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.  

Getting my funny on

Last night I leapt into the unknown. In the form of a stand-up comedy routine, 8 other brave women and I took to the stage to test our mettle.  In a nutshell, we rocked it.  The crowd was rooting for us from the beginning.  The majority of the packed house (about 100 strong) were friends and supporters with a few complete strangers sprinkled in.  It was a night to remember – and already I want to do it again.  For us brave souls who leapt, the last two weeks have had their ups and downs to say the least.  We came together for the first time on May 20th for a 4-hour workshop lead by the brilliant Kristina Hall.  A veteran comic with over 25 years experience both live and on TV, Kristina created a flagship program to help women step through fears, find our own unique expression and get our funny on.  The level of power and accomplishment in the room did not lesson our shared anxiety.  Would we be funny, would we remember, what if we froze, what if no one laughed and you could hear crickets???

I said “yes” to this opportunity after interviewing Kristina on my radio show in early March  All during the interview, I was feeling the pull to jump yet I resisted committing.  Aware of the contradiction between this and the premise of my show, I knew that to do anything but leap would be contraindicated.  The opener clanged loudly as I considered my options,

Through interviews with luminaries and leaders in the field of leaping, the “What Are YOU Waiting For?” show will coax you out of your comfort zone as you stand teetering on the edge of transformation. Whether you are at the edge and ecstatic…flying mid-air and freaked out… or waxing poetic as you plummet, tune in to the show that has you jump!

I know I know I know, I told my inner-leaper.  But, really, now???  Do I need to put my fragile psyche through this?  Is this the right time?  Will I be perceived as insensitive for making jokes about my experience with the fire?  Will this affect our legal stance?  Regardless of my screaming concerns, I recognized a personal edge.  Seeing Kristina perform a multitude of times and admiring her genius, I knew I could learn a lot.  Never called to be a comedian, my desire came from the challenge and the extreme level of comfort Kristina consistently displays on stage.  I haven’t seen too many people as “at home” in front of a crowd as she.  Given that 1/4^th of my career involves public speaking, I craved the ease she wears so effortlessly.  So I jumped – and immediately wondered what I had done. 

During the course, I vacillated between seeing the beauty in my material and wanting to run for the hills.  Kristina stressed memorization which has never been a strong suit.  When I speak, I have an outline.  Typically, I know how I will begin and end but fill in most of the contents from what occurs in the moment.  I have a concern that (1) I can’t memorize it and (2) that to memorize will separate me from my authentic expression.  Add attempting to be funny on top of this and it seemed a recipe for disaster – or at least me as stiff as a board and oh-so far from funny.  So, I didn’t try to memorize, then time sped up and the big event approached, and I began to develop a mighty concern.  I always sweat before speaking.  My first “real” gig in front of the general public was in 2009 where I launched into the stratosphere with an opportunity to share the stage with many legends in the field of personal development.  Prior to that, I had spoken in recovery rooms for many moons, but this was different.  I had to create a speech that spoke to a broader audience.  After many sleepless nights, I had a coaching session with speaker superstar Mark Sanborn who gave me a basic formula and helped me craft a beginning, 5 points and an ending.  Now with a framework from which to hang my material, I had some peace.  Though, I still spent many sleepless nights in the month that lead up to the event. 

I thought that the more I spoke, the less I would fear but it seemed that any speech that was the “next” level brought waves of anxiety with it.  Last September, I was invited to speak at a local TedX event.  The month leading up was one of the biggest roller coaster rides of my life.  The angst extreme, I threw myself into my spiritual work.  Some moments during that month, I will never forget.  There was a richness, a beauty and I was a little difficult to be around – to say the least.  On the day before the speech, I threw out my opening.  My topic: “Being a Fierce Disruption of the Ordinary” had begun to feel ordinary.  In a moment of bizarre inspiration as I hung laundry on the line, I made a promise to not decide how I would begin until I began.  Seeming like a great idea at the time, as the day went on, I questioned my sanity.  What the heck was I thinking?  Yet, I knew this was my next level of growth.  I did just that and felt freer on stage than ever before. 

