins, Rachael and James, July 1, 1880 --- James died at birth, buried in Michigan City
William Harrison "Had" McDaniel died in 1881 and is buried in Michigan City along with his parents and two of his children. He was 50 years old and owned a butcher shop in town.
There is a 23 year spread for those children! When the twins were born, Rachael was 43 yrs old. The twins were born in 1880 and her oldest daughter, Nellie, died that same year. Nellie would have been her right hand helper with all the work at home and with the new babies but she was lost. What heartache that must have caused Rachael. And yet the reason for the tragedy is lost to time and so is her mother's grief.
When Had died, Rachael was 44 years old and had 3 young children still at home:
Abigail, age 10
Edward, age 8
Rachael, age 1 year.
And she owned a butcher shop. No mention is made if she worked the shop or what happened to it except that it was sold and then she moved to Spokane. Maybe the older boys worked the shop. William, the oldest at age 24, would have been plenty old enough to be trained and ready to take over the business that his father left. The next oldest, Samuel, would have been 19 when his father died, a grown man in those days.
So the big picture of the family is this: they were firmly settled in Michigan City, Indiana and had been for many years. The states of Michigan and Indiana were Rachael's home states, all she had ever know. All of the family children were born and raised in Michigan City, they owned and operated a business there, they had a house, although no mention is made of it, but it must have been big enough and nice enough to accommodate the family. They must have had friends and attended church. They had a well established life in Michigan City, Indiana and yet in 1885 or thereabouts, Rachael Riley McDaniel packed her belongings into trunks, gathered up her three small children and took the train to the Washington Territory, a trip of at least a month, maybe up to 6 weeks.
When I sit and think about Rachael McDaniel and what her life must have been like in 1880, after losing Nellie and then one of the twins at birth and then the next year, her husband, I see a woman in great pain and with plenty of reason to grieve. In addition to her losses to death, her own parents had moved from Michigan City to Spokane at some point (I haven't found that info or date yet) and she was missing her mother. I feel certain that her decision to uproot and move out West was based on grief and loss and a desire to be with her parents and feel cared for and secure once again.
And thus ends my writing for today. I'm beginning to feel like I know these people and can almost picture them. So much sadness in life and that goes for everyone, all of us, all down through time.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Family History and Carolyn
9:32am Writing Practice 55° Boise
I went to bed an hour early last night and woke up at a little after 8am, just in time to stretch and breathe and plan my day. This is day 3 of actually gathering up words toward a book and I'm not sure where I am except that I've written for two days and then saved it in a document titled Beginning in a folder titled Learning to Live Far From Home. I thought I would start off with a little family history and I dug for and found the story I was looking for but it's not as fleshed out on the page as it is in my mind and so I'm a tad stalled about that. But you know, who cares! I'm going to write it as it is in my mind's eye and tell the reader that this is what I saw as I read the actual history put down by some cousin or other many years ago, as told to him by his grandmother Nellie. There is no first hand account, no one alive knows what happened or what it was really like and so who's to say that my version is far from the truth? All I really want to do is establish the idea that the people I came from were always on the move, never satisfied to stay and settle down. They had wanderlust in their genes and that's how they got from Scotland to the New World, that's how they got to Virginia, and then Ohio and then Indiana and then Rachael Riley McDaniel gathered her belongings and two of her children and hopped a train for the wild west ... Spokane, Washington. She wasn't a McDaniel in blood and I don't know how her people got to America but it was her intrepid spirit that brought the family to the west where they all spread out and many still remain.
Hardman, Oregon is a ghost town now and if it had been settled by people who could stick, it would not be. Perhaps. Who knows, there's really nothing out there. I want to take a trip and go see the area for myself. There's a motel in Heppner I could stay at for a quick overnight. I just wish Carolyn wasn't mad at me. She knows where everything is, although I could find the cemetery on my own, I'll bet. But I don't know where the Burton Valley is or McDaniel Canyon. I don't know where Kinzua was or Camp 5, although those places really have no bearing on this project. And do I really need to see any of it in order to write my stories? I've been there before many times, just not recently. I know that landscape, the high desert, the over-logged mountains that still haven't recovered from the logging activity of 70 years ago. At least that's what I remember, maybe it's no longer true. I should go see.
About Carolyn: I really don't care if she's mad at me. She attacked me out of the blue a few months ago with stuff she created in her own mind by distorting and adding meaning to a conversation that had no basis in my reality. She made up stuff and then got mad at me, which is almost as bad as having a bad dream and waking up mad at the dream offender. Plus she threw in a list of things she found offensive about me and I could tell that she had been keeping a list on the side of things she could use against me in the future. John did that throughout our marriage and instead of dealing with issues as they came up and sticking to the subject, he would bring in his list and hurl it at me so that I could be defeated and the fight could be won. He had no interest in communicating and solving the issue, he only cared about winning the fight, being right and then forgetting about the whole thing and moving on. Which, of course, never happened. Carolyn doesn't respond to any of my e-mails and she's touchy as hell when she does.
Well, I don't care. I don't think I could last a day in the car with her anyway, she has the very worst bad breath I'd ever smelled because of her rotten teeth. Now there, how's that for stashing away an offensive bit of information to use at a later date? I'm just as bad as her in so many ways. Plus she's mean about my mother and I'm not going to be around that if I can help it. I knew my mother better than anyone except my dad and now that she's gone, I've forgiven it all and only the love is left. I'm not going to rehash her faults and weaknesses with Carolyn or anyone else.
OK, I got off track with that but I'm glad I wrote it down. Now I can move on. If I need to make a trip to explore Hardman and the area over there, I'll do it without her.
So far today, I have nothing toward my words for the book. I know what I'll do! I'll plug in the headgear and read in an entry from my journal about home that I wrote a few weeks ago. Yes, that has to be done anyway. So off I go to do that now.
