Once again, I'll claim to be scattered, not really doing/posting much, but starting posts, and finishing them eventually. A record of days as they are.
This is one of those, obviously.
They flit back into the environmentally sensitive native and succulent plants
as the vibrations of my feet move towards them
big, small, tiny...fast
they are there if you are looking
You have to be looking
I'm looking and pausing, giving them space
Each night, at the same cross street, the light turns red
I stop
I watch the team of men working
older white van parked curbside
The men wear headlamps, clamp lights on the chainlink fence nearby
Each night, they are very busy moving things
The old white van stuffed full, including the rooftop
Each night, I try to discern what they have stuffed in that van
I try to see, while the light is red, what are the many items in and on the van, on the sidewalk all lined up, hanging from the chainlink fence
One night I see a ladder
Another night many extension cords, coiled up and ready for use
I wonder profusely, where these items came from and where they are going?
Who are these folks?
Do they live behind the chainlink fence on the foundation of a once there house?
Someone lives back there now
These questions will probably go unanswered forever
I'm okay with that
Questions don't always need answers, do they?
She sits, preferring the blanket mountain
The tent is gone, the umbrella is also gone, but she remains
Sitting atop her throne, smoking a cigarette - face to the morning sun
I see her each morning there,
but at night, she disappears into the dark charcoal heap of blankets
Likely unseen by the many commuters traveling by
Last Friday morning, as I move down the road, I notice someone new
Standing next to her is a white-haired man
They are each holding a disposable coffee cup
talking in the morning sun
*This reminds me of Grace & Jude's recent neighborly encounters and makes me happy for her human connection on this day
Rain came, again
It was enough to see it falling, which sounds odd I know
It was loud enough to hear, which while again sounds odd, but is common around here
We often can barely see or hear the rain, even with a sliding door and a metal roofed carport
Next the wind came, many different days of Wind
Big Wind
And the clouds, with their own stories. We called it a jellyfish cloud
Last Friday, driving home, I was on the 2 lane road, which wraps around the mountain
Right at the most narrow part, uphill tight against the hill
I'm in stopped traffic, heading North
Southbound lane is empty
It is empty except for the single man walking along the side of the road
He is wearing dark clothing and a dark (black?) backpack, thinning hair and a dark beard
He is not easy to see in a road absent of lights
But, I see him.
He is walking firmly, abruptly, angrily(?)
He waves one arm and punches the air above him
I go very still, looking straight ahead, while keeping him in my peripheral vision
He continues South a few more steps
I run through reasons he could be in this place, presenting as he is
Maybe his car broke down and is mad, although I see no car on the roadside
Maybe he got fired and that was the last straw for him
Maybe...?
But, something feels wrong. This is not a walking road, at all
His demeanor shouts a different story
My mind starts racing
It's dark, bumper to bumper traffic
two lane road - around a mountain
No Way Out
no way out
Why is he Here?
What's in the backpack?
Why does he seem so angry?
We move an inch or two
Think, think
Okay, my door is locked, so that's good
I lock it anyway
I remain looking forward
I'm silent, but the repeated chant is loud in my head
Don't come over to me
Don't come over to me
Don't come over to me
we move another inch or two
He begins to cross the road, heading to a car a couple of cars behind me
His arms are waving and his beard surrounded mouth is opened in a yell
We move again
I call 911
Thick is morning fog
obscuring much of my view
The world turns yellow
May you have both dull and brilliant in your world
NOTE~ Yes, I know this is a lot of photographs. It is my way of telling this story.
Yes, I know this is a depressing story, but it is mine of late and it is also my blog.
You may go away now if this is not of interest to you.
(I say with understanding and kindness, as I get it)
This is me having to get this off my chest in one way I know how.
I have always said, and will repeat:
I treasure each and every one of my blogland peeps.
You guys are true, salt-of-the-earth people.
You engage, challenge, and lift me in ways you may never fully know.
You accept and love me in ways I deeply appreciate.
So, thank you for all of that.
Carry on.