A couple months later, I had another invitation to speak on a TedX stage coupled with much less nervousness than before.  Yet, I still sweat each time.  For my comic debut, I slept better than my typical M.O.  Last Friday as I planned to spend the day preparing, and yes, attempting the dreaded “memorization”, I suddenly developed a severe case of vertigo which lasted all day and into the next.  A few days before that, I thought I had an ‘out’ in that I hadn’t cleared my appearance with our attorney.  I was sure he would not approve, yet after telling him about the course and the opportunity, he gave me the green light.  Damn it!  No way out, unless I quit.  After two days of vertigo, I began to feel the heat of the approaching evening.  Certain that memorization was out of the question; I didn’t spend much time with my material until Monday.  Then a good case of self-preservation kicked in and I rallied, re-typing my material a couple times, reading it a few more, and yesterday going over it as much as possible before the event.  I had the gist – and it was all real-life tales. 

Discovering I was to take the stage first brought another level of angst – and also some relief.  I wouldn’t have to sit in the audience anticipating my time.  I could get it over with, then re-join the crowd and actually be present.  My assigned handler, Jessica, spent time in the corner with me going over my bullet points to attempt to remember the flow.  She intercepted as well-meaning people stopped by to wish me luck and offer their condolences.  I couldn’t converse with anyone prior and continued to beg their forgiveness, as I needed my Zen space.  Finally, the show began.  Kristina warmed the crowd with her brilliance and beautifully set them up to receive us with even more love in their hearts than they had already. 

My moment came… I fumbled with the microphone and was blinded by the lights which truly prevented making out any faces in the crowd.  And, I began.  Laughs came quickly and easily, surprising me utterly.  My system was in rev mode until a few lines in and then all of a sudden, I was there, present – and alive.  A particularly loud gremlin kept telling me to worry that they might not continue laughing as boisterously.  I kept going anyway, slowing it down, remembering to wait as people laughed, recalling that pauses are actually funny in themselves and can create a new level of laughter as the joke settles in.  As Kristina coached us, it’s not so much what we are saying, it’s how we are being.  And, slowing it down and bringing expression makes the words shine.  She also insisted we remain vulnerable – and shared how on the comic stage you can do anything, be anything. 

In my “normal” gigs, I don’t tend to bring edginess but last night there were no holds barred.  Edgy was present, anger was expressed and the crowd ate it up.  At one point, they cheered so loudly that I thought I should just end right there on the spot.  Not wanting to leave the stage, and still having a few more tales, I continued on.  It was over in a flash and I wanted to ride the ride again!  One by one, the rest of the group took the stage.  Everyone was brilliant, gorgeous and hilarious.  For real.  Absolutely none of us had ever done that before – and at least one had never been on stage before, ever.  Each woman shared real life stories with perspective and glorious wit, admitting challenges and vulnerabilities with ease and grace.  We were all unique yet connected by our spirit of leaping into the unknown.  The crowd loved it and cheered us on for the entire show.  We all returned to the stage for a final bow and to pat each other on the back.  We each knew what it took, what we had to deal with and overcome to be there that night. 

Kristina’s talent was unmistakable in the fact that 9 novice comics were actually quite funny.  Even the slight mishaps that some of us had flowed naturally.  Under her masterful tutelage, we all shined so brightly.  Extraordinary to witness and to be a part of, we triumphed as a group.  Early on, when I first got wind of the course, I was drawn but thought I would “help out” vs. actually participate.  There, I could watch from the wings, live vicariously and definitely not stretch myself in that way.  I am so grateful I was willing to leap, fragile psyche and all. 

Big gratitude and admiration to Kristina Hall!  Huge acknowledgment and lots of love to my cohorts (in order of appearance): Charis Charistopoulos, Sabrina Fritts, Jane Wood, Juliana Gregory, Robin Colucci, Elaina McMillan, Laura Lee and Patti Sommer.