I went to bed an hour early last night and woke up at a little after 8am, just in time to stretch and breathe and plan my day. This is day 3 of actually gathering up words toward a book and I'm not sure where I am except that I've written for two days and then saved it in a document titled Beginning in a folder titled Learning to Live Far From Home. I thought I would start off with a little family history and I dug for and found the story I was looking for but it's not as fleshed out on the page as it is in my mind and so I'm a tad stalled about that. But you know, who cares! I'm going to write it as it is in my mind's eye and tell the reader that this is what I saw as I read the actual history put down by some cousin or other many years ago, as told to him by his grandmother Nellie. There is no first hand account, no one alive knows what happened or what it was really like and so who's to say that my version is far from the truth? All I really want to do is establish the idea that the people I came from were always on the move, never satisfied to stay and settle down. They had wanderlust in their genes and that's how they got from Scotland to the New World, that's how they got to Virginia, and then Ohio and then Indiana and then Rachael Riley McDaniel gathered her belongings and two of her children and hopped a train for the wild west ... Spokane, Washington. She wasn't a McDaniel in blood and I don't know how her people got to America but it was her intrepid spirit that brought the family to the west where they all spread out and many still remain.
Hardman, Oregon is a ghost town now and if it had been settled by people who could stick, it would not be. Perhaps. Who knows, there's really nothing out there. I want to take a trip and go see the area for myself. There's a motel in Heppner I could stay at for a quick overnight. I just wish Carolyn wasn't mad at me. She knows where everything is, although I could find the cemetery on my own, I'll bet. But I don't know where the Burton Valley is or McDaniel Canyon. I don't know where Kinzua was or Camp 5, although those places really have no bearing on this project. And do I really need to see any of it in order to write my stories? I've been there before many times, just not recently. I know that landscape, the high desert, the over-logged mountains that still haven't recovered from the logging activity of 70 years ago. At least that's what I remember, maybe it's no longer true. I should go see.
About Carolyn: I really don't care if she's mad at me. She attacked me out of the blue a few months ago with stuff she created in her own mind by distorting and adding meaning to a conversation that had no basis in my reality. She made up stuff and then got mad at me, which is almost as bad as having a bad dream and waking up mad at the dream offender. Plus she threw in a list of things she found offensive about me and I could tell that she had been keeping a list on the side of things she could use against me in the future. John did that throughout our marriage and instead of dealing with issues as they came up and sticking to the subject, he would bring in his list and hurl it at me so that I could be defeated and the fight could be won. He had no interest in communicating and solving the issue, he only cared about winning the fight, being right and then forgetting about the whole thing and moving on. Which, of course, never happened. Carolyn doesn't respond to any of my e-mails and she's touchy as hell when she does.
Well, I don't care. I don't think I could last a day in the car with her anyway, she has the very worst bad breath I'd ever smelled because of her rotten teeth. Now there, how's that for stashing away an offensive bit of information to use at a later date? I'm just as bad as her in so many ways. Plus she's mean about my mother and I'm not going to be around that if I can help it. I knew my mother better than anyone except my dad and now that she's gone, I've forgiven it all and only the love is left. I'm not going to rehash her faults and weaknesses with Carolyn or anyone else.
OK, I got off track with that but I'm glad I wrote it down. Now I can move on. If I need to make a trip to explore Hardman and the area over there, I'll do it without her.
So far today, I have nothing toward my words for the book. I know what I'll do! I'll plug in the headgear and read in an entry from my journal about home that I wrote a few weeks ago. Yes, that has to be done anyway. So off I go to do that now.
Day Two
10:10am Writing Practice 60° Boise
I got my good start yesterday, 970 words. I edited it a little this morning based on what I found while revisiting the while box. It took a while to find what I wanted, what I had read before. I found the stories finally but they weren't in the detail that I see in my mind when I think of them. My mind has done a trick and has fleshed out the stories in such a way that I can see people --- it has provided details that were not on those pages when I read them four years ago and they're still not there. The stories are rather flat, in fact. If I can tell them the way I see them in my mind, they will be exciting and touching and if I tell them in that way and make sure the reader knows that the details sprang to life on their own without my even knowing it, maybe that will be OK.
Rachael Riley McDaniel is the intrepid character of this story but cousin Carolyn McDaniel assures me that she was no big deal. I hope my differences with CMcD can be resolved so that I can ask more questions. Rachael's husband, James Harrison McDaniel, "Had" is what he was called, died at age 50 and left the family adrift. Rachael had grown kids that were married but she also had some young ones still at home. They owned a butcher shop in Michigan City, Indiana. Had was the only son of Joseph McDaniel, originally from Virginia. Why they moved to Indiana is anyone's guess. Joseph and his wife are buried there and so is Had.
After Had died, Rachael sold the butcher shop, packed up what she could take, grabbed the kids still at home and hopped a train to Spokane, Washington, about 2000 miles away. Who does that? I'll have to read the account again, it seems that some of her family had moved out there and she was going to be with them. But she left her grown sons and their families in Indiana, along with her home and all her friends. She struck out heading west with a few trunks and a kid on each hand at an age when most women were beginning to settle into to the grandmother years.
Just to put this in context, Rachael would be wearing skirts that covered her legs. Women did not have the vote, they barely had a name of their own which was only used by family or close friends. She would have been called Mrs McDaniel at all times. Also, train travel in those days, while considerably faster than the alternatives --- horse, horse and wagon, foot --- it was by no means fast. The trip from Indiana to Spokane, WA took at least a month, probably closer to six weeks! Six weeks with no bed, no shower, very little food except what could be scrounged along the way. That trip alone strikes me as fantastical and I wish Rachael had kept a journal. I don't have the dates of the trip so I don't know the time of year they traveled. So much has been lost through the years and now a major life journey has been relegated to a sentence in a paragraph that includes no details at all, except the ones provided by my own vivid imagination.
After breakfast, I'm going to scan the pages I found and e-mail them to Carolyn. Maybe that will warm her up, although as far as I know, once she has turned on someone, she never turns back. That also must be a family trait. I'm going to find some answers to my questions and try to formulate a narrative to start this story off. Because as far as I can tell, Rachael Riley McDaniel was the ancestor who provided the genes that kicked off my life as a risk taker and a mover and wanderer, always searching for a home the was out there somewhere, just out of sight, never where I lay my head. To understand my life, I'd really love to have a story for hers.
694 words today.
