Just who is this God dude?

Well… If I had written yesterday, I would have begun by crying out, “God hates me!”  Now I know that isn’t completely true.  And, I know everything could be a helluva lot worse.  And, I don’t even know for sure there is a God to hate me afterall.  Is anyone really up there watching over us?  Does he or she reside within us?  Does anything make any sense?  Are my prayers heard?  Are my curses ignored?  Will I burn in hell – or are we all living in hell right now?  All these questions and more would have tumbled from my fingers onto the keyboard…

After my debut performance as a stand-up comic on Tuesday night and the resulting freedom and exaltation that came from that, Wednesday was wonderful.  I felt different as I drove to my weekly appointment with my therapist.  The colors seemed brighter along the road – and don’t just tell me it’s cause they were brighter… My soul felt lighter and I thought I might have turned a corner.  Proud of my progress through this trauma, my therapist acknowledged my inner resources and ability to rely on my many years of personal growth tools.  I felt it too.  Ahhhh.  Life was shifting. 

After being gone much of the day, I returned home to Flame a tad on the tired side and discovered an odor.  A somewhat familiar odor, I might add.  Looking in the place I now know to look, I observed the drip drip drip of raw sewage falling to the ground in the same pattern as before.  Again?  Really???  Dollar signs began racking up in my head from the conversation with the repair person who felt so happy to be saving us the “big” repair by attributing the leak to merely a seal on the tank.  And, then the rain started to fall.  I quickly did my business in the glory of nature and returned to the warmth of Flame to retire.  All through the night, the rain grew more intense, the thunder boomed and lightning flashed.  Besides not being able to sleep well, I didn’t think much about it.  Until morning that is.  On my trip out to do my morning constitution, I discovered what all of us “homelosers” had been afraid of.  A bad case of erosion was there to greet me.  And, yes, many people dealt with storm related chaos and damage from this deluge – and ours was due to the lack of vegetation on the ground – and you already know what that was due to…

I felt the psychic clouds roll in even as the sky was clearing.  Too tired, smelling the stink of the dripping “blackwater”, and seeing the devastation of the land once again, I began to fold.  My morning was consumed with rallying the troops, finding out who else was dealing with erosion, emailing Channel 7, taking pictures, reaching out to our community resource team all while waiting for the RV repair guy to call me back.  Shirley Septic (my heroes) arrived mid-morning, delivering a porta-potty and pumping the holding tank to slow the leakage and make the repair guys job a little bit easier and lot less messy. 

The light I had sensed the day prior evaporated in the stink, running down the newly formed gulley’s that covered our property where once there was earth.  I watched it run down hill and wondered if I would ever have any consistent feeling ever again.  Did I have the energy to deal with this?  To reschedule my clients (again), to change my plans for the day (again), to make calls to strangers (again) and beg for their assistance?  I wasn’t sure.  In between making things happen, I talked to one client and suddenly a small bird flew into the trailer, got trapped and began to panic.  I felt my panic rise as well as I watched it’s wings batting against the walls as it tried to escape.  Finally, I managed to open a stiff plexiglass window wide enough for the bird to slip out.  As it flew away to safety, the panic stayed with me.  Sinking.  Should I sound the alarm, call my therapist and ask to be diagnosed or maybe committed?  Was this a “normal” response, would I ever see my sun again?  What did I think was funny about the fire anyway?  I wanted to take it all back.  I give.  Uncle.  Help. 

If there is a God, I am certainly happy he (or she) can tolerate my anger with him (or her).  There is some satisfaction in taking the lords name in an excessive level of vain.  I don’t know if threats work, but I feel better in the moment.  As the day progressed, my actions began to pay off.  The repair guy came – and will come again with more parts on Sunday to hopefully really fix the problem.  Channel 7 came and did a headline story that aired twice last night.  And, we retreated to Jessica’s for the night. 