And to those of you who supported us along the way and attended last nights show.  We couldn’t have done it without you.  Muchas gracias from the bottom of our hearts and the  funny in our souls.  

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.    

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.  

It aint over 'til the fat lady sings

After two days of clouds, snow, rain and mist, the sun is shining brightly today.  We have had June weather in March, and now March weather in May.  Seems Mother Nature cannot make up her mind.  This is the joy of Colorado living. 

Yesterday, my neighbors and I took our third trip to the Capitol.  This time to testify in front of a Senate committee about the future of what has now become two bills to assist victims of the fire.  After pressure from the press (primarily Channel 7), the Governor, Attorney General and legislators from both sides of the aisle came together in a press conference to declare their desire to work together.  Our testimonies last week in front of the house were very different than last night in front of the senate.  Something was shifting in big government and we could sense it in the room.  Hardened lawmakers were softening up and actually wiping away tears as they listened to our words.  The senators that sponsored the bill both got choked up as they presented their case.  All of us were more emotional too.  Yes we are tired and yes it’s hard to tell the story over and over but it seemed we were even rawer and tears flowed from most of us as we shared in front of this strangely sympathetic group. 

The bill passed 5-0 and they took what was supposed to be a 5-minute recess before resuming what was sure to be a long night for them.  Five minutes stretched to at least 20 as they took time to shake our hands and offer hugs.  Hugs from senators?  What was going on here?  I swear love was in the air – humans experiencing each other’s pain and sorrow; a willingness to be with all of it.  Many remarked that they couldn’t even begin to understand – and they were committed to making it right. 

We had learned the night before that we needed to be there at 10:30am.  Of course we rallied, cancelling plans, changing appointments and declaring our ongoing unity as a group.  We ended up sitting and waiting for a couple hours in the morning with no idea of what was going to happen.  Finally around 12pm, we were told to come back for a 4 or 5pm appearance.  Daunted but still determined, we pulled out our phone tree of who would call whom and said our goodbyes.  I watched our group, aging from mid 20’s to mid 80’s walk back out into the misty rain and felt another level of kinship with these people many of whom were strangers a mere month ago.  We have bonded the way only survivors do.  We know what we are seeing when we look into each other’s eyes.  We share a hard-earned camaraderie.  I felt for the elderly neighbors who by choice live miles and miles away from the chaos of downtown.  What were they to do during our break?  No one complained, the commitment was so great.  There was no question we would be back. 

Returning at 3:30pm, we sat again and waited even longer.  After a while, the hallways began buzzing with lawmakers and the time came.  Our testimonies finally beginning after 6pm.  Tired but determined, we shared our pain, stories and pictures again.  We asked for the government to step up and do the right thing.  Then, many senators echoed our own words, Tim Neville asked us to hold their “feet to the fire”.  Rollie Heath exclaimed, “Your testimonies are difficult to hear… this event is due to the negligence of state agencies.”  The over-arching theme being: we want to make this right.  Co-sponsor Bill Cadman closed with “we need to take responsibility above and beyond… Governmental immunity is not moral impunity.” 

Both bills will now go to the Governor.   They are far from perfect – and yet they are better than nothing.  As Scott Appel (who lost his wife Ann) pointed out, “The legislation says what can be done. It does not say what will be done.” 

We are not even close to being finished.  Many challenges lie ahead.  And, just because they may remove the liability caps, does not mean they will ever pay any money.  There are no guarantees in this game called government.  We will still have to prove our cases, express our pain, show our pictures, and tell our stories.  We will need to return over and over to the Capitol or similar venues.  There will be no immediate gratification – or anything even close. 