I got my good start yesterday, 970 words. I edited it a little this morning based on what I found while revisiting the while box. It took a while to find what I wanted, what I had read before. I found the stories finally but they weren't in the detail that I see in my mind when I think of them. My mind has done a trick and has fleshed out the stories in such a way that I can see people --- it has provided details that were not on those pages when I read them four years ago and they're still not there. The stories are rather flat, in fact. If I can tell them the way I see them in my mind, they will be exciting and touching and if I tell them in that way and make sure the reader knows that the details sprang to life on their own without my even knowing it, maybe that will be OK.
Rachael Riley McDaniel is the intrepid character of this story but cousin Carolyn McDaniel assures me that she was no big deal. I hope my differences with CMcD can be resolved so that I can ask more questions. Rachael's husband, James Harrison McDaniel, "Had" is what he was called, died at age 50 and left the family adrift. Rachael had grown kids that were married but she also had some young ones still at home. They owned a butcher shop in Michigan City, Indiana. Had was the only son of Joseph McDaniel, originally from Virginia. Why they moved to Indiana is anyone's guess. Joseph and his wife are buried there and so is Had.
After Had died, Rachael sold the butcher shop, packed up what she could take, grabbed the kids still at home and hopped a train to Spokane, Washington, about 2000 miles away. Who does that? I'll have to read the account again, it seems that some of her family had moved out there and she was going to be with them. But she left her grown sons and their families in Indiana, along with her home and all her friends. She struck out heading west with a few trunks and a kid on each hand at an age when most women were beginning to settle into to the grandmother years.
Just to put this in context, Rachael would be wearing skirts that covered her legs. Women did not have the vote, they barely had a name of their own which was only used by family or close friends. She would have been called Mrs McDaniel at all times. Also, train travel in those days, while considerably faster than the alternatives --- horse, horse and wagon, foot --- it was by no means fast. The trip from Indiana to Spokane, WA took at least a month, probably closer to six weeks! Six weeks with no bed, no shower, very little food except what could be scrounged along the way. That trip alone strikes me as fantastical and I wish Rachael had kept a journal. I don't have the dates of the trip so I don't know the time of year they traveled. So much has been lost through the years and now a major life journey has been relegated to a sentence in a paragraph that includes no details at all, except the ones provided by my own vivid imagination.
After breakfast, I'm going to scan the pages I found and e-mail them to Carolyn. Maybe that will warm her up, although as far as I know, once she has turned on someone, she never turns back. That also must be a family trait. I'm going to find some answers to my questions and try to formulate a narrative to start this story off. Because as far as I can tell, Rachael Riley McDaniel was the ancestor who provided the genes that kicked off my life as a risk taker and a mover and wanderer, always searching for a home the was out there somewhere, just out of sight, never where I lay my head. To understand my life, I'd really love to have a story for hers.
694 words today.
Sunday, September 25, 2016
Day One of The Home Project
10:53am Writing Practice 58° Boise
The old woman looked at me, her eyes vacant and myopic through the thick lenses of her glasses.
The old woman looked at me, her eyes vacant and myopic through the thick lenses of her glasses.
“I
don’t know you.” she said.
“It’s
OK Granny, I know you and I’ll remember for both of us.”
I’ll
remember for all of us ….
And thus begins my first book. This will either be on the dedication page or it will be the first sentences of the introduction. Either way, I'm so happy I remembered this! I said that to her long ago on one of my visits to her care facility. I would say Home but it wasn't really a home, it was a place to hang out while waiting to die. The workers there are trained to help bathe and change soiled panties.
I remember the last time I saw my Granny. I was visiting my parents in Hermiston after I had put all my stuff in storage and hit the road to see what I could find. Stephen was with me on the trip but I went to see Granny alone --- I wanted to take my time and really be present with her because I knew this would probably be my last visit. I didn't know where I would end up or how long I would be gone and she was a few months from turning 97 years old. I wanted this visit to last me the rest of my life.
Granny had begun to lose her memories after she turned 80. She fell apart a little after that birthday, I don't think she could wrap her mind around the fact that she was 80 years old. She had always been active and sharp, full of life and ready to laugh. She used to brag about going to the Old Folks Home and volunteering to help, winking because so many of them were younger than her. She was very proud of her vigor and good health; she went to the senior dances three times a week and had a lovely wardrobe of gowns to dress up in when she went.
She was born Opal Grace McDaniel in 1908 in Morrow County, Oregon. I'm not sure if she was born in Heppner or Hardman but I'm pretty sure she was born at home. She was the fourth child of Edward and Emma (Pennington) McDaniel. Her mother died in January 1912, pregnant with a fifth child, when a flu ravaged the area of Idaho where the family was staying while Ed looked for work. They were living in a tent in the middle of winter with all those kids and who knows what they did for heat or food. Dirt poor doesn't begin to describe the situation and it's amazing that any of them survived. Little Opal had just turned three a few months before her mother died and I believe the effect it had on her traveled down through time and continues to leave a trail of tears for all the maternal love that was lost that day. In fact, I believe that the death of Emma McDaniel was the precursor to the death of my own child, Stephen Sandknop, 101 years later. But that's a long story, convoluted and hard to tell. And somehow, that's the story I'm going to try to tell.
I think. Sheesh! It's so confusing, I'm not really sure what I'm doing writing all this except I said I would and I promised Granny that I would remember for all of us. Auntie Jan also wrote her stories from her young life and that's a real help in putting this all together, that and what I already know and have experienced.
A few years before Granny died, I was packing up my car, preparing to leave from a visit with my parents in Hermiston in 2003, when Dad came walking out of the garage carrying a white cardboard box, an OreIda Tator Tots box, to be specific. This family of mine was not very good at record keeping, to say the least! Anyway, he handed it to me and I thought I knew what was in it. Years before, I had been planning to stay with Granny for a few weeks and help her put a cookbook together. I had an airline ticket from Chicago to Portland but a few days before I was to leave, she had a nervous breakdown and got shingles. I'm pretty sure I caused that episode by pressuring her to let me help her compile that book. The trip was cancelled and never spoken of again, except she told me she would put all the notes in a box and give it to me when she saw me next so that I could do it on my own if I wanted to. So when Dad handed me that box, I thought it contained recipes. I took it home and stashed it in the garage, moving it along with all my other stuff nine times in the next six years. It finally came to rest in my shed when I moved into this house on Latah in Boise in 2007.