As I use her facilities, I am amazed at what a real toilet sounds like when it flushes.  I marvel that I don’t have to press a pedal on the floor to evacuate it.  My dogs actually have a floor to stretch out on and can run through the house as they love to do.  I will actually take a shower standing up today!  Amazing.  We won’t run out of water, electricity or propane.  I am doing 5 loads of laundry as I make some phone calls from a landline.  This living in a real house thing is kinda nice.  Tonight, we will join friends at the glorious Red Rocks stadium under the Colorado sky to see Michael Franti sing his magic.  Shortly, we will take these now sleeping dogs to expend some more energy at the dogpark in Evergreen.  We will stop at Home Depot and check out kitchen counters and cabinets.  I will show David some recycled glass counter tops that we might fit into the bathroom budget.

The sun is shining, the aspens are shimmering and we are breathing.  Maybe there actually is a God, and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t really hate me afterall.  

Everything will be all right in the end...

Everything will be all right in the end... if it's not all right then it's not the end. 

- Sonny from the movie “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel”

“Delightful” is what one of the film reviews said, and I concur.  Many moons ago, when I first saw the preview with the above line, I added it to my very short “must see” list.  A lovely romp through India with a stellar cast of veteran actors, it didn’t disappoint.  Illuminating the “Golden Years” and the potential for a last great hurrah (or series of hurrah’s) is another reminder that it aint over til the fat lady sings.  These fine people thwarted their predictable path into frailty and leapt into the absolute unknown of a life in India.  Unlike so many movies these days, the dialogue languorously explored themes we all deal with which aren’t often reflected in the media.  The real deal.  Obviously, I am a fan of the real deal.

This film reminds me that this current iteration won’t be the last adventure of our lives.  There will be many many more.  Some chosen, others not so much.  It’s packed with life lessons and reminders of what really matters.  Stuff such as love, trust, hope, faith – and yes – that it can all end in a nano-second.  In a society where we have marginalized the elderly, it’s nice to be taught.  Yet, as my mom has always says, you feel like the same person inside, it’s the image in the mirror that keeps changing. 

As summer is signaling its arrival, I am attempting to slow down time.  Summer is quick and precious in Colorado and I don’t want to hurry through any of it.  As I age, I become less and less a fan of long cold winters.  And a long cold winter in Flame might be enough incentive to head south of the border.   Lying in bed thinking about the movie and the passage of time, I aspired to explore “big themes” in my writing this morning.  Instead of inspiration as I crack open my Mac, I feel congested.   My cohort this morning is melancholy and a screaming neck which after 2 months without my tempurpedic pillow is crying foul. (And yes, I finally ordered a replacement!).   With a notion of what I should write this morning, I fizzle instead of sizzle.  I know it’s good practice to move through all sorts of awkward spaces as a writer, so I keep my fingers moving as an exercise in dedication – and know that many edits will follow... 

As I click away, the notion of some internal clock signaling it’s “time to be in the lesson stage” of this process or some such B.S. starts to emerge.  I didn’t get the handout with the proper timeline to move from one stage to another so I am not sure if this is true or not.  From whence do I feel the pressure? My friends’ patience seems to continue but the reoccurring concern of wearing people out with our “process” rears its mean-spirited head.  I did have one person give me an “at least you _______” statement this week.  Mostly, I ignore these well-meaning sermons.  “At least you got out alive”, was this one.  Like we don’t already know that...  I really do know I am lucky, we are lucky.  And, I really do know that the most recent offerer of this platitude was well intentioned.  Do I sound angry?  Maybe…  A little irritated?  Well yes…

Where we are now compared to 2 months ago is night and day.  The shock has mostly gone, the reality has set in, we are making fledgling plans and we have put down roots (and now a flagstone patio) at our land.  And, it aint over.  We are 2 months in.  Right now, I am telling you this but mostly, I am telling me this.  I need to hear it.  My mantra for others has frequently been a reminder to be where they are.  I am so aware of the ins and outs and ups and downs of a healing process and I implore my people to ride the ride and not attempt to be anywhere other than where they are at the time.  Now, I need the reminder.  And, I need to know you really believe that.  That’s it’s not just some thing we humans say to each other but we actually mean it. 

