the moon people

As I ponder this whole “home” issue, I am reminded of my daughter’s Moon People. Because I’m Ms. Shoddy Memory, I may have the details mixed up – like maybe the people didn’t live on the Moon but on some Other Planet – but the gist will be true.

When Stef was 7 or maybe younger, she had a whole slew of friends and family who lived on the Moon. Apparently she conversed with them quite often, not like imaginary friends some kids may talk to at the dinner table, “Henrietta, will you pass me the butter?”, but I think she conversed with the Moon People in a more thoughtful way, like while lying in bed or playing alone on the beach.

We had a neighbor on the Oregon Coast who was pondering a move to Florida. She asked Stef to talk to the Moon People and see what they had to say, like was it a good move or did they have any words of wisdom? The next day Stef said that the Moon People had said you can change where you live but that won’t change you.

Pretty smart for a 7 year old so apparently those Moon People were truly hovering around. And pretty good advice. Not that my daughter or I ever followed it ourselves, both of us having this need to move in order to change, to get out of crappy relationships or to relieve boredom or to kick a cocaine hobby (me, not her; or at least I don’t think she ever moved to kick a drug hobby but what do moms know?).

Now, from this vantage point I can report that a move can change a person if they take advantage of the opportunity. For instance, my move from the Pacific Northwest to the Desert Southwest changed me in many ways. No, wait. The move didn’t change me, I changed me but the move – the clearing water from my ears, the solitude, the starting over – was the springboard to a new life but it was up to me to recognize the changes I wanted to make and then to go about making them. Could I have made these changes in Portland? Probably but I think it would have been a helluva lot harder or taken a lot more discipline.

With this move from the Sea of Cortez back to the Border Badlands I see that, indeed, I feel no different here than I did there. I’m feeling a little bored and lonely, like I did in those summer months when the heat and humidity turned me into a slug. I’m feeling a little lost. A little bit in a holding pattern between this most recent move and starting real life. I believe the psychic when she said I could make my home anywhere, that it doesn’t really matter, just like what the Moon People said about 30 years ago.

Shit. Somewhere on the fringes of my shoddy memory is an interview I heard on NPR’s Fresh Air – I may even have blogged about it but without a wifi connection I can’t go back and check. Anyway, Terry interviewed a singer/songwriter - I think it was Lucinda Williams but maybe not – but whoever it was, this person said if you’re bored with your life, get on a bus and wherever it stops, get off and live there. Like maybe you’ve stopped somewhere for a pee break and you look around and think “okay, I’ll live here for a while”. I love that. (This is especially easy to do when you have your home with you.)

I recently heard another story that I related to. One of the snowbirds said that when she was little, around 7 (apparently a very wise age), she heard her parents talking about a friend who had committed suicide. That night as she lay in bed she thought “if he was so sad, if his life was so bad, why didn’t he just sell everything he owned and get on a bus and start over somewhere new?” Sounds like this woman had her own Moon People. Or shared Lucinda’s Moon People.

I’ve got to walk over to the laundry room to post this. Hopefully it made some sense as I’m not in an editing mood. Tomorrow my DSL modem should arrive. After a year without television, and now having television, I realize that I miss the internets more than I ever did TV. So I have my fingers crossed that the install will go smoothly and then next week I’ll begin my real life search for a real job, one I can do anywhere, with my trailer – and my own Moon People – in tow.

this town wants me

I tried to move to this town about three years ago but my efforts were thwarted when the Minutemen came down here to do their first ever border patrol, busting UDAs (although I’m sure they called them “Illegals”), and maybe lining them up at gun point (‘can we shoot ‘em, huh? huh?’) while waiting for the Border Patrol to arrive. I didn’t want to be in the midst of this insanity. So I stayed at The Home of Dashed Hopes.

Now I’m here and I think this town wants me.

Everyone is just so damn nice. The guy at the post office. The waiter. The woman at the library...where there is an opening (just my cuppa tea). My new hairdresser.

She is my daughter’s age. We share that. Also her mom is a Capricorn (like me). My hairdresser lived on The Big Island (like my daughter). Me and my Hairdresser grew up in the same midwestern town. Can you believe it?

She said “You lived in Mexico by yourself? You towed a trailer? What did you do while there? Did you walk the beach? Did you write?”

Well, yeah, I said, I walked and I wrote. She asked me about “the book” and so I told her the abbreviated version, not wanting to bore her with the musings of a woman twenty years older. She was enthusiastic. We bonded over my book...and my hair.

Next weekend I’m going on a motorcycle ride with a couple I met on the Sea of Cortez and a friend of theirs.

Tonight I’m going to dinner with a gay man I know who knows friends of mine in the Pacific Northwest.

This is the first time in four years where I have fallen into a town where I actually know people – sort of. Friends of friends. The manager of this park. The retired firefighter who is in love with a Hispanic woman who lives on the Sea of Cortez.

