The smoke lingers

My ambition in life is to someday be the person my dog thinks I am. Emily Maughan

The last few nights have been rough.  Or more correctly, it’s the mornings that stink.  I seem to be harkening back to the early days and my pattern of waking up at 4am to get an early start on worrying.  My mind races with all that has to be done, isn’t being done, should be done.  All the things I keep forgetting.  The clock is ticking on the insurance paperwork and we are barely making any headway.  We do it in fits and starts and between David’s crazy travel schedule, relocating yet again, and general life busyness, it continues to fall to the wayside.  And, we have initiated the exciting (yes) and daunting (certainly) process of rebuilding.   

We need a home.  It is time to turn burgeoning thoughts into reality and break ground.  We need to have a future to live in to.  We have hired an architect and a builder and are beginning to get bids on our plans.  We hope this can be moving forward while we take our break from Colorado for the month of August.  Planning on being vagabonds through July, away for August, counting on cooler living in September and October when we return to Flame.  Then we will pack up again and go who knows where when the snow starts falling for real until our home is complete. 

Having never built a house before, we don’t really know what we are in for.  This reminds me of another faux pas in dealing with us fire people.  Yes, it is an exciting prospect to build a new house, yes we are lucky to get to do so, but don’t point this out to us.  We didn’t choose to do this so it is a mixed bag to say the least.  I harken back to my conversation early on with another fire survivor who declared years after building her “new house” she would still trade it for her old.  And, we are allowing some excitement anyway.  The first major hurdle will be seeing if we can afford our plan which is one of the things that wakes me in the wee hours.  “What if, what then, shit!”.  We are staying small, and relatively simple yet attempting to add features and touches that honor our beloved home.  Lots of tall windows to take in the view, decks across the front, an open vaulted great room, a cozy loft – and possibly an extra bathroom.  Wow.  What would we ever do with two bathrooms?  And, get this, a walk-in closet.  Not that I have clothes to fill it but after years of having to rotate closets as the seasons changed, a decent walk-in sounds lovely. 

Thoughts of this fill my mind.  Will we love it?  Can we afford it?  Will we get too much crap and lose our connection to things as they pile up in corners and in closets gathering dust?  I could argue that once you have more things than you could write down on any piece of paper at any time, you have too much.  I don’t want to accumulate.  I don’t want stacks of dishes, random kitchen implements, drawers full of junk, closets piled with clothes that hardly see the light of day.  I want simple. 

Just what is this new level of darkness that seems to be lying low like the smoke that fills the valley’s below our land?  It feels hard to smile, I am bone tired, and endless worry loops wake me up to tend to them.  Well, let’s see, there is having to move our of our cozy, albeit small, home in Flame; there are wildfires burning all over Colorado and I can’t have any conversation with anyone within 500 miles who isn’t impacted.  It is what is on everyone’s lips and in their minds.  We are no longer talking about “my fire” we are talking about multiple fires.  I can’t politely ask someone to change the subject as the issue has spread like hotcakes.  It's uncomfortable to talk about it and it's weird to not talk about it.  It’s not my issue, it’s the state of Colorado and the West’s issue.  Not that it was really ever just mine, just now it’s everywhere and it's everyones. 

Last night, I did peek at some pictures. I have wanted to stay informed but not overwhelmed so I have steered clear of images that are everywhere I look.  In these images, I glimpsed further into a world I know so well, seeing pained faces, flames coming out of windows, hugs between devastated women, animals fleeing.  I know what’s in the minds of these people.  I remember.  One of my friends exclaimed how awful it must be to discover you are on a list – almost as if I didn’t know.  I know.  I know.  I know.  I f-ing know. 

So yes, I am re-traumatized.  I see that as I type.  I feel the sob that comes up from down deep.  Our fire has faded into the distance as these new fires burn and are splashed all over the news.  But we have not faded.  We are raw and ragged and still here.  I am afraid of the next step. I don’t like being without a home.  I love my dear friends who offer basements but I want my own space.  We chose what seemed good on paper - to put our rental budget into a trailer and reclaim our land but now this seems like an expensive and limiting mistake. 

The couple tears I shed this morning (it was a somewhat stifled sob as I don’t want to startle the lovely 5 year old companion I have at the moment) provided some relief.  I am grieving.  Still.  I keep reminding you of that, but I need to remind myself of that.  That’s what is happening.  It’s grief.

I don’t want to build a new house.  I don’t want to live in a trailer.  I don’t want to live in a basement.  I want my house back. 

And, the truth that coexists is that I want this richer, rawer, edgier part of me that is claiming her place in my soul to live on as well.  And, I can’t have one without the other.  I will take my joys as they come and feel the deep pangs of grief too. As this 5-year-old angel peeks over my hands as I write not comprehending the words I type and god forbid, for a while at least, not comprehending the pain I feel or the darkness that exists in the world.  I will wash my heart for a moment as I listen to her running commentary on all things great and small.  “Did you know dogs can paint…. I met a dog named captain… How old are you…”   She tucks Tigger in a blanket as he lies on my feet and kisses his head exclaiming, “you have the best puppies ever”. 

Then I can say, yes, that is true.  At least, I have the best puppies ever.