I am proud to be among my neighbors.  We don’t have to walk through this alone – together we are stronger.  We have our supporters in the public, seemingly in the legislature and definitely in the media.  We are grateful to Channel 7 and Marshall Zellinger and Amanda Kost for tirelessly keeping this story alive, for taking a multitude of trips up to our charred forests, for staying up late and getting up early, for looking into our eyes and hearts and being willing to fight for us. 

And even with all the support, we know we are just beginning.  As my dear neighbor Sharon Scanlon said, “It isn't over 'til the fat lady sings and she isn’t singing for a long, long time.” 

A Government for the people, by the people...

Yesterday, around 30 neighbors and families attended a hearing at the Capitol on proposed House Bill 32 152, which would raise caps for compensation for fire victims.  Representative Cheri Gerou (a mountain area resident) co-sponsored the bill with Representative Bob Gardner. 

I haven’t been to the Capital since college.  The building is beautiful and Gerou and Gardner chose to have the hearing held in the old Supreme Court chambers, an elegant vaulted room with towering stain glass images of original Colorado settlers.  The room was perfect as we discussed our fine state and what it stood for: the Wild West tamed for habitation infused with the spirit of independence formed by a community of like-minded people.

The words “by the people for the people” emerge from the fog of my formative years.  I googled this to recall the source: Lincoln’s famous quote from the Gettysburg address. “…this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

I have always taken government for granted.  I have been of the trusting variety.  I believe in the goodness of people and the promise of our elected officials. I know we are all human and no one can be perfect so I forgive a lot.  I tune out people’s rants and raves about corruption.  When my stepfather sardonically says, “we are the government, we are here to help,” I stop listening.  Until now, that is.  I am disillusioned, I am dismayed, and I am disgusted.  And, I am very very sad about this.  My veil of denial has been lifted and it leaves a painful rawness in its wake.  I am now on the receiving end of our governments finger pointing, blame avoiding and lack of responsibility taking shenanigans. 

As I reviewed the day yesterday, I studied recent reports and articles.  Marshal Zelinger, an investigative reporter for Channel 7 and a clear friend to us fire victims, has been working his butt off to uncover the inconsistencies in our elected officials responses to this government caused disaster.  In a recent article, Zelinger quotes our swashbuckling Sherriff, who apparently can’t read.  It begins relatively harmlessly:

"We're not saying that somebody should not be held accountable," Sheriff Ted Mink said. "All we're saying is there's no criminality that we have come up with."

I tend to agree.  Even though the Forest Service employee’s actions lead to the excruciating death of innocent civilians and the destruction of millions of dollars in property, I am not sure they are criminals.  Certainly, they were careless and negligent.

From Wikipedia: Negligence (Lat. negligentia, from neglegere, to neglect, literally "not to pick up something") is a failure to exercise the care that a reasonably prudent person would exercise in like circumstances. [1] The area of tort law known as negligence involves harm caused by carelessness, not intentional harm.

Now here’s where the Sherriff’s Office departs from reality: "The reports confirm previous assumptions that a prescribed burn conducted by the Colorado State Forest Service caused the fire. Based on the review of all available documents and witness interviews, it was determined that the CSFS followed or exceeded the parameters set by the Lower North Fork burn plan, and that no criminal violation of the Colorado Revised Statutes occurred."

Zelinger points out this is all a fine interpretation except for the tiny fact that: “A report by the governor's office, released on Monday, showed that the state forest service violated its own burn plan by not patrolling the area of the controlled burn on that third day -- Sunday -- the day before the controlled burn blew up into the Lower North Fork Fire.”  Hmmmm, "followed or exceeded"?  How do they figure?

Zelinger goes on to ask Mr. Mink, "How can the Forest Service follow and exceed the burn plan and violate it at the same time?"

Mink replies, "All I know is they did not go out there on a Sunday. The burn plan says periodic monitoring, and it doesn't give a prescribed day or time or day or whatever the case is. You can interpret it in different ways. We interpreted it that they did follow and exceed it in the criminal part of our investigation."

