Wednesday, April 17, 2013

My Hiking Companion

While I don't currently have a dog of my own, I get to watch two sweetie pies twice a week, Leche, a cream-colored Chow, and the Boarder-Collie/Spaniel mix, Chile Pepper. They live at the main house but are outside a lot and if they see that I'm going for a walk, they happily trot along. While Chile prefers finding her own path and going in whatever direction her nose leads her, Leche is more likely to walk several paces ahead or beside of me, periodically stopping to check and see if I am still close by.

This morning I got up early and after breakfast and "Facebooking", decided on a walk across the road to explore the neighborhood. Plans were changed when two wet nosed faces smiled at me from the hillside and beaconed  me to join them across the property. I gave in to their wishes. Was thrilled to see water actually flowing down the stream alongside this land, as it has been running dry since I got here. I followed Chile Pepper's meandering trail for a while, until the sagebrush became too thick, then I looked for Leche, who was a good 20 yards ahead, and decided on her path. She lead me all the way to the back of the land, to the  barbed-wire fence that marks the neighbors' property. Then we headed through the Juniper trees and up the hill. Leche, usually a few feet away and always looking back for me. She was patient when I needed to sit down and take a break several times before making it up to the top but  once I got there, I was greeted by the Westward vista of miles of Mesa, dotted by ancient volcanoes. After another rest, I pulled my body onward and upward, but noticed Leche's panting tongue.

While climbing up requires mental determination, the decent demands concentration. I slipped on the dry, rocky ground many times before I noticed Leche ahead, looking at me. She wisely decided that trotting sideways down the hill was a better decision than heading straight down. She was, essentially, making her own switchback trail. I followed her lead. Every 5 or 10 steps, Leche turned around and looked  for me, before walking again. I trusted her sure footing and before too long, we were back on level ground. Once we got to the house, Leche turned and smiled in her doggy fashion and headed in the direction of her water dish, having completed her morning constitutional, now it was time for a nice nap.

Saturday, April 06, 2013

Wooden Faces

I gave myself permission today to lie in bed from late afternoon until the  daylight faded into night.

For a while, I watched the clouds drift across the sky. After they merged into one mass, I stared at the wooden ceiling for hours, watching the overhead logs change from beige to brown to grey to black. I imagined faces in the logs, seeing the ruts from sawed off branches as eyes and the spaces between the logs as mouths. The lighting fixtures became pendulous noses. The expressions on the log people's faces alternated between hilarity and agony. My mind became restless and I tried to have a conversation with the Divine. I waited for answers. None came. I asked questions and shouted my desires to God. Don't know if anybody listened or understood. I allowed myself to feel as lonely and depressed as I wanted to feel. I prayed that an idea or inspiration would come into my head and point me in a direction. Nothing.

After blackness overtook me, I cried. I chastised myself for the tears and then tried to be at peace with them. So lost. I feel so lost and rudderless. How can I break through this time? Can I really make this place my home? The more I learn, the less likely it seems I'll be able to find a way to make a living in this town. They say folks who succeed, come here with either a shining talent or a skill to share.For a few weeks, I was able to be a shameless self-promoter and talk up my skills. However a couple of months later, I feel like I've lost my nerve and become tongue-tied when asked about myself.

I think about my maternal grandfather. I don't know a hell of a lot about him, but he always seemed to be drifting from place to place, and never finding a home. We got postcards from Seattle and San Antonio and other towns. I don't know what he did in those places or if he ever made friends. All he owned fit inside two brown suitcases and now and then, they would appear on our front door stoop, and he would ask mother for a place to stay for a while. When he lived with us, he took up residence in the kitchen. What did he think about, as he sat for hours with his coffee cup on top of the dishwasher and a lighted cigarette in his hand? He never said.  At most, he stayed for a few months before he saved up enough of his social security checks to be on the road again.  We saw him off at the bus station and wouldn't hear a word from him for a few years. He died from emphesyma in a Veterans hospital in Pennsylvania when he was in his early '70's, with my mother at his bedside.

I drift off to sleep.  I remember dreaming about a large amusement park and a transportation system that seemed to come from the future. Either I was a boy or I was watching a young man, who was my son, named Nicholas. Nicholas was descending from a moving sidewalk and standing in front of a clinic, where I (or he) had a doctor's appointment he was thinking of skipping. He (or I) did not want to be thought of as sick.

When I awake in the morning I watch the overhead tree branches with their nubby spots change back to brown. Their abstract faces greet me, still wearing the same expressions they held as yesterday's daylight faded. I look around my room and notice the clove of garlic and simple cross that a previous tenant placed above the doorway. No vampires allowed. Only inner demons.