A Summer solstice - and sojourn

The longest day of the year. I think I have had others that have felt longer. But the sun promises to shine longer today than any other day. Maybe I will rise to the challenge and join it. Maybe not. Two sips of coffee in without enough cream to make it just right, I say, it's too soon to tell. I will certainly enjoy the last few flushes of a modern toilet as I return to Flame whose toilet is, once again, on the fritz. Thank God for Shirley Septic and my now semi-permanent portapotty. I don't mind it so much during the day (when no workmen are milling around) but those middle of the night pee times that have become status quo of my mid 40's, well, that's another story. Pledging to keep the leaking tank empty for our next professional opinion, I will stumble through the dark to my plastic throne - or I may just squat along the way. It's hard to imagine all of that as I sit on my plush hotel bed a mere eight feet from a fabulous flush. And, yes, one more standup shower for this girl before I return to the seated bird bath. How different tomorrow will be from today. Did you just say 'at least you are writing regularly again'? I think I heard you say that...

I watch my roommate pack her bag for her return to England. A wild-child entrepreneur at 25 with a shock of blond hair and a sweet soul, Jo Westwood was the perfect roommate. We met virtually, on the Facebook page for the course and skyped for our first meeting. We have mostly passed in the night but our interactions have been memorable. She is launching into the stratosphere with her social media business and already is working for our fearless leader, Christina Morassi. It's because of my commitment to be Jo's roommate that I came - and it's because of Christina that I even considered it in the first place. The promise to Jo kept me driving east to the airport as I railed and seriously questioned just why I was about to jump from one silver bullet to another and hurtle through the sky before I felt ready. I even wondered if my PTSD might suddenly escalate into a full blow panic attack on the airplane. It didn't, I slept.

I met Christina at a workshop last fall. Impressed immediately by her extreme full self-expression on stage, I said 'yes' to the offer of a laser coaching session. Christina is beautiful, sassy, full on woman, and fricken real as shit. She drops the 'f-bomb' from stage as ravishingly as she wears her full length ball gowns that are her signature style. Sometimes I don't actually listen to her words, I just watch with awe at her full embodiment of all of what it means to be a woman. Also quite brilliant, a former fashion photographer, turned healing professional with shamanism and other energy modalities sprinkled in, she brought an alchemical reaction to her gifts and morphed into a mega success in a short time. She is magnetic - and a true inspiration. At this point in my journey, I would not have flown across half the country for just any old workshop. Early in my adventure, Christina and I had a few sessions. Hers was the first voice that insisted I not 'jump to form too quickly', that I shouldn't hurry my process - I have taken those wise words and run with them. Thank you Christina.

For those first few hours among 'normal folks' in the workshop, I felt like a leper. I didn't belong or fit in among these shiny (and clean) classmates. Yes, I had bathed but the stain of ash still remained on my feet and in my heart. I couldn't not talk about the fire as we shared why we were there and what we wanted to get out of the course - but the words were stuck in my craw. I chose a few steady souls and asked them to go first. Without drama, I then shared my tale. It began to ease. Christina is far from a 'normal' workshop leader so she brought all sorts of expressions to our sharing. We even danced our response to our partner at one point which was one of the most lovely moments of the workshop. I noticed myself to be more free than usual in these things I might normally label as queer. And, I also took breaks. Normally a 'good girl' and a 'good workshop attendee', I don't miss a minute as I don't want to miss THE thing that will make THE difference and alter my life FOREVER. Instead, this time, I let myself be in the room when I wanted and out when I felt the need. Then, yesterday, I stepped way out of the room. A chance opportunity to have lunch with my college roommate who just happened to be in town led to a lovely meal, then a long stroll around most of the cute shopping districts in the area. I wandered all afternoon, asking for a few pointers from shopkeepers to know if I was heading in the right direction. The perfect California weather was my companion with that cool ocean air and a warm sun. I changed clothes as I went, shedding my workshop outfit of my leopard wrap dress (sans tail for your faithful readers) and fortunately low slung heels, morphing into flip flops, burnt orange corduroy cut off shorts, and one of the best bell sleeve hippy shirts I have ever owned.

A few times panic arose as I was playing hooky. I am a bad girl! Then, I would inhale deeply, and choose to be where I was. I needed this break. I needed to be outside wandering in and out of shops. I didn't hurry. I let go of the story that I was missing something. I connected with strangers - and met one of the most fabulous dogs ever. First, I glanced at his rear as he gazed out the window. When I finished my loop around the store, I caught site of his mastiff face curled against his ladies leg and I had to stop. Turns out, she found him at a shelter. At 2-ish, he had spent most of his life on the street. Yet this was one of the biggest babies I have ever seen - and he adored her. Rolling around her feet like a cat, belly in the air, then raising his massive head for a lick on her cheek, he stole my heart. How lucky they found each other. She lost a love of her life dog shortly before finding him. With the LA lifestyle, this big baby gets to go to work with her daily and has no desire to run for the open shop door. If I could have gotten away with stealing him, and if David wouldn't divorce me for bringing home a third dog, that honey would be in my hotel bed with me right now.