Apparently, Mink did not read the Governors report which stated that procedure calls for 3 days of monitoring after a controlled burn…

It gets worse. Bill Bass, the leader of the fact-finding team that issued the report states, "For the life of me, I've looked through this thing, and it was a professionally written plan, it was professionally implemented, albeit one mistake on a patrol on Sunday."

Albeit one mistake… one small error in judgment.  A decision not to follow protocol even after high wind and red flag fire warnings were issued 3 days earlier.  Apparently checking the weather is not on their checklist.  And, Sunday being a day of rest and all... 

That illustrious “burn boss” decided it wasn’t necessary to go on patrol on Sunday, saying that the site looked good and the weather prediction was favorable.  Favorable for fire, that is.  I mean really? 

Bass goes on to say, the absence on Sunday did not make a difference in how the fire grew...  Did not make a difference, really?  Me thinks he doth protest too much. 

"That would be speculation on my part, but I don't think it would have changed the outcome," Bass said. 

I-D-10-T alert!

Now, I will go throw up.  Seriously.  We have all heard of politicians pulling their bullshit and the government shirking responsibility.  We have heard it so many times that we are numb to it.  Until, we are directly impacted by it. 

The government needs to be free to act in its capacity not obstructed by concerns of liability therefore we have what is called the “Governmental Immunity Act”, otherwise known as “Sovereign Immunity”.  It began with the notion that “the king can do no wrong.”  It makes the Country, and the States that utilize it, immune from prosecution.  And, I get it, up to a point.  If a police officer kills a pedestrian in a high-speed chase, he (or she) cannot be sued.  If the police were not protected from this, they could never chase criminals; the stakes would be too high.  But what if he happens to be drunk?  Is he still immune?  Obviously, there are many gray areas.

In 1987, a 17-foot boulder was dislodged by a Colorado state highway worker, rolling off a mountainside, smashing into a tour bus and killing 7 people and injuring dozens more. 

The Governor at that time, Roy Roemer, stated,  “It's a terrible accident.  Quite frankly, it's our responsibility to make it right.''

He said the state would pay medical costs for the injured, help bring family members to Colorado and provide counseling. ''I am personally accepting responsibility for the state,'' he said. ''We'll let the lawyers catch up with us later.''  (New York Times 8/11/87)

Roemer went on to make good on his promise.  They didn’t know where the money would come from.  Part of Sovereign Immunity is to place caps on financial liability.  At the time the cap was $400,000 per incident.  Now, it is $600,000 per incident – for all involved.  Roemer and his supporters found a way to compensate victims.  They took the money from the Transportation District. 

Our beloved Governor, John Hickenlooper, is taking an opposite tack from former Governor Roemer.  Instead, he is playing the game of duck and cover.  Having glad-handed a few mountain residents in his 15-minute tour after the fire, yet claiming to have spoken to dozens of people - which none of our neighbors recall… He now states his vehement opposition to the Bill, citing “a dangerous precedent would be set if changes are made to the caps”.  To this concern, Rep Gardner responded, “It will be a precedent I will be proud of.”   Continuing in this vein, Gardner said, “Perhaps if the State accepted responsibly this time, they might be more careful in the future.” 

Yesterday, the fire victims had our say.  Sam Lucas son of Sam and Moaneti Lucas, choked back the tears as he shared, "I said goodbye to my parents by kissing their 20-gauge steel casket.  An open casket was not an option with my dad", due to the fact his father’s body was burned beyond recognition or any help that an embalmer could provide.

From a KWGN Channel 2 report:

Just moments before he and his wife perished in the Lower North Fork Fire, Sam Lucas was told by a 911 operator the wildfire was simply a prescribed burn.
 “This is Sam Lucas. We live up in the foothills and we just got home and it looks like there’s a fire right at the foot of Cathedral Spires,” Lucas tells the emergency dispatcher in an audio recording released Tuesday.
 “That is a controlled burn,” the dispatcher interjects, cutting off Lucas mid-sentence. “The Forest Service is out there on scene with that.”
 Lucas: “We’ve got 79 mile an hour winds up here. And they’ve got a controlled burn?”
 Dispatcher: “Yes.”
 Lucas: “Oh, wonderful. Thank you.”
 Dispatcher: “Uh huh. Bye.”
 The bodies of Sam Lucas and his wife, Moaneti, were found at the charred remains of their home on Kuehster Road the following day.