Herein lies the rub.  A fear: if I seem like I am doing “well”, then people will think I am “through” and then expect me to be on the “transformed” side of this journey and then there won’t be space for my angst or moods or upset.  (I need a run-on sentence with excessive use of quotation marks to illustrate this concern).  In response, I plead: can I please have a year?  Can I have a year to be unwound, to be returning to form, to be in the unmanifested?  May I have the space to be inspired or inspiring in one moment and the space to be a lunatic the next?  Can society bear that?  Can my acquaintances tolerate that?  And most importantly, can my inner circle really be with that?  I surely hope so.

I am not ready to be on the other side of this.  I don’t want to have to know.  I don’t want to have this all figured out.  I want to be a wanderer for a while longer before I know who and what I will be. 

I glance out the window at my still forming Flagstone patio and the two lovely souls who are bringing it to life.  My dogs have chosen to rough house in the sand pile that is supposed to be the base layer of the patio.  They have spread the once neat pile around leaving doggy footprints and a bit of a mess.  Should I stop them?  Should I seek to neaten, tidy and control what’s happening?  The men don’t seem to be missing a beat even as 200 pounds of dog tumble into their space. 

Not every character in “Marigold Hotel” was wrapped up and resolved in the end.  If the movies can leave some strings untied, I suppose I can too. 

Evelyn: Nothing here has worked out quite as I expected.
Muriel: Most things don't. But sometimes what happens instead is the good stuff.
 - The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

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.  

Getting my funny on... maybe

What would life be like without our people?  Not worth it.  My people include my furry people that keep us laughing with their antics.  The main benefit to having my own bed in Flame is that Tigger sleeps with me.  I have explained to him that it is an open invitation as he is such a good sleeper, curling at my feet and staying put.  I can’t make too much of a ruckus about it as Roscoe is not a good sleeper and if I boisterously invite Tigger then Roscoe will jump up too.  Roscoe likes to sprawl and twitches all night.  Tigger is still.  Often, Tigger starts on his dog bed (yes, we cracked the code) then ends up with me.  I take great comfort in his warmth on my toes.  David is a no dogs on the bed fella.  My bed is now my domain.  David and I snuggle across the narrow aisle – and yes, twin beds will not be forever once we build our tiny tiny house. 

I have the first part of the day at home and am quite happy about that.  I am now officially behind on two writing projects.  I haven’t worked on my Intro again since last week.  It only needs a few tweaks and then I will send it in for review.  And, I have another project which is waking me in the night and infiltrating my sleep… I said “yes” to a workshop Kristina Hall is running where 8 other women and I will each have our own mini-version of a one-woman show in the form of 7 minutes at the microphone in a real venue.  Oh my goodness what ever had me say yes?  What I haven’t mentioned yet, is it’s a comedy show.  Eeeeeegads.  Kristina is a brilliant professional comic with over 17 years experience in front of live audiences all over the world and on TV.  She is pretty much the funniest person I have ever known.  I have seen her perform live dozens of times and never ever get tired of her material.   Recently, I interviewed her on my radio show and we talked about her life as a comic and a writer as well as her mission to allow other women to be free in our expression on stage.  Thus the workshop – and at a time in my life where I am breaking through even more barriers – thus my call to say “yes”.  The caveat for the show and the course – authentic material only.  We take the issues of our lives and bring it all to the stage.  We also are learning the structure of a joke and that’s where my blood runs cold.  If you have been reading for a while, you know I bring in my own brand of humor.  I am good at this off-the-cuff stuff in both my writing and speaking.  But crafting it, then remembering it to present it?  Oh my.  It seems the moment I put pen to paper all funny eludes me. 