Today is the last day of the workshop. I will be amongst my entrepreneurially minded peers as we soak up the last day of Christina's wisdom and love on each other. Then, I will board another silver bullet that hopefully will stay in the air for as long as we need it to then return to my very own silver bullet on my charred land.

Early on, after catching my tears and holding my pain, Christina asked me to stay in a place of wonder. Just for today, on the solstice, I can commit to that. And, because sometimes things metaphorically tie themselves up into neat little packages for a moment before they are blown apart by our next human reaction, I quote myself in the last line of my book:

 And I am restored to wonder...

Mourning my Mac

Please say a prayer with me this morning for I may have drowned my Mac.  I am attempting not to panic or to think of the hefty price-tag that accompanies such a drowning.  I am attempting not to add it to my list of "one more thing" that isn't exactly turning in my favor.  I am attempting not to think of the few things that I didn't save to dropbox but were hanging out on my desktop.  Like the vaporous list of items lost in the fire, I can't quite recall what was there.  It happened in a foggy moment, I was stumbling to get some airflow in the Airstream, opening a curtain, knocked something with my elbow and it didn't register quickly enough just what had happened.  It didn't seem like a lot of water, it coated the bottom of my Mac and I wiped it dry.  But then I opened the lid and a little water was on the inside too.  Again, I really thought it was fine - and my additional early morning errors continued.  I began to attempt to boot it up.  Thinking that the battery was dead, I plugged it in and hit the power button.  Thinking it was in a loop due to a lack of charge, I gave it a few minutes then tried again.  Apparently, that's the wrong thing to do if your computer gets wet as David told me much too late.  For the first couple attempts, it sounded like a fan was running, then some sort of screen image flashed a few times, then nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing.  I should have let it dry out first, perhaps even broken out the hairdryer.  Starting it wet can short the whole system.  Apparently that's what I have done. 

And, I wonder, seriously?  Seriously?  My Mac?  My lifeline to the world, my outlet for my writing, my connection to you?  Seriously?  Did I need another "lesson"?  And, an expensive one at that?  I have a small Netbook that I travel with - turning to that to write, I realized that either I have misplaced the power cord or I never carried it out of my house...you know, the one that burned...  So no go there.  I then thank the good Lord above for my other Apple product, my iPad.  Never sure where a file actually gets saved on my iPad, I have not tended to use it to do much writing.  Yet write I must, so I click away at my bluetooth keyboard as I pray silently for the resurrection of my Mac.  Tomorrow I will stop at Apple on the way to the airport to determine it's fate - and the fate of my pocketbook. 

It feels better to write about it - as everything has - along this journey.  My acceptance level is much higher after those few short paragraphs then it was lying in bed and thinking of my stupidity.  How could I have done that?  How did I ruin my precious computer?  Why oh why didn't I let it dry out first?  Why did I leave the water there in the first place?  Can I go back in time and change that outcome?  Please????  Writing the upset gives me space to breathe.  For those who have ruined precious pieces of equipment, you sigh with me.  For those who are overly attached to their computing devices, you shed a tear for me.  For those who are the proud owners of Apple products, you wail from the mountain tops.  Oh no, now I have started a turf war...

The thing about Apple is it's not that cheap.  I could run out and get a perfectly adequate laptop for around a grand yet to replace my Mac it will be three times that.  Yet once you have gone Apple, you can't go back.  Ahhhh.  Breathe with me.  Inhale that number... At this point, I can't help but think what $3k would buy me in the re-build of my house.  When replacing everything and starting over it is out of one fund and into another. 

What I really want to talk about today is resilience.  I have been thinking a lot about my first real teacher on the road of recovery.  Susan Hansen, a powerhouse of a human being whose wise words I can still hear whispering in my ears.  "Stop scaring yourself, honey."  Oh, Susan.  I am trying.  And, I keep trying.  One particularly impactful lesson was Susan's teachings on Resilience.  Resilience is our capacity to recover quickly from difficulties.  Toughness.  An ability to bounce back.  Now, "quickly" is a relative term.  I have been touting the importance of being where I am and not hurrying through this process - and I still am sticking with my guns.  So the way I interpret this is the knowing that we will bounce back.  And, I will bounce back - eventually. 

I am able to dance on the brink of the abyss because deep down in my bones, I know I will be ok.  And, the knowing doesn't mean I always know.  There are many moments where I forget.  Yet, the knowing remains.  I return to it.  It's a quiet voice, or simply a sensation.  I know I can and will walk through anything.  Please don't test me on that though.  I am certainly not asking for any more fabulous life lessons for the near future.  This morning as I was mourning my Mac, I rolled over in bed and looked first at my sleeping dogs, one at my feet and the other curled up on his bed.  Then I looked at David.  These creatures are all that really matter.  My Mac is replaceable.  They are not. 


Even having lost so many "things", I still have a few favorites that would test my mettle.  My Mac was certainly on that list.  My stuffed leopard (that yes, at 46, I sleep with nightly), my woven blankets that I carried out - and now I have a light down jacket that I particularly like, my cozy pajama bottoms, a certain pair of chandelier earrings, a knitted beanie cap, Jessica's green scarf - of course my most fabulous purple purse.  The list could add up.  If my house burned again, I would carry at least these things out.  Yet, if I didn't have any of them, I would be ok.  Even if I didn't have my dogs and David - ultimately, someday in the far, distant future, I would be ok.  Can I really say that?  Do I really believe that?  Therein lies the depth of the human spirit.  We are resilient creatures.  Our minds will tell us otherwise, but in our bones we know that.  We have to nurture this part of ourselves.  My eclectic spiritual path is my way of nurturing this. 