I am not going to describe the other failures in the system right now as I have detailed many in an earlier post. 

The rest of the neighbors shared memories of our dream homes, stories of precious and irreplaceable items lost, harrowing tales of the day when no one knew what was happening and repeated calls to 911 lead to a false sense of security. 

After I testified, I was cross-examined by Rep. Dan Pabon who was particularly prickly during the entire proceedings.   I described the loss of memories and irreplaceable mementos.  Pabon then questioned me saying, “The proposed bill won’t be paying for those…” I responded, “Yes, we all know that.  You can’t give us back our memories.  Sometimes the only way to make things right is financial compensation for loss.  You can’t bring back our priceless objects.  You can do the right thing.” 

The testimonies ended with Scott Appel showing a picture of his deceased wife Ann.  He talked about his unexpected delay in returning from a business trip, repeated calls to his wife where they discussed what she should do, her reports of calling 911 and receiving assurance that all was “under control”.  A short time later, she was burned alive, her remains not found for days. 

Responses from the Governors and Attorney Generals office followed.  As David Blake from the Attorney General’s office read his statement to the committee he expressed his condolences re: our testimonies – from his already printed notes.  Not too canned there.  Neighbors glanced at neighbors in disbelief.  We really felt the “authentic” compassion flowing from the higher ups. 

Our champions, Gerou and Gardner told us there is money that could be made available for us.  None of us want to get rich off of a settlement yet we see the money as a gesture of accountability on the part of those who carelessly caused this fire to rage out of control.  Most of us are not expecting that Forest Service employees should do jail time, however, we are dismayed to hear that the head of the Forest Service stated, “No one will be losing their jobs.  No one did anything wrong.”  

An overriding concern expressed was that if caps were raised for us, it would retroactively screw all of those who came before us. 

The fact is harm has flowed from a governmental action.  As Cheri Gerou so eloquently stated, “sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t convenient.”  She closed by saying, “These people are changed.  They have nothing.  Let’s give them something.” 

The Bill passed with a vote of 8 to 3.  The next step is the Senate - and if it passes there, it will go to the Governor who will certainly veto it.

We are sorry to those who came before us.  We wish the government had stepped up for you.  It may not step up for us either – yet we will fight.  We will fight for ourselves – for those who perished as well as for those who come after us. The government will screw up again.  Perhaps with more painful financial caps as retribution, they won’t be so careless in their decisions.  And, maybe they won’t take Sunday off.  

*******************************

If you want to know what you can do to help, follow the links listed in this article.  Study and see for yourself.  Then write letters, lots and lots and lots of letters.  Specifically to Governor Hickenlooper, Attorney General John Suthers and Sheriff Ted Mink.  Express your opinion.  Support this Bill.  Another concern expressed by those opposed is that under this bill, the victims won't have the right to sue.  We don't anyway!  And, $600,000 divided between all those impacted won't go very far.  This is a diversion tactic by the powers that be.  

We welcome your support.


To Contact the Governor, go to: http://www.colorado.gov/cs/Satellite/GovHickenlooper/CBON/1251592968310


Sherrif Ted Mink:
Jefferson County Sheriff's Office
200 Jefferson County Parkway
Golden, CO 80401-2697

For the Attorney General John Suther:

1525 Sherman St.

Denver, Colorado 80203

P: 303-866-4500

F: 303-866-5691

Attorney.General@state.co.us

Consumer Line: 800-222-4444

http://www.colorado.gov/cs/Satellite/GovHickenlooper/CBON/1251592968310

A crack in the armor

Yesterday we smiled.  Not that we haven’t smiled at all during the last month but the smiles previously were fleeting and slight.  Yesterday we smiled a lot.  As we scrambled to get out of the house to meet the Fire Marshall, we bumped into each other, our non-existent patience worn thin.  I had a conference call to start my authors on their writing day – another one I wouldn’t be joining – and begged their forgiveness as I adjusted the time to make our important appointment. 