Then one spring day in 2012, as I was setting up my deck furniture, preparing for summer in the house where I still live, I came across that box in the shed and thought, hey! I should at least open it and see what's inside. It's my inheritance, after all. Granny had died in January 2006 and I had not given that white box of hers a second thought in all that time. So I put the patio table together, opened up the umbrella and pulled up a chair with the box in front of me. I slit open the tape, damaged as it was from all the years and moves, and disappeared into another world.
OK, 964 words today ... a perfect start to my intention to write 500 to 1000 words a day until I get a first draft written on or before March 25, 2017. Day One is a rousing success and tomorrow I'll have found the stories I want in Granny's OreIda box and get them added.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Define HOME
9:48am Writing Practice 54° Boise
Chilly and windy today but sunny. It rained last night and the deck is wet but that should be it for the rain for a while. Tomorrow is my yard sale. The neighbors are doing one too, there will be plenty of activity out front and tomorrow should be warmer, more hospitable for a day outside. I'll get my coat out of the shed. And I have to go through stuff today, find items to offer so it looks like I have things to sell. Mostly I want to get rid of the bigger things that don't fit in the house.
In two days I haven't gone into the back bedroom to get anything set up. I'm so glad I moved my studio home! If I'm going to ignore it all, at least it's not costing me extra money every month. I got some errands run yesterday. I finally got to Walmart with my list and I picked up my birdhouse lamp from the shop. $30 to fix the switch! Holy Cow! But I didn't ask for an estimate, didn't even occur to me to ask. You'd think I would have learned my lesson about that with the red bar stool episode. I could have asked Joe to fix it but I didn't. Actually, I did hint that I had a lamp with a broken switch and he declared that he wasn't a repair guy. So there, that's why I didn't ask him.
Last night I sat down and completed the list of lifetime addresses and I came up with 55 started at age 5 when Mom married Richard in 1958. They had an apartment in Santa Ana, or at least I think it was in Santa Ana. 1958 to 2007, which is when I moved in here, that's 49 years. I have had 55 homes in 49 years. Wow. No wonder I have no idea what home is. I wonder if others are able to define the idea of home or if this is an issue for many and they just don't talk about it. I think Home may be a multilayered subject and the exploring of it could take a while.
I just found this article on a blog site from 2012 and it's a pretty good discussion on defining Home: http://www.thelongestwayhome.com/blog/how-to-live-overseas/what-is-the-definition-of-home-2012-edition/
In a way that article helped clarify that I've been looking for a home all my life thinking it was a place or a building but in reality, I was looking for me and for the meaning in life, for my life's purpose, for the insights as to what I'm supposed to be doing here. Because that's the issue, I now see. My parents hijacked me with that religion at a young age and I never had a chance to discover my life or my purpose for myself. I've never felt at home in my own life, never learned to define it for myself since it was always so closely defined by someone else. That's why I was so willing to step into the lives of others and join them like I did with John and perhaps why my marriage to Bob was such a failure because he didn't have any better clue about home or life's purpose than I did and we were never able to define it or create it for ourselves. He went on to Shelly, joining her in her life and her house and he lived like that for 20 years. And when he left her, he moved on to Linda who had a more interesting life and he joined her and became a realtor.
Wow, so much I didn't understand about this idea of home and how the search for it has been the driving factor in my life and in all my choices. I'm going to enjoy this writing project! There's so much of me to discover here inside.
Chilly and windy today but sunny. It rained last night and the deck is wet but that should be it for the rain for a while. Tomorrow is my yard sale. The neighbors are doing one too, there will be plenty of activity out front and tomorrow should be warmer, more hospitable for a day outside. I'll get my coat out of the shed. And I have to go through stuff today, find items to offer so it looks like I have things to sell. Mostly I want to get rid of the bigger things that don't fit in the house.
In two days I haven't gone into the back bedroom to get anything set up. I'm so glad I moved my studio home! If I'm going to ignore it all, at least it's not costing me extra money every month. I got some errands run yesterday. I finally got to Walmart with my list and I picked up my birdhouse lamp from the shop. $30 to fix the switch! Holy Cow! But I didn't ask for an estimate, didn't even occur to me to ask. You'd think I would have learned my lesson about that with the red bar stool episode. I could have asked Joe to fix it but I didn't. Actually, I did hint that I had a lamp with a broken switch and he declared that he wasn't a repair guy. So there, that's why I didn't ask him.
Last night I sat down and completed the list of lifetime addresses and I came up with 55 started at age 5 when Mom married Richard in 1958. They had an apartment in Santa Ana, or at least I think it was in Santa Ana. 1958 to 2007, which is when I moved in here, that's 49 years. I have had 55 homes in 49 years. Wow. No wonder I have no idea what home is. I wonder if others are able to define the idea of home or if this is an issue for many and they just don't talk about it. I think Home may be a multilayered subject and the exploring of it could take a while.
I just found this article on a blog site from 2012 and it's a pretty good discussion on defining Home: http://www.thelongestwayhome.com/blog/how-to-live-overseas/what-is-the-definition-of-home-2012-edition/
In a way that article helped clarify that I've been looking for a home all my life thinking it was a place or a building but in reality, I was looking for me and for the meaning in life, for my life's purpose, for the insights as to what I'm supposed to be doing here. Because that's the issue, I now see. My parents hijacked me with that religion at a young age and I never had a chance to discover my life or my purpose for myself. I've never felt at home in my own life, never learned to define it for myself since it was always so closely defined by someone else. That's why I was so willing to step into the lives of others and join them like I did with John and perhaps why my marriage to Bob was such a failure because he didn't have any better clue about home or life's purpose than I did and we were never able to define it or create it for ourselves. He went on to Shelly, joining her in her life and her house and he lived like that for 20 years. And when he left her, he moved on to Linda who had a more interesting life and he joined her and became a realtor.