The will to survive, for most of us, is greater than the desire to annihilate.  It is born into us and has been the reason our species has continued to thrive.  And "survive" can look like different things for different people.  Merely surviving is not enough.  That could look like a life of victimhood and 'woe is me'.  For those that hear the echoes of something bigger, something greater than just us alone even if we don't know who or what it is and even if we curse it by any name - we won't settle for mere survival.  We demand to thrive.  To me, thriving is seeing the great mysteries of life.  Hearing the early morning call of the dove, seeing golden streaks as the sun sets through a forest, enjoying the first sip of coffee, stopping to talk to a stranger - as well as weeping deeply about yet another loss, railing against the apparent injustice in the world (whether it's my small world, or the world at large) and, of course, questioning the meaning of it all. 

I heard a partial tale of another great spiritual leader who was diagnosed with a disease and then absolutely decided he wasn't going to have that.  I cheer him on - but I find no room for all of humanity in these kind of tales.  It leaves me thinking that we mere mortals who stumble and fall are doing it wrong.  One day we will be able to cure all that ails us by the mere change of a thought.  And, maybe if we ALL believed this to be true, we could do it right now.  I am not bashing the power of prayer or of positive thinking.  But I want to hang with the dark angels for a little while longer.  I want to stay in the trenches - all the while, knowing on a deep deep level who we all really are.  I will not abandon the grapplers.  I will no longer make myself wrong for being one.  I will give voice to those who struggle while at the same time shining the light of who we really are. 

And, right now, I am missing that great piece of modern technology, my Macintosh.  I shed a tear for it and for myself for the one more loss that this tired human has to process through.  I turn my head towards the blue sky that I glimpse through the skylight in Flame and see eternity, then I turn my head back to my silent Mac and wish it weren't so. 

Standing inside the fire sometimes gets hot...

Is that a dead mouse?  Is it the septic?  Is it a dog fart?  Is it a gas leak?  Whhhhhaaaaatttt is it?  These thought occupy my early waking mind.  Not a pleasant way to return to consciousness.  Life in a trailer – even as sweet a trailer as Flame is not without its challenges.  Upon early morning investigation, we still don’t know.  We have eliminated dog fart and gas leak.  The dogs did fart but now they are outside and the smell remains.  The holding tank shouldn’t be full – yet seems to be burping.  A dead mouse, well that’s instant karma in our war against rodents.  Did we wound one with our modern trap that took revenge by limping away and dying in some crevice?  We don’t know.

A little chilly still to sit outside and write, so I breathe through my mouth as I type and hope my essential oil diffuser will pour enough lavender into the air supply to save my soul.  You know how odor sneaks in anyway?  It’s doing that now.  It occurs as a small threat to our peace of mind.  David has removed himself by taking the garbage and recycling to the “curb” and I attempt to hold my breath.  Could be a rough day in Flame.  Have I mentioned that life is not dull?  It’s not.  Really, it never has been, but it certainly isn’t lately.  Regardless of the stank, mornings are still my best time.  Later in the day, my fatigue sets in and my mood is often erratic.  Yesterday I likened it to a chronic and very bad case of PMS.  David now says he understands what PMS feels like, and ladies, I believe he does.  Thin-skinned, thrown by the slightest curve ball, excessively sensitive, unpredictably dark – and very very tired, these are my constant companions.  After our systems being on high-rev for so long, it’s no wonder we are feeling the stress hangover.  I pray for physical resilience and for that which makes us stronger not to kill us later. 

We cycle through our PMS symptoms separately then sometimes clash against each other.  Sometimes we are lucky and one is in an up swing when the other is down.  In these times we are able to provide momentary doses of love and patience.  Enough, it seems, to not kill each other in this small space and to continue walking down this path hand and hand.  Last night, we went to Edie’s.  A former and beloved neighbor, a year ago she said sad goodbyes to her dream house which is now in a pile of rubble.  A brilliant architect and a dear friend of the family from whom we bought our house, there couldn’t be a better choice of partner in designing our next rendition of “home”.  On the way over to her place, running late of course, we attempted to talk details of things that might normally be “fun”.  Our plans for our August trip to the Bahamas, the finishing of David’s man-cave.  All roads lead to upset and we pulled in the driveway attempting not to hate each other.  You married or long-time coupled people know the type of hate I am talking about.  In one moment, love is present and the next a vile level of despising that overtakes all senses and makes you want a divorce on the spot.  Fortunately, we know this comes and goes and is heightened under stress so we sat through it, didn’t say anything we couldn’t take back and returned to neutral.  Edie greeted us with love in her eyes and bear hugs and sat us down at her dining room table to a spread of delectable snacks.  The best guacamole ever with large chunks of cilantro, which we ate the healthy way on sliced veggies.  Prosciutto, goat cheese and spicy jam, which we piled on whole grain bread slices.  You would have thought we hadn’t eaten since the fire.  We gulped it down enjoying every morsel while pulling out our computers and beginning the show and tell process of our budding ‘dream home part duex’.  “We want something like this, but smaller.  We want a wall of windows, but in our budget.  We want a gourmet kitchen, but trailer size.  We want…” Encouragingly infused, Edie contributed her well-oiled wisdom.  Pretty soon our frowns turned to grins as we imagined a future.  After 3 hours in her patient presence, we bid adieu and headed back to Flame.  There are many hurdles between these initial notions and a finished product.  There will be compromises to make along the way, potential downsizing from small to smaller, letting go of some finishes in favor of our modest budget – and a team is taking shape. 