↔
Mavis Staples ft. Ben Harper - Change
Hazel's comment on a recent post of mine...
Michelle's use of the word 'weary'...
Saskia's return...
Liz and Jude...going...
Mo's providing Moon beauty...
~all prompts for me to record some of my own recent feelings, as best I can~
They are not pretty
Daily drive, landfill on the left
Pretty good shape!
3 Turtles keep me company
There is a little two year old at work who has been discovering
too much.
Sometimes it is water or soap. Sometimes it is a particular kind of toy or sand.
Sometimes it is the noises around him.
"Too Much!" he says.
I agree.
There is too much politics, unrest, unkindness, illness, arguing,
bitterness, threats of violence and violence itself.
There is too much imbalance of powers, poverty, homelessness,
Too Much cages and babies taken from their families.
Too many lost or broken or both.
Too much negative.
Too much heavy.
Too much change, of not the good kind.
↔
I tried to sleep and this phrase keep popping into my head:
frying pan, frying pan
little man in a frying pan
burn his feet, ain't that neat?
falls to seat, ain't that fun?
little man can't even run
I even drew #littleman
My heart breaks for the #littleman, trying to survive, trying to get by.
There are too many stories...
in the news, from those I know...deep in hearts (mine included).
(I drew that too)
Barely able to see the story patches, I've been wearing lately.
The weight is astounding.
↔
I keep looking for the light.
I'm usually pretty good at finding slivers of light.
Teeny glimmers are all that have appeared.
A couple of work changes, reversed - improved upon...
a cause for guarded relief and begrudged gratefulness.
This song above, heard on my commute,
a slice of rebellious, stomping foot in place calling out ENOUGH.
Demanding CHANGE! (The good kind of course!)
Nice trees, work car?
↔
Sometimes I consider that I could drive a different,
less in your face route to work.
But, I would not forget all #somefolks are still out there,
with me just on a less upsetting road.
If this was the only 'news', maybe I would consider that.
But, to me it is merely a sign of these times.
There is so, so much more.
These non-mobile mobile homes are filled with men, women, pet dogs
bicycles, ATVs, dirt, dust and grime.
Broken bits of furniture, car parts and trash.
They have folks that sweep the sidewalk or don't,
work on their vehicles and go off for the day (to work?)
There are tarps. Lots of tarps that cover the roofs, broken windows
(there seems to be lots of those too) and spaces between their home
and a nearby wall or fence (AKA shade tarps).
This is but one short stretch of road where the mobile live.
↔
In my car, my own home away from home, on my lunch break
I manage to sort bags of buttons.
Dividing my collection by about half.
Because who needs so many buttons anyway?
I sort and search.
I seek to find.
I haven't been weaving or stitching the past few weeks.
Or letter writing, although I've got a mental list going for that!
I make life decisions phone calls from my car.
The kind of phone calls no one really likes to make.
↔
Then I make the return trip.
↔
At night, in bed I read little novels.
Escape books, for enjoyment and to get tired enough and to ward off dreams.
I've read some fair, good or great books.
I'll read BURN next. I am part way through A MAN CALLED OVE.
I have finished the others and they are back at the library,
so someone else may enjoy them.
CALLING MAJOR TOM was a fun one to read with all the celebratory remembering of the Moon Landing going on right now. He actually is on his way to Mars, but there is lots of Space Oddity tie-ins and such! BRITT-MARIE WAS HERE and A MAN CALLED OVE are both by the author whose book I read first: MY GRANDMOTHER TOLD ME TO TELL YOU SHE'S SORRY. He has a very unique way of phrasing and word choice. One of those authors I find myself thinking in their style.
↔
I try to stay off the news these days.
I return to continue and/or consider FB and it's vile owners/operators.
I try to let the unkind comments and some of the stories go.
I would love to walk again, but the air quality and my asthma say "NO WAY!"
I look for new tools in this old toolbox.
(toolbox below!)
TV game shows in the toolbox!
↔
And, as you guys know,
I guess I wouldn't be me if I didn't keep trying to circle back around
I had a post planned and then we went for a hike today.