Of course, I will talk about the fire.  And, we know there isn’t much that is funny about a forest fire.  But I will draw on the absurd – what people say, my angsty PTSD moments and internal dialogue, the inane and insane.  I have ideas and real-life situations to share but I haven’t put it all together in a cohesive form.  Two nights ago I dreamt that I completely bombed.  It was so so so bad.  Kristina has explained that in this venue we won’t be able to see the audience due to the lights.  In my dream, I couldn’t see them at all.  They were below the stage and behind all sorts of obstacles.  I completely forgot about the microphone and paced all over the stage, rambling and stumbling over my words, forgetting all the punch lines – and no one was laughing.  At all.  Crickets.  Not even a chuckle. 

Flame peeking through the trees

Early this morning, I dozed and dreamt of brilliant material which of course I have completely forgotten.  Soon, I will step away from my comfort of writing this blog and into my discomfort of writing that material.  Then I will review my intro and ready it for submission tomorrow.  I will I will I will.  Deep breath with me, please.  I pause for a moment and hear the wind kicking up again.  The wind isn’t funny.  It is eerie, fierce and a little chilly.  The sun warms me though, heating up my silver bullet and calming my mind.  This sweet trailer is a lovely cocoon.  Next weekend, we will build her a flagstone patio apron to honor her beauty.  We bought an umbrella and a little table yesterday.  We are creating a little space of peace and comfort where David and I drank our coffee and soaked in the still lovely view. 

I glance out the window at stark black against lush green that is our landscape.  It’s dramatic and raw.  It’s also magical.  I breathe in again – so nice to remember my lungs have a larger capacity than I give them credit.  I keep forgetting to inhale.  Danger seems to lurk around corners but in these peaceful moments, all is right with the world. 

So what if I bomb on stage and say absolutely nothing funny.  I won’t die, right?  If I don’t keep stretching myself, I am dying anyway.  Letting go of the outcome has to be one of the gifts of this dang adventure.  It will go how it goes.  I will suit up and show up.  I will stand in the spotlight and test my mettle.  I will sleep the night before or I won’t.  I will suck or I will shine – or maybe both.  It will not kill me.  If you are in Denver, come join us at the D-Note in Old Towne Arvada on the 5^th at 7:30 pm.  If you can’t be there, please send me some funny.  

A little rant and a lotta roll...

Sewing machine, telescope, Kleenex box holders, Cuisinart… these things run through my mind as I am trying to return to REM this morning.  The dreaded inventory list, still not complete and always looming.  I stunned another naive insured person yesterday by explaining what the inventory process is really like.  Most people have no idea.  I didn’t.  Listing everything you owned down to the minutia in order to get a fraction of it back from your “insurance” is a painstaking process.  Interestingly, David awoke with a similar list.  We haven’t sat down to do inventory together lately.   The clock is ticking.  Things are popping into our heads, and some may disappear forever into the folds of grey matter that we limited humans still can’t access.  It’s time to get this sucker done.  Operation Inundation must proceed – and complete – soon.  It drains are beleaguered energy banks.  I still pant as I walk up small hills, but my psychological energy is replenishing.  Until, that is, something happens…

The recent ‘happening’ was a trip to the bank carrying a large check meant to represent “our structure”.  As you faithful readers know, this number has been grossly underestimated (and that’s a whole ‘nother story).  So into my bank I go, pleased to have received this check from the insurance company and ready to have some financial breathing room for our near future.  The bank had other ideas. Even though we continue paying our mortgage, the bank wants to keep the money and dole it out at their pre-determined milestones along the way.  To add salt to the wound, this would tie up other monies that are coupled with that large check including our “outbuilding fund” to replace sheds and our “tree fund” for the meager attempt to rehab some of our trees which really means chop them down and haul them away.  In that moment, I could not engage in the one-sided proclamation that was heading my way.  I was beyond furious.  The sympathetic banker who was the deliverer of the bad news glanced at me kindly.  I steamed out of there calling my attorney as I fled. 

Ya have insurance, dontya?  Jeeeeeeez.  Once upon a time in a galaxy far far away, I might have asked the same question.  Never ever ever again. 

