Posts Tagged ‘Order and Disorder’

Another Dusk

The mist is rising between the trees and the distant hills; it’s getting cold and probably will freeze soon.  Right now I’m listening to the news and they’re talking about what’s going on in Vera Cruz, an epicenter of narco-violence in Mexico right now.  It’s horrible news, all of it about the drug and money and gun related violence there, and it makes me especially sad to hear about Vera Cruz.  I went there once.  I traveled through Mexico for several weeks on my own, and Vera Cruz was one of the last places I visited.  It turned out to be quite the slog because I got actual, real, amoebic dysentery the second day I was in country.  But then I fit right in.  I’d go to food stalls and they’d take one look at me and give me some concoction from the back that only the dysentery ridden got.  My huge supply of pepto bismol tablets were worth their weight in gold, and gradually I got to a schedule of being sick as a dog from about 1 am to 5 am, then partaking of the Disentero Desayuno (some of which were breathkingly impossible: raw eggs I just could not do.  EVEN WITH LIME.  I TRIED. Tortillas and coffee were the power foods of choice), then going on my intrepid way for the rest of the day.  I loved it, and Vera Cruz was beautiful. Seeing the Caribbean was astonishing, and it was such a romantic place it was even just fine to be alone.  Fragrant, bustling but a tempo of its own.   Wonderful music. Now when they talk about where the bodies have been dumped alot of times I know right where it is.  I listened to an interview earlier with a journalist who’d written a book about the narco problem in Mexico, and of course, no surprise? One of the solutions to it would be for….drum roll….the United States to change its policies regarding what they call the War on Drugs.  After all, that’s where alot of them, those drugs,  go from Mexico, to the United States.  A billions of dollars business.  Personally I think this is the war between Big Pharma and Non Pharma.  Both sides with big players and lots of money.  Meanwhile, who suffers? Regular people.  It is highly unlikely that people are going to stop “using drugs”.  Our society pushes drugs to an astonishing degree, prescriptions, advertisements, take this or that pill- we all know the drill.  To my, perhaps jaundiced, eye it seems pretty hypocritical.  We can also cast our minds back to Iran/Contra- remember that?  When our government gave guns to the Nicaraguan Contras and allowed this country to be flooded with cocaine?  It’s all about the money, and not about the ruined lives.  People could probably actually USE drugs if they weren’t surrounded with illegality.  The pain they’re trying to address could be perhaps more broadly dealt with, more successfully.  Minus the demonization.   Opiates are widely available by prescription after all.  It’s just a question of who makes the money, and perhaps what other commodity deemed valuable gets exchanged.

Ah, well.  The fun part of today was some phyto research, into the medicinal properties of Coyote Brush  (Baccharis Pilularis).  It grows all over around here and apparently is anti-inflammatory and a general restorative. Meanwhile the sun is once again setting, and the sky is blue tonight instead of last night’s lavender.  The hills are tinged with pink.  AND ONCE AGAIN? What is for dinner?  Something with chilis, I think.

It’s All Designed To Blow Your Mind

My guidance for today was to choose peace, and to write- preferably a book, apparently.  Well, I’m working on both those things but since it seems as though, quite often of late, my cup has been runnethed over it takes a minute to expand from the resultant squashed and quease-like state.

Never mind that I (IDIOTICALLY) read NEWSWEEK first thing today.  The one with (why? It looks like her) picture of Ms. Bachmann on it, and Niall Ferguson’s piece on just exactly how the US debt is structured (roughly 60% is to owed to itself and the citizenry.  Neat trick.)  It might be argued that the American people are to blame for this reactionary, narrow minded, visionless cabal of poseurs being allowed to run things, which has given us a stomach churning reality of rich getting richer and everyone else sliding on a slippery slope.  Then again, when the Supreme Court of this country has ruled that corporate entities can give as much money as they want to political candidates however they want to and secretly if they choose, what chance does Jane or John Q. Citizen really have of any influence whatsoever?  So, OK.  I was already unsteady on the old pins and this didn’t buck me up much.  The inconsistency of Bachmann’s prior incarnation as an attorney for the Internal Revenue Service and her current one of spearheading the total dismantling of government just keeps my little hamster brain running around on its’ wheel wondering why people don’t a) just tell the truth, or b) say nothing if they’re going to lie anyway.  Biting the hand that has fed you, and all that.  Like, it’s OK to take all that money but now I want it another way and you’ll have to just suck it up.