David just pulled back in the driveway and it’s time to investigate the stank further especially before our moods darken to match the growing odor.  I harken to the olden days and all the stank they had to live with.  Bodies covered in perfumes to hide the rank, what must have floated through the air on a regular basis from human waste and decay to who knows what.  To them it was normal, to us spoiled modern peeps, it is barbaric.  We will start with the obvious and clear out the storage tank.  Fortunately our fruitful trip to Camping World also fetched some septic deodorizers along with our extra holding tank.  I have my humor at the moment so will bring my husband more coffee, pat his head, feed the dogs and attempt to lighten what could feel dark.  Later, when my mood shifts, I may call you screaming.  I may demand a refund from this wild merry go-round called life.  I certainly may file a complaint.  I may want to sink into the muck and plead Uncle.  I may want to check in to a 5-star hotel and never return.  Or I may take a birdbath, put on my party clothes and head to Boulder, Colorado to see my favorite band sing my favorite songs and bask in the summer air with a thousand other Face fans.  While there, I may pretend for a moment that my life is “normal” as I sit in the crowd with a group of many others who are pretending the same thing.  We will sing together at the top of our lungs and thank God that these 6 men found each other and choose to continue preforming through rain, snow, sleet and hail so while in their presence we can remember what is good about the world. 

I have registered my requests for my favorite songs.  It is almost guaranteed that they will play most of them in the 3-hour concert.  So, to further launch this morning in the right direction, let’s channel the fabulous Forest Kelly as he croons Garth Brook’s ‘Standing Outside the Fire’ an oh-so appropriate ode to the life I am living. 

Sing with me?

We call them cool

Those hearts that have no scars to show

The ones that never do let go

And risk it the tables being turned

We call them fools

Who have to dance within the flame

Who chance the sorrow and the shame

That always come with getting burned

But you got to be tough when consumed by desire

'Cause it's not enough just to stand outside the fire

We call them strong

Those who can face this world alone

Who seem to get by on their own

Those who will never take the fall

We call them weak

Who are unable to resist

The slightest chance love might exist

And for that forsake it all

They're so hell bent on giving, walking a wire

Convinced it's not living if you stand outside the fire

Standing outside the fire

Standing outside the fire

Life is not tried it is merely survived

If you're standing outside the fire

There's this love that is burning

Deep in my soul

Constantly yearning to get out of control

Wanting to fly higher and higher

I can't abide standing outside the fire

The Space Between

The space between what’s wrong and right

Is where you’ll find me hiding, waiting for you

The space between your heart and mine

Is the space we’ll fill with time…

 - Dave Matthews

It’s the little things.  Like a new plastic folding table that can tuck away and serve as a place for my coffee cup in the morning.  My routine is to sit on my bed and write until the sun shines too brightly through my window and then I move to David’s.  Where to put the coffee mug has been a big concern.  The floor, too low.  The bed, too unstable.  Can’t hold it and type.  Problem solved for $10.99.  And, we have now disposed of the second mouse that was bold enough to run past me twice last night.  Sharing this small space with two big dogs and another human is quite enough.  Sharing with small furry rodents who poop on my stuff and make nests out of my precious snuggly things, not gonna happen. 

More small stuff.  I found a matching set of our cowboy sheets online and now we will have the ability to have clean sheets at whim.  Yippy!  I googled cowboy sheets and up they popped.  Ahhh the marvels of modern living.  Yesterday, we also discovered ‘Camping World’ a mini-Wal-Mart for all things mobile home.  Kids in a candy store, we wandered the aisles looking for items to create more creature comforts.  Hooks for the inside of closet doors, an entry rug, the awaited rolling holding tank with which to empty our onboard shitter and my already mentioned folding table.  We also bought a small table and chairs to hold our umbrella and make outdoor dining a reality.  We are homesteading. 

Besides the giant pile of dirt the excavators left in removing our house, it seems that we hang on a lovely, albeit scorched, area of vacant land.  We are merely campers here.  We don’t disrupt much.  We leave it better than we found it.  We pack our trash out and leave the area as pristine as possible.  We live in harmony with the elements.  We practice on our own land before we take Flame on the open road to a “real” campground.  Another benefit of finding Camping World is we are now members (!!!!) and we get discounts at campgrounds across the country.  America, here we come.  We will start gently with a campground the Meehan’s have already discovered 2 ½ hours southeast.  We will test our mettle and make sure our badges are properly earned before we set out for more adventurers like the Grand Canyon.  David’s colleague lives within the park at the Canyon – and is requiring visits.  Wintering there for a few weeks or more sounds like an excellent plan. 