Wow, so much I didn't understand about this idea of home and how the search for it has been the driving factor in my life and in all my choices. I'm going to enjoy this writing project! There's so much of me to discover here inside.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
VHS Tapes and Other Issues
7:56am Writing Practice 52° Boise
First day of Fall, officially, but it's been turning since July. Basically, it's almost winter. Another month and that will be it, snow will be flying. I remember one October 13th, we got snow --- big, puffing, heavy, wet snow that didn't last but the day and it wasn't too cold. When was that? 2010 maybe? I remember working at the diner, that's the image I get when I think of it ... the diner and State St in the snow. Then in 2014 we got an arctic blast on November 10th and that was it, winter was on and we got an early winter the next year in 2015 as well. I like it when we don't get snow or ice cold until at least December. That gives the trees and other growing things time to prepare before it hits. My pear tree out back has just started with a few yellow leaves, it needs to get on with it. I like to get the leaves cleaned up before the worst weather hits and that's hard to do if the weather hits too early. Maybe I'll try to get out there a few times and keep up as they fall. I don't want slimy leaves on my new deck.
It clouded up and rained yesterday and overnight. The forecast is cloudy today and tomorrow but clearing up to sunny and warm for the rest of the week after that. Guess I'll have a driveway sale on Saturday. It's early yet and still wet out back, especially the deck. Mostly I just want to get stuff cleared out and I don't have a way to get it to the Youth Ranch so I'll do it from here. No big deal. Nothing will be marked, I'll just get what I can from things and be glad of it. I went through the DVDs last night and sorted out a whole bunch. Today I'll sort the videos and only keep the very best, rarest ones. Then I guess I'll throw the rest away. Wait, not so fast ... I just checked online and it seems that VHS tapes are considered electronic toxic waste and I can't just toss them into the landfill. But no one else wants them either. I just posted about it on Facebook, we'll see if anyone has any ideas or if there is a local option for proper disposal. I also have an old tube-style TV to dispose of and I can do that next Tuesday at the hazardous waste set up at Albertson's on Vista. Perfect! Maybe they'll take the tapes as well. I'll ask.
The cats are sitting on the back of the couch looking out the window; you can see the disgust at being trapped indoors wafting off of them like fumes. I hope it dries up enough to let them out this afternoon --- otherwise I'll have some pretty unhappy cats.
Well, I woke up too early, yet again, and now I'm sitting here wanting to go back to bed. The dark day doesn't help. This is a perfect day for a lie-in or keg-up. But I really want to solve my sleep issues! I stopped taking my sleep aide a few weeks ago when I read that it damages the brain and may contribute to dementia and Alzheimer's. Dang! On one hand, what the study showed was a 19% increase in the chances of getting those conditions if one pill a day is taken. I typically take a half pill with my magnesium. I also take my Juvenon which is good for brain health and so is ASEA. You know what? I may be willing to take my chances since I'm taking such good care of myself otherwise ... I need my sleep! Sleeping lousy messes up my whole day and I just hate it! On the other hand, both my grandmother and my mother suffered from dementia of some sort but neither of them took care of themselves like I do. Also, the study suggested that the damage was permanent, which means that any damage I've already done is done, no reversing that. I'm not sure I believe it, other studies show major brain plasticity even under the most dire circumstances. After all is said and done, I'm going to begin taking my half-a-blue-pill again and see if I can steady out my sleep. Starting tonight.
Yesterday I hand-wrote a bunch of stuff about Home and I also have a whole page of notes in my Spiral, so today I'll get out my headgear and read all that into a document for the files. Soon I have to begin my project in earnest, I've vowed to write 500-1000 words a day until I get a first draft complete, on or before March 25th. Six months. I can do this. I want to do this!
First day of Fall, officially, but it's been turning since July. Basically, it's almost winter. Another month and that will be it, snow will be flying. I remember one October 13th, we got snow --- big, puffing, heavy, wet snow that didn't last but the day and it wasn't too cold. When was that? 2010 maybe? I remember working at the diner, that's the image I get when I think of it ... the diner and State St in the snow. Then in 2014 we got an arctic blast on November 10th and that was it, winter was on and we got an early winter the next year in 2015 as well. I like it when we don't get snow or ice cold until at least December. That gives the trees and other growing things time to prepare before it hits. My pear tree out back has just started with a few yellow leaves, it needs to get on with it. I like to get the leaves cleaned up before the worst weather hits and that's hard to do if the weather hits too early. Maybe I'll try to get out there a few times and keep up as they fall. I don't want slimy leaves on my new deck.
It clouded up and rained yesterday and overnight. The forecast is cloudy today and tomorrow but clearing up to sunny and warm for the rest of the week after that. Guess I'll have a driveway sale on Saturday. It's early yet and still wet out back, especially the deck. Mostly I just want to get stuff cleared out and I don't have a way to get it to the Youth Ranch so I'll do it from here. No big deal. Nothing will be marked, I'll just get what I can from things and be glad of it. I went through the DVDs last night and sorted out a whole bunch. Today I'll sort the videos and only keep the very best, rarest ones. Then I guess I'll throw the rest away. Wait, not so fast ... I just checked online and it seems that VHS tapes are considered electronic toxic waste and I can't just toss them into the landfill. But no one else wants them either. I just posted about it on Facebook, we'll see if anyone has any ideas or if there is a local option for proper disposal. I also have an old tube-style TV to dispose of and I can do that next Tuesday at the hazardous waste set up at Albertson's on Vista. Perfect! Maybe they'll take the tapes as well. I'll ask.
The cats are sitting on the back of the couch looking out the window; you can see the disgust at being trapped indoors wafting off of them like fumes. I hope it dries up enough to let them out this afternoon --- otherwise I'll have some pretty unhappy cats.
Well, I woke up too early, yet again, and now I'm sitting here wanting to go back to bed. The dark day doesn't help. This is a perfect day for a lie-in or keg-up. But I really want to solve my sleep issues! I stopped taking my sleep aide a few weeks ago when I read that it damages the brain and may contribute to dementia and Alzheimer's. Dang! On one hand, what the study showed was a 19% increase in the chances of getting those conditions if one pill a day is taken. I typically take a half pill with my magnesium. I also take my Juvenon which is good for brain health and so is ASEA. You know what? I may be willing to take my chances since I'm taking such good care of myself otherwise ... I need my sleep! Sleeping lousy messes up my whole day and I just hate it! On the other hand, both my grandmother and my mother suffered from dementia of some sort but neither of them took care of themselves like I do. Also, the study suggested that the damage was permanent, which means that any damage I've already done is done, no reversing that. I'm not sure I believe it, other studies show major brain plasticity even under the most dire circumstances. After all is said and done, I'm going to begin taking my half-a-blue-pill again and see if I can steady out my sleep. Starting tonight.