SO ANYWAY.  Also remembering that there are, shall we say, celestial influences at work that make people snappish, irritable, and loosely attached to their handles, not to mention Mercury retrograde so that even the best laid plans seem to dissipate in the air like curling smoke, I had quite the struggle with self last night when I learned another fabulous thing about this maudite place we live.  IT HAS A HOMEOWNERS ASSOCIATION.  Wikipedia, bless its furry heart, has a concise entry on these groups, if you’re interested.  They get to levy fees and threaten lawsuits and liens if these fees aren’t paid.  You don’t have any choice about whether or not to belong- they have been set up by the initial “development group” and that, Gentle Reader, is that. If you want to buy the property, you get to join the Association, period.   In our case there is also the additional, if not uncommon, wonderfulness of being in an unincorporated area.  Which means people pay property taxes, some of which go to the county, and for which they get? Nothing.  Because the area somehow is not incorporated into the county although it is in the county.  We don’t have streetlights, we don’t have public safety, and since we don’t have paved roads we also cannot get our garbage picked up or mail delivered.  Also there is no line laid for internet or all the other things that are seeming indispensible in today’s world.    So.  On some level, who cares? You make a choice to go largely off grid and there it is.  But.  This here HOA, of which I was blissfully unaware until recently,  has a road committee, and they assess fees to homeowners for”maintenance”.   (Since the county doesn’t do it because we’re not part of it.  Got that?)  I’ve seen better roads in jungles in Mexico, which leads to the fun part of it all.  The roads here are absolutely awful.  They are so washboarded out you really could probably scrub something on them.  There are huge potholes and deep tire ruts (left from the winter when the mud is ankle deep) that are like razors.  The dust is like something out of a biblical epic.  A regular car couldn’t even make it on these roads, and riding over them is like being in a buckboard, even in a car designed for such torture.  There is no doubt a thriving business in suspension around here.  Anyhow, somehow the HOA has decided that what they are doing (perhaps in a parallel universe?)  is “maintenance”, and should be paid for not only by property owners but by anybody even renting out here.  If you want to dare driving on this collision course with extensive auto repair, you get to pay THEM.  They have it in their rules, but it has, apparently, not been disseminated before now.   I was totally flabbergasted by this revelation, because:  I’m supposed to pay for something that not only is not being done, but over which I have no control or manner of serious input.   They also are considering making people who rent pay MORE than people who own property.  Now, that’s fair for sure especially since if you rent you can’t vote on any issues pertaining to the HOA.  Because, see, you don’t own property.  Obviously that puts you in a lesser class all across the board.  So, it’s kind of a know-me fee.  (Or extortion, I thought, in a really unbridled moment.) Most HOAs do ridiculous things like tell you what color you can paint your door or how your yard has to look or what kind of TV service you can have.  On, theoretically, your own property.  (There’s a woman, for example, in the East who’s facing jail time because she planted vegetables in her front yard and her Association didn’t feel it was appropriate.) But there is, generally, overall maintenance provided, responsible parties (” “) to call if things go awry.  So there is balance if you have a reasonable HOA.  Out here in eyesore central? Zero zip nada.  There’s something about having to pay even more to be totally on my own that just….irritates me. I can think of better ways to throw away money I don’t have in the first place. There’s nothing in my rental agreement that mentions any of this, so it’s going to be interesting to see how it shakes out.  But it just reminded me of how things are going in the whole country- a small vested interest group gets to do whatever it wants, really, and you get to pay.  Not just in taxes and money, but in living conditions and lack of power over your circumstance.  It’s funny, really.  Who would do this if they thought about it?