And then there’s the psychic who, knowing nothing about me, said “you have an amazing ability to make your home wherever you happen to be; go ahead, get that p.o. box”. So I did. And now I’m home. For now.

i'm trying to write this outdoors, the only place i can pick up the wifi signal. it's not easy, the sun reflecting off the computer screen. oh well...tomorrow i'll order DSL. i'll have DSL and a POB. fuck, my life as an acronym. ttfn.

should i stay or should i go?

I'm not making a decision until my psychic phone consultation on Friday. That's right, I'm leaving it up to some turbanned 1-900 first 10 minutes free psychic line psychic. Not really. This psychic was referred by my friend and I trust her recommendation because my friend is not some goofy new age chick but a responsible, hard-working (until her recent retirement), highly intelligent and well-read woman. I'll let you know how it goes.

Today I donned a semi-respectable looking-for-work outfit - jean skirt and blouse - but still kept my feet in flip-flops because I don't own any other shoes. I picked up an application at the local hospital in the hope that they might need a medical transcriptionist (part-time) of which I was in a former life. I've also looked into getting DSL in case I want to do transcription online.

The local Department of Economic Security closed up due to a lack of jobs (bad sign) but I did get a web address in order to do an online job search.

I went to the town's fabulous library. Because I've just boxed up a bunch of books to sell, I've vowed to be a better library user. Also, this library has a huge supply of DVDs. I really loved the place. I wonder if they have any job openings.

But I can't get a library card until I bring in proof of a local address. The post office is next door to the library but I held off getting a local P.O. Box until....until I talk with that psychic on Friday.

Whatever happens, today I'm feeling good about being here. I like living in a town. I like the local saloons. I like the food co-op. I like the blue skies. I like the bead store owner. I'm still unsure about fitting in, finding a community but, hey, that's what the psychic is for.

police beat

I'm a little nervous about living in such a dangerous town. These items are from the Police Beat in the local newspaper:

A woman accidentally locked six javelina in her yard. She requested an officer to open the gate so that they could leave.

A vehicle stopped was found to contain two UDAs [UnDocumented Aliens] who were turned over to Border Patrol.

Graffitti was reported at the YWCA and Central School.

Diamond earrings valued at about $7,000 were left behind at the ____ Hotel. Police went to the hotel, located the earrings and arranged to have them shipped to the Tucson woman who had left them behind.

A dark and light brown wooden guitar made for a small child was found and placed in the police lost and found.

I will factor in these rampaging javelinas and lost guitars as I ponder whether or not to stay here. I haven't had much opportunity this past week to get acclimated because setting up the trailer, buying a grill and searching for a new sewer hose have taken up most of my time. I will say that I am back to that feeling-lonely state. After the arrival of the snowbirds in Mexico and all the socializing they brought, followed by my return to the US and a week spent with two friends, I am once again cast adrift in my trailer known as a Land Yacht. There are only a few of us at this park and so I don't see this as a source of community. I'm a little worried about the town-folk because for the most part they seem to be old hippies. In Mexico I met a man (old hippie) who lives here and he called the other day, inviting me to his yoga class and did I want to help out at the homeless shelter? At the food co-op across the street (which I absolutely LOVE!) there are nothing but hippies, hippies and more hippies. Like lesbians, I have nothing against hippies, I have been called a hippie, but variety is the spice of life. Where are the bikers, the crack ho's, the tweakers, the mine workers and cowboys and teepee-dwelling jailbirds?

All of a sudden, The Home of Dashed Hopes is looking better and better. I'm feeling homesick for the place. (Sorry mom, just when you thought I was on the road to sanity...)

pushy lesbians wreak havoc on the sea of cortez

A skype call yesterday from the Old Gringos alerted me to the fact that the Pushy Lesbians had pissed off a whole bunch of neighbors. Way back in October I had blogged about their arrival at the park and how much I liked them. All that changed when they came back to Mexico to take possession of my site and they conveniently rewrote our conversation. And not only that, but they started working behind the scenes to get me out earlier than planned. That didn't work because Rosa in the office didn't want me to leave; she told me that I had squatter's rights and could stay in my space as long as I liked.

Fast forward to my departure and their move into my site. I don't think I can summarize the situation any better than the Ex Trucker:

Yea: they try to pull the same shit that The Texan did , He was suppose to just put up a palopa [palapa]. Chico was sick and away from the park and The Texan took advance of it. Chico would not have approve of the bodego [bodega]. I saw The Texan over to the girls directing choppo [Chapo] on what to do. Chico gave them the permission to build a polopo not a bodega. so I saw choppo over there measureing and it look a little wired, so I went over there and saw a drawing of the bodega , and i said to them "are you putting up a building" and The Texan said something to her , and she turn to me and said no just a small storage shed. I told them you can't do that your going to block every body view. The reply was it going to be just small. So I let C&C know B&G, P&D, and all hell broke lose. And to top it all off after Choppo did all the work of figuring ever thing out they were going to let Solru do the work. I know that C went to Chico and told him . and all I know that they left in a Huff. They had to keep doctors appointments in canada , She probley had to have her prostate check. Freaking Dikes. I have never see 2 people so arrogate them those 2 bitches.

