Head and Heart

February is about to be ushered out the door this leap year, March rumbling in with winter coat and mittens in many places south of the 49^th. Slushy roads reported in Vancouver underscore my delight in sitting here in shorts and a t-shirt, temps in the 70’s and climbing to the 80’s by the weekend. As Ellen’s ads write it, “. . . an easy, breezy’ holiday unfolds here in La Quinta. Morning walks with Bucky and Lucy set up the day; I even managed to walk off the berm yesterday and closer to the Santa Rosa Mntns. I was introduced to Trader Joe’s yesterday – a fun, organic foods grocery store. It reminded me of Whole Foods.

Lucy is enjoying the long walks and 3 people to play with her and provide the attention she loves to receive.

Reflecting as I do, I realize that the putting one foot after the other has become easier (most days) as I journey. That, interestingly enough, allows for more thought about who am I, now? This is a deeper question that trips me up on occasion. Some days it’s an exciting prospect, other days a wide, daunting expanse of canvas needing a stroke of paint.  More canvas than I know what to do with a lot of days.  I guess this is a one-stroke-of-colour at a time opportunity (yes, that last word was intentional). Colour choices are mine, as well as the basic underlying sketch that guides the application of paint. Who knows what might reveal itself?

Box of Crayons

We could learn a lot from crayons... 

Some are sharp, 

some are pretty, 

and some are dull. 

Some have weird names, 

and all are different colors 

- and –

they all have to live in the same box. 

Anonymous

La Quinta

22+ degrees greeted me as I turned off Interstate 10 on to Jackson, roadside hedges and shrubs and beds flush with colour and perfume. Was it really a year ago I left here? Feels like yesterday, but then, a lot of days feel like that to me. The edges blur some days between then and now, what was, what is. So it goes.

A beer on the patio, sun warming me in my shorts and light top, a hummingbird flits in to the feeder, not so sure about Lucy. The breeze is strong and scattering dried purple blossoms across the tile, keeping Lucy on edge.

The 5-day drive was long and I could have done it in 4. If I do it again, I'll shorten it. The drive was enjoyable, and I am ready to stay put for a few days. Time to yak, relax, and be on holidays.

Red Plastic Gas Can

I saw her as soon as I pulled off the highway. She was standing on the corner of the frontage road into the truck complex where you can buy coffee, meals, clean laundry, and Lord knows what else. Oh, and gas or diesel. She reminded me immediately, for some reason, of the woman who catered our wedding, as she stood looking at vehicles driving by, a hand-lettered cardboard sign at her feet, ‘Need money for gas’, and a battered red plastic gas can on the grass beside her.

Parking the car, my travel mug in hand, and going inside to use the washroom first, I thought about her out there. Should I give her some money? And how much? I pulled the US bills from my pocket and looked to see what cash I had. A few ones, a five, and a twenty. Well, I knew 20 was more than I was willing to offer, and a dollar seemed a bit skimpy. Maybe the five. I went out to the counter and bought a coffee. Back to the car, grab the garbage from my breakfast – a banana peel and a wrapper from a granola bar – and walk it to the nearest garbage bin. Before I sat down in the driver’s seat, and couldn’t easily retrieve it, I pulled the five dollar bill from my pocket and tucked it beside me.

When I drove by her there was no traffic in either direction; I rolled down the window and caught her eye – not that she wasn’t watching for mine. I held out the five, saying, “I expect there’s a story here’, but not really expecting her to share it, and not so sure I wanted all the details. She walked over, took  the money, and thanked me – at least 3 times, telling me how much it meant to her, and finishing with a ‘God bless you’. She really did look like Lawrence, our caterer, and I said, “God bless you too,’ our eyes connecting. I glanced in the mirror to ensure I wasn’t holding up traffic, looked at her one more time as she stepped back off the road, home next to her brown cardboard sign and red plastic gas can. I turned on the blinker, rolled up the window, and drove on to the on-ramp for 99.

She stayed with me, off and on, for a few hours. The price of gas has just jumped in California, to just over $4/gallon. My fiver would buy her a teeny bit of gas. Did she really even have a car? Maybe it was a scam. No car, no gas. Just for . . . for what? Food? Drink? Drugs? Did it matter, really? What does it take for a person to stand on the corner of a frontage road and ask for money? Could I do that? Would I ever have to do that? Had she ever thought those questions? 

Myss Nuggets

I was listening to an audio on-line last night of Caroline Myss. She noted that we generally vision a different-than-accurate picture of ourselves when we are working toward healing and change. Most of what she said made a lot of sense to me. We tend to vision ourselves as 20 years younger, or that we will regain all that we’ve lost when we heal. That we might see ourselves at the gym daily becoming fit, and eating well. While what she said makes a lot of sense, and I can certainly relate to it, this morning I wonder if some of that isn’t necessary to help facilitate change. If I continue to see myself the exact way I am, where is the room for change? Isn’t creative visualization about visioning what could be, what might be, what is possible? True, the vision does need to be possible. But we tend to put so many restrictions on what we think is possible, caveats at each corner, that surely our visioning is light compared to what truly might be available to us. I agree that I won’t be 30 again, a rocket scientist, a famous athlete, or a rock star. But I do see myself as re-balancing, centred, and moving forward, open to adventures, possibilities in creativity and relationship, trying new things, and embracing life. This visioning, imagining, helps propel me forward.

Myss also spoke about us asking for answers when there is no ‘reason’. We tend to expect a reason for everything. Why did that happen, and that? What was the point of this, and where is the logic in that event? Given that events happen based on a multitude of choices over a period of time (possibly many events over a long stretch of time), it is often impossible to determine what one thing precipitated an event. We continue to move within the age of reason, seeking answers when there may well not be any. We . . .  perhaps I . . . need to truly get that there are often no answers to life events. They happen. They are what they are. A myriad of choices have come into play, many outside my realm of knowing, perhaps even understanding. The ‘why’ of an event is not the point. There’s the 2nd nugget.

Feather Touch

You fly overhead 

my hand reaches

palm upward

to touch

your feathered flight -

slight warmth spreads

across the face

of my outstretched hand

as we connect

through time and space

breaking through

a thin weave

in the veil

between here and there

for a moment. . .just.

Adele

Well, I know I'm not the fastest kid on the block, and way late out of the gate on this, but Adele has an incredible voice! It's been a long time since a singer got my attention like she has. I bought her CD (I  actually started to write 'album' - yikes!) yesterday and listened to it twice through driving today down the highway.
She rocks!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ri7-vnrJD3k