Yesterday I hand-wrote a bunch of stuff about Home and I also have a whole page of notes in my Spiral, so today I'll get out my headgear and read all that into a document for the files. Soon I have to begin my project in earnest, I've vowed to write 500-1000 words a day until I get a first draft complete, on or before March 25th. Six months. I can do this. I want to do this!
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
Tuesday
8:35am Writing Practice 49° Boise
Bad couple of days around here. I got all my stuff moved from the studio and the room totally cleaned, repaired and ready to rent again. Horace won't have to do a thing to it --- yes, I'm that good! However, I got it all brought home and then had to stuff most of it into my shed because I ran out of energy to deal with any of it. In a few days I'll drag it all out to the end of the driveway and have a sale. I'll do that on Friday or Saturday. I'll spend tomorrow and Thursday preparing and sorting. I want to move things along in here, I don't want to live in clutter or feel too crowded for the winter.
After that, I have painting to do. I have to clean and paint the bench Kurt made for me and sometime next week Richard Fabian is coming back to finish updating the paint on the house. Also, I need to get the heat gun out and see if I can strip the front porch --- that peeling paint is the pits! But before I can do that, I have to tear down the last of the sunflowers and get them cut up and put in the garbage by Sunday afternoon. I've already done some of that so it should be doable.
Lamar is in town for the entire day, I'm going to pick him up at Hotel 43 downtown and we're going for a drive to Idaho City. He's never been and it's going to be a beautiful day, so it should be fun. I had a horrible day yesterday, not enough sleep the night before and then thinking myself into a funk. What happened with James and Bryce last month is still kicking my ass and I'm tempted to be angry. Those kinds of thoughts lead to Nathan and how he's abandoned me this past year and how so many others have done the same thing over the years and then I start feeling weird and icky like there's something wrong with me and then I don't want to go anywhere or see anyone and all I can do is lay in on my bed and worry and fret and be upset. Now today, after tapping yesterday evening and after getting a good night's sleep, I'm feeling more normal, less weird and icky and maybe, just maybe, I'll be OK today for Lamar. I hope.
After I get the shed cleared out, I'm going to bring Granny's box into the house and find the stories about Rachael Riley McDaniel and her big move to Spokane from Indiana on the train with her two youngest children after her husband, Had McDaniel, died. I may use that story to start off my Home book. It's such an interesting story and might be just the ticket to set the tone for the stories of all my moves in life and what we're all looking for and dreaming of when we move.
In the meantime, I'm not moving. Two more months and I'll have been in this house for 9 years. Considering the fact that I've never lived so long anywhere, things are in pretty good shape around here. When I cleaned good a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but notice that it wasn't that dirty. Besides dust in a few places, no one would ever know that I've lived here for so long. Mom lived in her duplex in Hermiston for two months shy of 10 years and both she and Dad died in that place. They, too, were lifelong movers and yet managed to stay put at the end. They moved into that place July 2002. Dad died January 2009 and mom died May 2012.
I wonder if I'll die in this house? Mom turned 66 a few weeks after they moved in, just a few years older than I am now. I was 54 when I moved in here. Now I'm 63 and my dreams of buying an RV and traveling seem very far off. But unlike my mother, my health is good (even if my attitude sucks sometimes) and I could still get there from here.
Well, I need to get a shower and wash my hair. I'll pick up Lamar at 11:30 and there's much to do between now and then. So off I go. I'll try a little more tapping and see if I can lift a little more of this funk. That reminds me, Sept 20, 1973 I married Bob Willems. 43 years ago today. I sent a text to Nathan telling him the it was worth it because of him but I haven't heard back. He may or may not respond. Yep, I better tap some more.
Bad couple of days around here. I got all my stuff moved from the studio and the room totally cleaned, repaired and ready to rent again. Horace won't have to do a thing to it --- yes, I'm that good! However, I got it all brought home and then had to stuff most of it into my shed because I ran out of energy to deal with any of it. In a few days I'll drag it all out to the end of the driveway and have a sale. I'll do that on Friday or Saturday. I'll spend tomorrow and Thursday preparing and sorting. I want to move things along in here, I don't want to live in clutter or feel too crowded for the winter.
After that, I have painting to do. I have to clean and paint the bench Kurt made for me and sometime next week Richard Fabian is coming back to finish updating the paint on the house. Also, I need to get the heat gun out and see if I can strip the front porch --- that peeling paint is the pits! But before I can do that, I have to tear down the last of the sunflowers and get them cut up and put in the garbage by Sunday afternoon. I've already done some of that so it should be doable.
Lamar is in town for the entire day, I'm going to pick him up at Hotel 43 downtown and we're going for a drive to Idaho City. He's never been and it's going to be a beautiful day, so it should be fun. I had a horrible day yesterday, not enough sleep the night before and then thinking myself into a funk. What happened with James and Bryce last month is still kicking my ass and I'm tempted to be angry. Those kinds of thoughts lead to Nathan and how he's abandoned me this past year and how so many others have done the same thing over the years and then I start feeling weird and icky like there's something wrong with me and then I don't want to go anywhere or see anyone and all I can do is lay in on my bed and worry and fret and be upset. Now today, after tapping yesterday evening and after getting a good night's sleep, I'm feeling more normal, less weird and icky and maybe, just maybe, I'll be OK today for Lamar. I hope.
After I get the shed cleared out, I'm going to bring Granny's box into the house and find the stories about Rachael Riley McDaniel and her big move to Spokane from Indiana on the train with her two youngest children after her husband, Had McDaniel, died. I may use that story to start off my Home book. It's such an interesting story and might be just the ticket to set the tone for the stories of all my moves in life and what we're all looking for and dreaming of when we move.
In the meantime, I'm not moving. Two more months and I'll have been in this house for 9 years. Considering the fact that I've never lived so long anywhere, things are in pretty good shape around here. When I cleaned good a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but notice that it wasn't that dirty. Besides dust in a few places, no one would ever know that I've lived here for so long. Mom lived in her duplex in Hermiston for two months shy of 10 years and both she and Dad died in that place. They, too, were lifelong movers and yet managed to stay put at the end. They moved into that place July 2002. Dad died January 2009 and mom died May 2012.