Then I had a flash of reading, but really hearing Jude's voice in my head talking about 'selves' and I thought about how we all have so many selves.
I have interior selves galore and work selves and home on the weekend and family and friend...and on and on I thought.
So this post is ending up as two of my selves merge.
Ways two of my selves mark time.
↔ ↔ ↔
Today's Sunday hike was filled with flowers.
So many kinds, everywhere!
Many kinds we have not seen before.
We made plans to hike again and again until we are strong enough to get to the waterfalls, further up the trail...until we are strong enough to get to the top of the mountain!
*AS ALWAYS - CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE*
↔
Noticing Counting Numbers Commuting
22.7 miles from door to door. Motor-home homes, parked curbside on a city street, the numbers growing. These homes, piled high with belongings- bikes, moped, dune buggy extra lumber, overflowing shopping carts lots of trash, or what looks like trash
Tarp covered lean-to, from motor-home to oleanders
Someone sweeps their sidewalk
First stretch: 13 motor homes in .06 mi
↔ Many blocks later ↔
Second stretch: 27 within 2.9 miles 4 Van Homes ↔
Splashed up the mountain
This smelled so good!
Fascinated by pattern
We counted petals, looked at patterns, smelled the leaves.
We noted wildlife and greeted passing hikers,
all out to enjoy a the day.
So many bees today. They loved these lovely purple flowers, where they went in,
head first...completely disappearing - only to re-emerge tush first!
↔
1 wheelchair-bound citrus fruit seller, his goods in a wagon and an umbrella overhead 8 food tents, AKA sidewalk restaurants or fruit carts 3 food trucks
Dozens of flower and teddy bear sellers, before every holiday
Several yard sales 2+ sidewalk campsites
1 off-sidewalk campsite, hidden in the oleanders, which border the landfill
Rock Rose, like we had at our old place!
Bleached tree
Skink
There was a man who lived under a tarp An only soul was he Now only stained cement is left Of where he used to be ↔ Outside of the no-longer-in-existence unemployment office, Alongside a cinder block wall and a vine covered chain link fence, tucked into a corner... a man lived. A man Lived. Most days I couldn't see him, as he stayed completely under his tarp Barely a raised spot showed. But, he was there. He Was There. Once in a while, his head would poke out and one day he had an American Flag rising up out of a corner of his tarp. But, mostly he was there, flat under his tarp... until the day there were police and a garbage truck there with him... his belongings lined up on the edge of where he once slept.
That night, and the days following, he has been gone Only a dirty spot on the sidewalk, where once he Lived .
↔
Magical tree roots!
Trees framing mustard
Sand lizard
It was a beautiful day for hike as it was not too hot, even mid-day.
We hiked to the flatter trail on the left side of the mountain,
the other side being the side of the "same rock found twice".
Perhaps my outdoors name should be Nancy One Rock Twice!
There were many dogs out today, but thankfully their people were respectful stewards
and kept them leashed and the trail clean.
Thank You.
Downed Woodpecker tree
Reaching for the sky, again
There were so many trees down. More than we remember from our last hike.
And so many more flowers, it seemed...
with so many more bees, which was so good to see!
Twisted growth
So purple!
Cottonwoods, my favorites
The Cottonwood trees were dancing in the breeze.
I love these trees so much for their movement, scent and
their ability to take me back to my days living in Northern Nevada.
A lifetime ago.
And there you have it.
Places to be
Spaces to move through
Workweek commute
Weekend hike
I'm sorry when the weekends end,
but I plan what I'll pack along with me as I have one hour each day as a lunch break.
My choices are usually a current book, weaving, clothwork
or letter writing materials.
I am supposed to be walking on that break as well.
As if running after toddlers all day isn't exercise enough!
And it is my best time to make phone calls to keep up with friends.
It's a juggle!
However, it is a balm for my weary soul on my days of driving.
Until we meet again my friends, may your days be filled with all that fills you, along with a few things that challenge you. It's good to grow. xo