A total loss is a devastating financial hit for most people, it’s another thing entirely if you have a mountain property or anything with acreage.  There is NO coverage for the land (besides my $10k for trees which is a completely funny and random figure when you think of 37 acres of dense forest and groundcover...).  At our last homeowners meeting, we discussed the loss of value in acreages and views – and we heard from a forest biologist who evaluates the devastation in ecosystems after a fire.  We heard about decreased soil fertility, the dearth of nutrients, and what it really might take to rehab the land including the range of price per acre.  He emphasized that the land will never return to what it once was – in our lifetime anyway.  And, I believe he said “never” just one to many times.  My head felt like it was spinning off.  Ya have insurance dontya?  Yeah, right…. 

Who has time for all of this?  Do you think insurance covers our loss of time normally spent on living our lives, on developing our careers, on writing?  No.  Do I sound bitter?  There certainly is an edge I feel.  It’s tiring to say the least.  Yes, it’s a grand adventure and oh my my we are so freeeeee after losing all our possessions.  (oooops.  Sarcasm emerged again.)  I do absolutely love living in Flame.  I am committed to a world of adventure.  I will see the gift – and yes Bill, I will be the gift.  Most of the time, that is.  I practiced the spiritual principle of “shut up” with the hapless bank representative who was the roadblock in my freedom to deposit our money.  Instead of wailing like a banshee, I retreated to rally the troops.  I haven’t even told David of the latest development in our bureaucratic journey.  I will let him have his second cup of coffee first and enjoy the morning. 

Fear you say?  Yes, it triggers fear.  It triggers anger mostly.  Just like seeing the sap scars and ash stockings on my dogs, it brings up a deep sense of helplessness – and yes, probably victimization.  I feel powerless and not the type of powerlessness we tout in the 12-step rooms.  That powerlessness has inherent power as we give up our old way of being, leap into the unknown and trust the process.  And, yes, because I choose a path of resilience, I still trust the process as in I know we will be ok.

The fight or flight response serves a purpose.  I did flee the bank.  I also chose.  I knew I was hosting my radio show within the hour and chose to calm my ravaged mind as much as possible – realizing I could revisit this red tape later.  It would be there, patiently waiting my return.  My angsty moments between leaving the bank and returning to Jessica’s to sit down with my guests and my audience are a bit blurry.  Upon entering Jessica’s house, I was quite distraught and combined with hunger, low blood sugar, a crunched schedule and a need to urinate suddenly peeing on the floor seemed like a reasonable option.  For a moment, I considered how that level of psychological unraveling might just do the trick.  After peeing outside so much recently and the realization that the harder the surface, the greater the splash the romanticizing of peeing on her floor lost its luster relatively quickly.

My day improved from that point.  After writing this, I wondered whether I wanted to post yet another rant.  But ranting is part of my process.  I rant to you.  I rant at God.  I rant internally.  Ranting helps to move the shit through.  I have been tired, edgy and tender the last few days.  David and I have been a bit angsty with each other which is to be expected and discouraging at the same time.  We keep re-promising to remember that we are both spent and we recommit to bring an excessive level of patience.  Today, smoke fills the air from fires burning as far away as Montrose and New Mexico.  I feel for those people.  The smog fits my somewhat cloudy mood with bits of sunshine poking through.  We stopped for breakfast at Einstein’s as we headed into town to shop for flagstone.  It’s time to replace our Astroturf lawn with a more permanent structure to surround Flame and make life a little sweeter. 

As I sit in this fine establishment and look around at the collection of folks, I settle a bit.  I remember how to take a deep breath.  I breathe in the A/C and coffee fumes.  I pause and reflect.  And, then I choose:  Today, I promise to be loving to my husband.  I promise to be grateful for at least a few things.  And, I chuckle as I write that as I know there is an abundance of things to be grateful for.  Today, I will let the rant lapse.  I will know I can come back to it when I choose.  I will use a proper bathroom, I won’t pee on anyone’s floors, I will wash the dirt from under my fingernails and celebrate clean underwear.  I will call my mother and tell her I love her.  I will be kind to a stranger - or two.  

And, right now, I will dig in to my breakfast and be happy that I didn't have to cook it.