I wonder if I'll die in this house? Mom turned 66 a few weeks after they moved in, just a few years older than I am now. I was 54 when I moved in here. Now I'm 63 and my dreams of buying an RV and traveling seem very far off. But unlike my mother, my health is good (even if my attitude sucks sometimes) and I could still get there from here.
Well, I need to get a shower and wash my hair. I'll pick up Lamar at 11:30 and there's much to do between now and then. So off I go. I'll try a little more tapping and see if I can lift a little more of this funk. That reminds me, Sept 20, 1973 I married Bob Willems. 43 years ago today. I sent a text to Nathan telling him the it was worth it because of him but I haven't heard back. He may or may not respond. Yep, I better tap some more.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
A Sense of Place
8:15am Writing Practice 55° Boise
Kinda dark and cloudy today. Not sure if it's going to try to rain today or what ... nope, just a dark, cool, cloudy day. High will be 69° and no sun at all. The rest of the week will be beautiful though, sunny and perfect temps. I have much to do again today but lately I've been very slow to get anything done. It's like I've been asleep for a very long time and now have to wake myself and start shuffling around again. That's what life feels like after a long illness ... although 8 days is not that long. But still, it's enough to have ones life grind to a halt and mine sure did.
Yesterday I went to the studio for a bit, took things off the cork board and brought the board home. I got a few more boxes when I dropped some items off at the Youth Ranch. Today I'll go back with box tape and begin loading up and start bringing stuff home. It's going to be crowded and uncomfortable here for a while until I can sell some things. But first I'll get the little things I'm going to keep carted out of there. Then when Gigi and Tony come get the little fridge, I'll see if they will help me get a few big things moved --- like my desk and the printer table. Everything else I can manage on my own. I'll take some photos of the items I want to sell and post them on Facebook. All those frames! The folding bookcase. The drop leaf table and two chairs. That may be it. Oh yes, the coffee table where the fridge and microwave sit. It will be so good to get all that stuff dispersed and/or brought home. I was thinking of using the coffee table here, putting the chest under the window in my bedroom and putting the bench in the back bedroom. I think I will. Nice to get a change of pace.
Woke up this morning thinking about my writing projects. I have at least three, maybe four. Learning to Live Far From Home, The Trip Toward the Fall, Self-Empowered Health: A Guide to Everyday Health and Healing, and maybe The Art of Kindness. Yes, that's four books. Wow. Then there's I AM; still here: Surviving Suicide. That's five books! I have enough stories to write five books! Astonishing.
Randy Sandknop, author of five books including the best selling memoir, Learning to Live Far From Home.
Doesn't that sound official and good? I've got my plan and a deadline. 1000 words a day is what I'll write and I'll have a first draft (at least) by March 25th.
As I was making the bed this morning, I was thinking of the sense of place and how each place I've lived feels so different in my memory. As I was smoothing the bedspread, I imagined myself making my bed in Baker City, being there with the the same belongings that I have here but with Baker outside the door. It shouldn't matter, really, Baker has all one needs to live and I hardly avail myself of all that this area has to offer, why would it feel so different? When I close my eyes right now and picture Baker out the front door, I feel restricted, limited somehow. I feel like a plant in a pot too small, no room to stretch. And yet there's plenty there, wide open outdoors, mountains, streams, fresh air! How could that be restrictive? Like there's really no place to go and no one to connect with. When I think of Hannibal, Missouri (ten years ago this month, Stephen and I arrived in Hannibal with our stuff in a huge moving truck that I had driven from California), I feel off balance and adrift, it's too far away! It always felt too far away but I had trouble defining what it was too far away from. I came to understand that it was too far away from my parents, who lived in Hermiston, Oregon at the time and too far away from here. Boise. But that didn't make any sense. Maybe it was the general high dessert area that I missed, the Pacific Northwest region. Because I was born here, did that make it home? And how could I live on the East Coast for so many years without longing for here?
I think the sense of place and the feeling of home changes over time and with altered circumstances. I was fine in Florida for over four years because that's where my family was. But then, I think back and I know I wasn't fine ... I was drunk. I was miserable. I was marking time until John retired and we could start our real life. I was waiting for my real life to begin. I was holding down the fort as best I could while weathering the storms of unhappiness and feeling misplaced by not being entirely sober, especially the last few years. And when John announced that he was not going to retire, that we were moving to Alameda and join ship's company on the USS Lincoln, well, that was it for me. I melted into a hot mess and didn't begin to recover until I stopped drinking a few years later.
I have distinct memories of things that happened in every place I ever lived, what the rooms looked like, the streets, the towns, what we did and what cars we drove. I have an incredible memory and I'd love to write all this down, each location with a strong sense of place.
Yesterday I made the statement that it was the desire for "home" that drove my relationship decisions all my life and until I wrote that down, I did not know it. Since then, I've pondered the truth of it and it stuns me. I tried to make homes with Bob, I moved us around and around all over the place until I realized that I couldn't make a home with him. Rick had a house in Beaverton and while it wasn't a very good house, he owned it (or was buying it), and I liked that feeling of owning a home. I wanted in there with him but he wouldn't allow it. I spent countless hours visualizing my ideal home during the years I spent with Rick. I doubt that I would have stayed with him had he not had that house. Then I met John and he offered me a home in California, a house with a pool in the back yard. In California. Did I mention that it was in California?! Where I was yanked away at age 11 and always yearned to get back to ever since? I was a California dreamer well before the song came out. My first yearnings for home began as we drove away from there and headed north to Baker County in 1964. So there was no way I was going to decline that offer from John Sandknop --- it was a dream-come-true on a soul level. He had no idea (and neither did I) that he was offering me my heart's desire. So even though I wasn't in love with him and I had no interest in a military lifestyle, I was very attracted to him and he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Little did I know that when I married him, I actually married that house on Lemmon Way and I would never be happy again without it.