I wonder how I will be.  Do I want to pick up my shallow roots and move so soon?  I am a nestler.  I like to settle, burrow and get cozy.  I love my adventures but crave ‘home’.  Now our 26 feet of home will follow behind the truck with the dogs and us.  Maybe we will become nomads.  Airstream nomads, that is.  I don’t aspire to backcountry backpacking lugging essentials on my slender frame.  I am past that point in life.  At 46, I want adventure but not wacky adventure.  Our work is portable.  David needs to go to Seattle regularly but perhaps he will leave me in varying landscapes.  Solo at the Grand Canyon, alone by some mountain lake somewhere, by myself by the beach?  Locked and loaded with two big dogs as my protectors, I know I will be safe. 

I like the idea of wandering for a bit or maybe longer.  If not now, then when else?  My 74-year-old father romanticizes about our silver bullet.  He would love to hit the road as well.  It’s most likely not a good idea for him at this point in his life.  I don’t want to get to the point where it’s no longer and option and say I wish we could have, would have.  In the world of “should’s”, that definitely should be one of the lessons from this fire, right?   

Speaking of lessons, I am letting go of needing to know what I will learn for now.  I will reside in the unmanifested for a little while longer.  In some ways I want to know now and in many more ways I don’t.  This is a precious time before much has taken form.  No major decisions have been made, no ground has been broken, no large amount of money has been spent, no new paths have been worn.  We are formulating.  We are wondering.  We are hanging in that for as long as possible.  I want these lessons badly.  I demand the transformation that will come.  I crave to be rid of the confining parts of my self and live more from expansive possibility.  I insist on more of this rawness and less of the concerns about what others will think. 

And, for now, I will be where I am – in the in-between.  In the land of the unknown, the land of the unformed. 

I will rest in the ‘space between’ for a bit longer.  Feel free to visit me here.  

My Shitter Overflowith

New goals should be clearly set and worked toward, as this is the beginning of a nine-year cycle. It is best not to dwell on the past at this time. This will be fairly easy for you to do because most of the problems and disappointments of the past will tend to disappear, leaving the way open for these new challenges. This is a great time; use it to its full advantage! It holds the promise of an exciting new adventure, with life taking on new challenges that pave the way for the next cycle of nine years in your life. This is a time to clarify your goals and to act on them. Hard work may be necessary to get a new venture moving.

From a reading, describing the end of 2011 and what’s to come… Hmmmm.   An exciting new adventure.  Yes, I can see that.  New challenges, check!  Clarifying my goals.  Yes.  Hard work.  Fer shure. 

Most of the problems and disappointments from the past have disappeared - in a fiery maelstrom.  So, yes, it's true, I am not dwelling on those things.  Don’t even remember what they were.  And, most days, I am doing “well”.  And then there are those moments…  You know “those” moments?  The ones that take you to your knees, that leave you unsure if you will crack open on the spot and not “crack open” in the seemingly good way but in the way where your psyche may actually fold in on itself and you may just die right there?  Those moments.  I danced on the verge of a few of these moments yesterday. 

Let me be clear, I absolutely adore Flame.  Living in her is lovely.  It is also challenging, small for two people and two big dogs and a major adjustment.  And, I would rather be living here than any of the other options we have at this moment.  Come snowfall, this will probably be different but we aren’t there yet.  We are getting our systems in order.  Internet still needs to be run off the generator which can be a bit of a drag.  Upgrading this system is a top priority on David’s list.  We have the water situation mostly handled as we have a larger generator, which can support the well pump.  The dog fence is operational – and I will talk about that in a minute.  The biggest “to be handled” issue is the shitter.  We topped out on the storage capacity of the shitter on Sunday morning.  We knew it was inevitable yet there didn’t seem to be a gauge anywhere.  They way we discovered we were at capacity was it just wouldn’t go down…  Unable to locate the proper “black storage tank” in time, we were at the mercy of the local septic pump-out company.  Fortunately it was only one and a half days of doing our business in the wild.  I absolutely love the freedom of living so far away from people that I can pee anywhere I damn well like.  Doing my other business, not so much.  Digging holes where the dogs won’t go scavenging and the entire experience is not on my bucket list.  Shirley Septic saved the day and bought us some more time to get this essential system up and running.  I found myself wanting to make jokes with the gentle man whose business it is to remove other people’s business.  He sees it all the time.  I, on the other hand, don’t usually shoot the shit while watching my shit empty into a bucket.  It was a bit awkward to say the least.  He was a pro so I rose to the occasion and talked shop with him. 

You would think that my mood would be drastically improved after all my shit was removed!  And, I was quite grateful.  The early summer day was beautiful and I got caught up with more paperwork then I have in months.  Being in the sweet space of Flame felt warm and supportive for checking items off my ever-growing to-do list.  Once again, I must say, I thought I knew what “busy” was before.  Hah!  I took breaks during the day to begin the training of the dogs on their new fence, and that’s when I began dancing on the edge of my angst and anguish. 