Is it any wonder that I get a kick out of the Ex Trucker? Let me make this clear: I have nothing against lesbians. Some of my best friends are lesbians. I was almost a lesbian. So I hate it that these women are re-enforcing peoples' attitudes about pushy dykes. Here's another lesson for ya'll: It's interesting that of the two lesbian couples in the park, it's the conservative/Republican couple I like so much more than their liberal/Democrat counterparts. It just goes to show how meaningless labels are.

So there you have it, an update from the Sea of Cortez. I'm hoping to get back down there for a visit sometime towards the end of April or early May. Most of the Pushy Lesbians' surrounding neighbors will be gone but the Old Gringos will be there and so will the Ex Trucker. That will be entertainment enough.

deep breathing - now!

I am reading A New Earth - not because Oprah chose it as her book club book but because over the past year friends recommended Eckhart Tolle and so while in Mexico I downloaded the book onto my mp3 player. Eckhart writes that if a situation doesn't bring you joy - for instance, having to change a tire in the middle of a rain storm - accept the situation for what it is at that moment.

Yesterday I went to the nearest big city to buy a grill and other supplies. In the Lowe's parking lot the van wouldn't start. I turned the key and a terrible racket ensued. I opened the hood and was shocked at the condition of one of the battery connectors (thank you Sea of Cortez sand and salt). I set to cleaning the connector when a truck pulled up and the driver asked if I needed help. "Will you listen to the noise the van makes when I try to start it and let me know what you think?" He concurred with my diagnosis and did a hell of a lot better job at cleaning the connector than I was doing (I was being a tad bit timid). With the van running he said I should get to the auto parts store ASAP and he gave me directions.

At the store the handsome young man behind the counter selected the appropriate connector and installed it for me. While he worked, we had a chance to talk. He had been in the military for 8 years and had just returned from Iraq. He said he only has 8 months to go. "Is there a risk in getting redeployed?" I asked him. "Yes. In fact they gave me an option: Redeploy or join the Reserves. So I joined the Reserves. It's not that I mind going back, but I had just gotten home and needed a break."

I asked him if I could give him a tip for his work and he said no. As we shook hands my eyes began tearing up. His generosity, and that of the man in the pickup, felt like such gifts.

When the van wouldn't start I didn't panic. In fact, I laughed. New town, don't know anyone...let's see how this plays out, I thought.

This was THE lesson I wanted to learn. It's easy to go with the flow when the flow is going in a direction you'd like it to flow. But what happens when you run into a huge boulder or face dangerous rapids? This is what you do: Take a deep breath and accept the situation. If you're lucky, a couple angels will be sent to help you out.

home

The sadness over leaving the Sea of Cortez (and those damn dogs) vanished once I was on the highway heading north. I think this is why I have never been homesick for a place I’ve left because once I’m gone, I’m moving forward, no thoughts of where I’ve been; just where I am and where I’m going. It’s sort of a ‘be here now’ kind of thing except for the dwelling on the next step. Where will I live? Where will I work? This time it’s different. As I drove north through Mexico my thoughts were on the now, the potholed road and what it was doing to my trailer. Now, as I type this from a new park, a new town, a new part of Arizona, there is only this moment and the feeling that things will be what they will be – que sera sera.

Last night was my first night in my trailer in a week and how I missed it, my little 8x25 foot home. What a week!

Upon leaving The Home of Dashed Hopes I felt better about the park and Jailbird Jr. The new owner told me about his plans for the park and offered me a deal if I decided to move back. Jailbird Jr. apologized for being such an ass the day before and so we parted on good terms. Then I hooked up my home and crossed the mountains and headed to this little town where that evening I met up with two friends from my long-ago Berkeley life. We played tourists in this town for a couple of days then one of my friends headed off to continue her road trip east while my other friend and I drove up to Sedona.

I could live in Sedona. Whenever Sedona had been mentioned before – mostly by my mom who couldn’t understand why I chose to live at The Home of Dashed Hopes – I countered with Sedona was too touristy, too new agey, too expensive. I guess all of those are still true but damn what a beautiful place. My friend and I even hiked to one of the vortexes. The sign at the trailhead said it was an easy 2.5 mile hike. She interpreted that as a 2.5 round-trip hike which I didn’t discover until we were on our way out. “You did the hike anyway, knowing it was going to be 5 miles?” she asked and I said sure even though I’m the out-of-shape one. That was the longest 5 mile hike of my life and it was anything but easy. The next day we were happy to discover that in a guidebook the hike was noted as 6.3 miles and “moderate”. At dinner afterwards I couldn’t rise from a seated position, my knees and hips having decided to never again move.

So here I am. New town, new park, new people. Life on the Sea of Cortez feels so distant as to no longer be recognizable. My search for home? Home is where I am.