When we arrived, we were greeted by a group of neighbors, Randy the Fire Marshall, Kate from the County, Sean from Planning and Zoning and Dan from the Fire Department – with a shiny red fire truck.  Although the sun was shining, a biting wind chilled us to our core as we stood and waited for the bad news to begin.  This meeting was to detail our “options” around improving our road.  We had received the news that due to the poor condition of our private roads, unless we brought them up to snuff, we would not have rights to any future emergency services which would prohibit the desire of any insurance company to insure us again (if they ever would anyway…).  This was very bad news when we first got wind of it.  A major roadblock in our future plans with a giant price tag attached. 

Randy welcomed and gathered us around.  I liked this man the first time I met him last summer when we were petitioning to join Inter-Canyon Fire Department and be released from North Fork.  Our house was much closer to ICFD so it made practical sense.  He made a few site visits at the time.  I responded instantly to his no nonsense approach and Sam Sheppard twinkle.  This time, he was the bearer of bad news.  David and I snuggled against the wind and waited for Randy to throw down the gauntlet in this bureaucratic behemoth. 

Randy began, “We know how much you are dealing with and we have decided that we don’t want to add even more to your plate.  We will be making recommendations – not requirements - for road improvement.”  An audible sob caught in my throat.  The first piece of good news since this nightmare began.  After that, all the details of filing of permits, checking easements, erosion assessments, septic requirements, well tests and such all seemed minor.  Here was a group of government employees on a Saturday morning declaring their support to us through the process.  Yes, it is still an arduous process but we saw some good from our government versus all the finger pointing and throat clearing that has been coming from our swash-buckling Sherriff and Governor. 

My sass then emerged, and all I wanted to do was to ride in the fire truck.  I began in my normal way, “can I drive the fire truck?” and settled on a ride to my property a mile down the road.  I climbed into the belly of the beast and we bounced along our jeep trail of a road toward our place.  I looked for sirens I could sound or PA’s I could key to announce our approach.  I decided not to push my luck, certainly not wanting to further traumatize my already shell-shocked neighbors.  As we approached the last turns before our property, I noticed a wisp of smoke.  Poking Dan, I asked what it was.  He stopped to investigate and discovered it was the fire, still alive, still burning in the roots of a tree.  We climbed down to the source and could see the spot had worked on as there was a deep hole to dampen the area.  Yet, a whole month later, it still smoldered.  (And, again, tell me what made the forest service think that 3 days of putting out their controlled burn was enough?)  I asked Dan if I could spray the hose.  He used the lighter hose and instructed me to hold it close to my body and spray the F out of the fire.  (He didn’t say that exactly…)  I hankered to blast the F out of it; to vent my rage and fury on this destructive fiend that still breathed after devouring my home.  Instead, the hose flowed, and then trickled, yet clouds of steam filled the air as I doused it as best I could.  The water turned white and bubbly, it sizzled and smoked as it took its last breaths.  My initiation complete on my inaugural journey. 

Having fought fire, I worked up quite and appetite and chose to head to Evergreen instead of to the house for a day of insurance inventory.  After benedict at Wildflower Café, we visited Evergreen Gallery.  When we bought the house, David gave me a painting called “Re-Birth” of a momma and baby elephant.  Along with most of our art (minus 2 of my mom’s original paintings), this piece went up in flames.  The Gallery was able to find this exact piece 9 years later – and discovered an original actually exists.  We only saw pictures of it and will go back when the artist is in town but in the meantime, my craving for art began to emerge. 