On the flat areas of our land (of which there are very few) and on a couple of the hillside areas, grass is coming up in patches and clumps.  It looks lovely, the green against the stark black.  It is a reminder of the regenerative power of nature; a sign of hope.  David lay out the invisible fence in a circle of a couple acres vs. the double that size these ranging dogs had before.  We are keeping the dogs away from the future building site so we won’t have to worry about them getting in the way of construction and its hazards.  Now, they have the flat area where Flame sits and a few hillsides around the property.  I began my trek around the fence to place the flags and weight it down with rocks.  As I went, I trudged through ash.  As I picked up rocks, my hands darkened.  As I brushed against trees, my clothes were left striped.  As I hiked, my once pink Keens (yes, I did it again) were left coated and my feet blackened.  Then, it was time to bring the dogs through.  One at a time, I led them on this route and watched them get coated with zebra stripes as well.  Grey socks growing on their precious feet.  I had already been picking black sooty sap off their skin, which yanks their hair and seems to create bald spots.  Watching my babies get coated in this greasy crap triggered anger so deep that it began to darken my sky and choke my air supply. 

We choose to live here; they cannot avoid this mess.  These dogs are high energy and need space to move.  Yes, we could keep them confined to a tiny area then always take them off the property for exercise.  But there is no real “clean” area on our 37 acres.  Flame’s sweet interior is beginning to take on a grey tinge as well.   Defeated after the initial training, I scrubbed them as best I could with baby wipes.  Too caked myself for anything other than a major wash down, I took them off the property and down the road for our usual hike.  However, nothing is “usual” around here anymore.  We keep them closer by as we don’t know what type of construction vehicle may try to pass on our narrow roads.  Also, much of the road crosses through burn area which is just more of the same with it’s own brand of sooty soil.  Then, we emerge into the land of “what once was”. 

I have reveled in the beauty of seeing what early summer is “supposed” to look like in Colorado.  Last night in my fragile state, the contrast was too great. It roiled and boiled me.  Here is what our land once was: green, lush, dense foliage, wildflowers, aspen trees in full bloom and towering pines gently swooshing in the breeze.  I couldn’t even weep, the pain felt too enormous.  It logded in my throat and made me want to give up, call uncle, say I quit.  Into my mind came the ignorant comments from a few who inquire, “well you have insurance, dontya?”  You have already heard my description of what it really is like to deal with the insurance and the unavoidable financial losses that follow…  As the uber-brilliant Kristina Hall pointed out, it’s not like a fender bender.  Oh, we will just put all of this in the shop and it will come back good as new.  Good as new.  No it won’t actually, not ever.  Or, at least in our lifetime.

Who will help the land?  Besides being patient with it, what can really be done?  Who will scrub the soot from the trees?  The rain is trying but it is a monumental task.  It may take eons.  I can accept a lot, but when my dogs are impacted, I get pissed.  To all the bureaucrats who paper-pushed this fire into existence and then went on their merry way, how ‘bout you put your babies in the middle of an ash forest that once was their home and see how well you handle it while they crawl around and turn black from the soot.  When they breathe in the ash and begin to shit it out, let me know how accepting you are.  When you have no idea of the long-term effects, tell me how you sleep. 

When I stepped briefly away from my writing just now, the notion ran through my mind that I am too dark.  Perhaps you are tired of it.  Perhaps I should be grateful for life.  Then, I recall the words I read yesterday by Dawn Cartwritght who explores the trap of living in “love and light” where many of us feel we need to be all the f-ing time. 

I find that life has texture. It’s interesting. And so am I. Life becomes an adventure, something definitely worth getting out of bed for in the morning. And not because I am now comfortable. Not because everything’s rosy. It’s because everything is on the table. That 15 megatons of internal pressure caused by trying (said with clenched jaw and grinding teeth) to live in love and light has been released. I am free. I am raw. I am naked. And my heart? This is the big bonus. My heart is open. No longer a made-for-TV version, but the real thing. 

This is not a made-for-TV version unless TV decides it wants the real deal and not just the sound-bites (hear that Marshall? ;-) that never quite capture the actual truth. This is the raw and gritty version that has it’s ups and downs and all arounds.  This is good one day and horrific the next.  This is gratitude for the silver bullet I now call home and a moan so deep as I glance in the dusk at the vacant hole that once was my dream house.  This is all of it.  It is avoiding people I love cause I just can’t deal.  It is running to the arms of others who happen to say the right thing at the right time.  It is irritation at people’s careless, yet well-meaning remarks, deep anger at the “system”, great love for the world, marveling at the star-filled sky out my window from my cowboy-sheeted twin bed.  It is the promise of the first cup of coffee.  The stinky wet kisses from Tigger.  The happiness from the feel of my Mont Blanc pen in my hand as I drink out of a Walmart plastic cup.  It is a life in Flame and in flames. 

Are we making the right decision to stay here on this damaged but still extraordinary land?  Who the fuck knows.  We may never know.  There may be ambiguous or tragic or amazing consequences later.  Only time will tell.  Only the shadow knows.  