Well, so many interesting realizations about home. I managed to shift myself around all those years ago until I finally got what I wanted ... a home of my own in the location of my choice, along with plenty of freedom and no one else to please. All the choices I made over the years were leading me here and I was blind to it until just now. I wanted a sense of home but I also wanted Stephen to have a sense of home as well and he never did. He was just as lost by the whole idea as I was, so he hitched himself to Mike and created a home with cats and when that fell apart, he didn't have the tools to cope with the loss. He lost Mike and the cats but he lost his sense of home, of connection, of belonging, and he withered away and died. I know just what that feels like! My poor baby. Oh Stephen, I'm so sorry!
Kinda dark and cloudy today. Not sure if it's going to try to rain today or what ... nope, just a dark, cool, cloudy day. High will be 69° and no sun at all. The rest of the week will be beautiful though, sunny and perfect temps. I have much to do again today but lately I've been very slow to get anything done. It's like I've been asleep for a very long time and now have to wake myself and start shuffling around again. That's what life feels like after a long illness ... although 8 days is not that long. But still, it's enough to have ones life grind to a halt and mine sure did.
Yesterday I went to the studio for a bit, took things off the cork board and brought the board home. I got a few more boxes when I dropped some items off at the Youth Ranch. Today I'll go back with box tape and begin loading up and start bringing stuff home. It's going to be crowded and uncomfortable here for a while until I can sell some things. But first I'll get the little things I'm going to keep carted out of there. Then when Gigi and Tony come get the little fridge, I'll see if they will help me get a few big things moved --- like my desk and the printer table. Everything else I can manage on my own. I'll take some photos of the items I want to sell and post them on Facebook. All those frames! The folding bookcase. The drop leaf table and two chairs. That may be it. Oh yes, the coffee table where the fridge and microwave sit. It will be so good to get all that stuff dispersed and/or brought home. I was thinking of using the coffee table here, putting the chest under the window in my bedroom and putting the bench in the back bedroom. I think I will. Nice to get a change of pace.
Woke up this morning thinking about my writing projects. I have at least three, maybe four. Learning to Live Far From Home, The Trip Toward the Fall, Self-Empowered Health: A Guide to Everyday Health and Healing, and maybe The Art of Kindness. Yes, that's four books. Wow. Then there's I AM; still here: Surviving Suicide. That's five books! I have enough stories to write five books! Astonishing.
Randy Sandknop, author of five books including the best selling memoir, Learning to Live Far From Home.
Doesn't that sound official and good? I've got my plan and a deadline. 1000 words a day is what I'll write and I'll have a first draft (at least) by March 25th.
As I was making the bed this morning, I was thinking of the sense of place and how each place I've lived feels so different in my memory. As I was smoothing the bedspread, I imagined myself making my bed in Baker City, being there with the the same belongings that I have here but with Baker outside the door. It shouldn't matter, really, Baker has all one needs to live and I hardly avail myself of all that this area has to offer, why would it feel so different? When I close my eyes right now and picture Baker out the front door, I feel restricted, limited somehow. I feel like a plant in a pot too small, no room to stretch. And yet there's plenty there, wide open outdoors, mountains, streams, fresh air! How could that be restrictive? Like there's really no place to go and no one to connect with. When I think of Hannibal, Missouri (ten years ago this month, Stephen and I arrived in Hannibal with our stuff in a huge moving truck that I had driven from California), I feel off balance and adrift, it's too far away! It always felt too far away but I had trouble defining what it was too far away from. I came to understand that it was too far away from my parents, who lived in Hermiston, Oregon at the time and too far away from here. Boise. But that didn't make any sense. Maybe it was the general high dessert area that I missed, the Pacific Northwest region. Because I was born here, did that make it home? And how could I live on the East Coast for so many years without longing for here?
I think the sense of place and the feeling of home changes over time and with altered circumstances. I was fine in Florida for over four years because that's where my family was. But then, I think back and I know I wasn't fine ... I was drunk. I was miserable. I was marking time until John retired and we could start our real life. I was waiting for my real life to begin. I was holding down the fort as best I could while weathering the storms of unhappiness and feeling misplaced by not being entirely sober, especially the last few years. And when John announced that he was not going to retire, that we were moving to Alameda and join ship's company on the USS Lincoln, well, that was it for me. I melted into a hot mess and didn't begin to recover until I stopped drinking a few years later.
I have distinct memories of things that happened in every place I ever lived, what the rooms looked like, the streets, the towns, what we did and what cars we drove. I have an incredible memory and I'd love to write all this down, each location with a strong sense of place.
Yesterday I made the statement that it was the desire for "home" that drove my relationship decisions all my life and until I wrote that down, I did not know it. Since then, I've pondered the truth of it and it stuns me. I tried to make homes with Bob, I moved us around and around all over the place until I realized that I couldn't make a home with him. Rick had a house in Beaverton and while it wasn't a very good house, he owned it (or was buying it), and I liked that feeling of owning a home. I wanted in there with him but he wouldn't allow it. I spent countless hours visualizing my ideal home during the years I spent with Rick. I doubt that I would have stayed with him had he not had that house. Then I met John and he offered me a home in California, a house with a pool in the back yard. In California. Did I mention that it was in California?! Where I was yanked away at age 11 and always yearned to get back to ever since? I was a California dreamer well before the song came out. My first yearnings for home began as we drove away from there and headed north to Baker County in 1964. So there was no way I was going to decline that offer from John Sandknop --- it was a dream-come-true on a soul level. He had no idea (and neither did I) that he was offering me my heart's desire. So even though I wasn't in love with him and I had no interest in a military lifestyle, I was very attracted to him and he made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Little did I know that when I married him, I actually married that house on Lemmon Way and I would never be happy again without it.
Well, so many interesting realizations about home. I managed to shift myself around all those years ago until I finally got what I wanted ... a home of my own in the location of my choice, along with plenty of freedom and no one else to please. All the choices I made over the years were leading me here and I was blind to it until just now. I wanted a sense of home but I also wanted Stephen to have a sense of home as well and he never did. He was just as lost by the whole idea as I was, so he hitched himself to Mike and created a home with cats and when that fell apart, he didn't have the tools to cope with the loss. He lost Mike and the cats but he lost his sense of home, of connection, of belonging, and he withered away and died. I know just what that feels like! My poor baby. Oh Stephen, I'm so sorry!
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