As I shared yesterday, I am joining forces with the Aspens in our mutual healing journey.  Being a small gallery in a mountain town, there were plenty of Aspen motifs.  A vivid photograph mounted on heavy piece of slate jumped out at both of us.  A lone golden Aspen set against a forest of snow-covered pines.  I know they are pines, and it is snow, but when I gaze at it it transforms to ash covered trees, decimated by fire with the solo Aspen blazing it’s golden glory and will to survive.  It makes me happy.  Another piece grabbed my heart – a transparent photo with a view up into a thick grove of Aspen’s in all their greenery set against the blue sky.  When rested against a window, this piece is further illuminated from the sun, shining brightly with its promise of hope.

We are still being quite choosy about what we buy yet, if feels good to have a few pieces.  I stare at the lone Aspen as I write this morning.  It will be the placeholder of all those glorious trees that we lost.  They say that Aspen are the first to come back after a fire.  I hope so.  I have always loved and felt kinship with them.  Appearing to be individual trees on the surface, in truth, they are connected through the earth with a common root system.  The metaphors are obvious.  I will allow their fortitude to fortify me.  I will patiently wait for their glory to return.  

Healing with the trees

I coach my author clients to sit for as long as it takes to get words on a page.  This morning, my resistance is robust.  I am pulled to zone out.  I don’t want to write.  Tired of saying the same things in different ways, I worry you are tired too.  I indulged in a very large peanut butter cookie last night (I know, alert the press!) and have a sugar hangover.  Fuzzy headed, my thoughts are sludge.  I misplaced my reading glasses so I squint and barely make out the screen.  Yet, still I sit.  I remember my darkest day yet was the day I chose not write... I don’t want to go there again.  Writing has become my way of greeting the day, of processing what needs to be processed.  Yes, I may be saying similar things.  My brain is still attempting to make sense of the nonsensical.  It is still processing the trauma.  And, as the numbness wears off the jagged reality emerges.  There is no going back.  This is my new life.  Who would have thunk it?

Yesterday, I watched the last of the metal scraps that once were my house be towed away.  As the flatbed flexed to pick up the load, I caught a final glimpse before it disappeared from view.  Pieces of my house, pieces of my life, memories turned into heaps of metal tumbled together then vanished down the road on their journey to recycling.

As I waited for my next “appointment”, with Skybeam (our internet provider), a mostly decimated Aspen grove beckoned me.  Heeding the call, I sat with the trees for a few minutes.  The moment I entered the grove, I felt their sadness, saw their tears, experienced their pain.  Some had exploded into tiny pieces, dismembered, the stark white bark against blackened soil.  Some lay intact, yet disconnected forever from their earth, their roots turned into black sooty mush.  Some remained standing, their ultimate fate unknown.  Smokey perfume filled the grove; I held their dead bodies and wept for us all. 

Then Skybeam showed up and I shifted gears as we went to explore the next phase of this journey – the prospect of home office-ing out of our Airstream.  It turned out that the strongest signal is at our property, and I made the executive decision that we would move the trailer to our land and begin living there May 11^th. 

Miraculously, grass is growing on the land bringing some color and life to the moonscape.  It is fitting to think about living there again.  Like us, it is scorched, edgy, raw, tired, and wounded and yet the will to transform is evident.  The invitation is to walk through this together.  The dark sooty ground, mangled trees and scorched rocks will normalize our pain.  The delicate clumps of green grass will remind us of the regenerative power of nature. 

The world will go on, yet we will heal gradually with the land.  We don’t have to rush our process.  It will take decades for the land to truly heal.  It will be patient with us and we will be patient with it.  When the world seems to forget our pain, we will be comforted to know the land hasn’t forgotten.  Eventually our scars will mend and something new will arise.  We can’t know what it will look like yet.  We can’t know who we will be yet.  We will discover who we will become together.  Every season we will morph and change, yet our hard-earned raw beauty will remain, always a reminder of the power of fire to transform.