LIfe in Flames

It’s quiet here.  Dare I say peaceful?  I know houses don’t make much noise – especially mountain houses but it seems more silent than ever before.  The land is restored to an earlier state.  Different than it was in 1983 before the building began yet it restored to a raw place, pre-human dwelling place.  Grass is blooming in patches, birds are singing, bugs are crawling, small wildflowers are poking up in unlikely spots.  The hummingbirds have returned and we welcome them with small feeder on our Astroturf lawn.  I sit outside to write today, getting a later start due to lounging in bed until 7:30, taking out the trash (we have trash service again!), and a series of phone calls.  Jessica is on the way to help me create some order and “continue” with the inventory process.  The dreaded inventory feels just that, dreaded.  Yet with the help of friends, it is doable.  Alone, not so much. 

It promises to be a warm day and I am grateful (as always) to live 3000 feet above the early season heat Denver will experience today.  The shipping container will arrives later this morning and we will begin nesting there as well. More storage space for our small pile of detritus we have accumulated as well as the artifacts that lie in the elements, rusting even more on their newly scorched visages.  I discovered an artist in Evergreen who makes small sculptures out of found art and was drawn to an angel she made from a collection of who knows what.  I am creating a pile for her to commission an angel formed from what once was.   Right now, the pile sits next to the totem pole and obstructs the view off the back of Flame.  It needs to go somewhere else.  The twisted and molten memories beckon and clog my mind more than it deserves to be clogged. 

We are moving on.  David is travelling regularly, having to go this week and next which is unusual.  Concerned friends inquired if I was scared to stay in the trailer by myself.  Not at all.  Tigger barked at shadows (or more) in the dusky light – and he doesn’t usually bark so I was momentarily concerned but then the dogs settled and so did I.  There was a bear siting in the neighborhood yesterday, roaming and scrounging for food in this altered landscape.  No bear here, yet.  I will ask her to stay away from Flame for now, please.  We will lock the dog food and trash up in our new shipping container once it arrives.  More settling in. 

And, now a message from our sponsors… Just because I am settling does not mean I am through this process.  Actually, nowhere near through.  A beloved of mine is currently moving through a series of major life challenges involving her child and a beloved of hers.  We talked about struggles she is having with her husband and how just because the dust seems to be settling a bit does not mean they are through.  Some challenges and stressors take a while.  A long long while.  We need to remember how delicate we still are – and we need to beg the understanding and patience of those in our life.  Just because we have a smile on our face, or we say we are good, or we say we are settling, or we seem ok, does not mean we are through.  Don’t expect me to be “through” this for at least a year.  I am doing well.  I feel more solid than before.  I have had moments of true joy.  I have many many moments of deep gratitude.  I even murmured aloud to myself last night as I pranced around Flame – “I love my life.  “ Shocked to hear those words, I checked in and then said it again, this time more deeply.  “I love my life.”  And, my skin is thin and raw in parts.  Push me too far and I crumble – at least inside.  Say the wrong thing at the wrong time and I snap.  I feel the edge approaching, my limit arriving and I want to run or scream.  I usually don’t do either.  I breathe instead.  I inhale life.  I pray.  And, sometimes I get shitty with some stranger who just doesn’t quite understand my current processing and computing challenges.  I feel bad about this and attempt to make as many amends as possible as I proceed.  I know I might get a softer welcome if I started with, “I am calling for more information about _______.  My house burned down so I am not processing information quickly.  Would you mind explaining ________”.  I am not inclined to begin every conversation this way so often I am met with impatience in my fumbling.  Deep breath.  I certainly spend my money with the people who are innately kind or patient.  I called 2 places before placing an order for an awning for Flame.  For the first 2, I explained, “I know nothing about how to measure for an awning or what type I need.  I am a novice.  Can you help me figure this out?”  It was amazing that both the first 2 responders chose not to be patient – or kind – I must say.  The third person was loving & gentle and welcomed me to the family of Vintage Trailer owners.  Guess who got my business. 

My beloved friend and I spoke again just now.  She (like many of us) is making herself wrong for her emotions.  I made them right.  Jesus people, whose expectations are we living up to anyway?  The people I want in my life are those that will get messy, feel deeply, express strongly, make mistakes, blow snot and moan like she-devils.  If that isn’t you, read no further.  If we can’t truly unwind and unravel with our peeps, what the fuck is the point?  There I said it.  The f-bomb.  Haven’t written it in a while. I have implied it but not written it.  Again, that inner circle thing.  You, my fine readers if you are still following this blog at this point, are the types of people I want to know.   The raw and the beautiful.  The wild and the wooly.  The deep and the brave.  YOU. 

I say to my friend.  I will catch you when you are falling.  Then you will catch me.  Then I will catch you.  We will catch each other.  We will hold each other.  Without you in this world, I don’t really want to stay.  I may want to vaporize without that type of love and support.  Don’t tell me that I would be ok without it.  I still have my attachments.  Most of them burned up, but some I still keep.  Yes, I (and we) am more resilient than hopefully I (and we)  will ever have to know.  But for now, I need these nourishing friendships to feed my soul.  I need to see my beloved’s soft and fragile underbelly.  I need to know you can stand in the fire with me.  We will burn up together and we will emerge like the Phoenix and dance in this crazy, wild world.