But I digress.  The practice here is to choose peace.  Which doesn’t mean accepting things that aren’t right.  But it does mean reasoning and experiencing a process and working with and through the whole notion that entrenched power cannot be dealt with in the end except by some sort of major change or overthrow.  Peace can mean challenging the ways that things have been done when they don’t achieve the desired result over time.  But you have to be a little bit brave to stand up to things in a calm, loving, and non-violent way, no matter how small they may seem.  And if they’re big you have to be very brave, in my view.   I do think Existence, or Creator, or the Universe, or whatever you want to call it, has a plan.  That plan is largely not knowable by us.  We must go forth, knowing that resisting what is will not get us where we need to go.  But dealing with the constant tides of small mindedness, fear, lust for power instead of lust for life…what’s the best way to do that, really?  You go back and back and back again into the NOW, and breathe again and again and again into the heart of things, and struggle with the fear that walks the world so powerfully now over and over and over. You reaffirm your vow to do no harm and be of service, every day.   I confess I’m finding it all very confusing- I must really have had some unrealistic expectations.  The other day the Partner and I were talking about the issues concerning returning service people, especially those who have been, say, in the Rangers or the SEALS.  How do they reintegrate into society after leading an adrenaline and violence filled existence?  I realized I was envisioning a world not so far from now where such things as covert operations were not needed.  The Partner was very gracious in simply clearing his throat and murmuring something like sillyoldbear.  Our lives, though, are  important, and also over in a very short time and so many things are never noticed and we understand so many things so late in the day.  There’s no way around death.  Maybe the way to working with peace is to realize that each time you come up against some obstacle, you’re dealing with a kind of death.  Death of the soul, the heart, the understanding.  Perhaps working in peace means you allow those around you to come back to life if they wish, or not.  Either way you keep rendering service,  divesting yourself of “opinions” and having to be “right” and all that.   Perhaps working in peace is just working with your own fears and everything they call up in your own mind, letting it all go, standing your ground, and moving on in the now, doing what needs to be done, really.  I guess we’ll see.

Going South

I’m still recovering from last week’s jam packed trip to the Bay Area.  The landscape on the way down was lovely, spring showing all over, little goats and cows everywhere and blossoming trees.  Also, RVs with signs on them saying things like:  Saturday is the Sabbath.  Sunday is the Mark of the Beast.  Uhm, OK! Upon arrival in That Place Where I Used To Live, I was greeted by several billboards carrying the message that the world is, in fact, going to end on May 21.  Cry out grievously to the Lord, etc.  I immediately called the Partner and let him know about this startling development.  It was news he greeted rather jocularly, I must say.  I think he said something like, “GREAT! OH BOY!” Then again, why wait until December 2012?  We’ll be at a Fair in Red Bluff that day, in any event.  Anyway,  when I mentioned this Message, my Aveda Hair Genius told me while snipping the old locks that this was, apparently, about The Rapture.  I was a bit stunned at seeing such messages by the Bay.  Here, you come to expect such things.  But there? Wow, is all I can say.  If, however,  all those people get whisked up into the sky? Good Heavens.  Seriously.

Meanwhile, all kinds of flowers are coming up here in a dizzying and extravagant sequence.  They start out with white and yellow varieties, then move on to deep, almost flourescent purple and fantastic magentas.  Often so tiny they’re not as big as your little fingernail,  they do indeed seem to contain the entire universe.  Also, in a stroke of fabulousness the plants I thought had frozen and died over the winter DID NOT.  No, they didn’t.  Little sprouts and leaves are coming into the light on the ginger and the Angel’s Trumpet and the lemon grass.    So, despite what one may feel about the World At Large, things are perhaps not as bad as one might have thought.

The rabbits have been out as well.  They lope up and down the driveway at all hours of the day and night.  The lizards and frogs are in full force too, and we have to remember to step very carefully in order not to have Something Awful Happen.  The birds and voles are building nests all over the place, including in the car engine and the wood pile. There is a tiny pond near us (which will disappear soon) inhabited by a pair of mallards- the other day we went by and saw a turkey taking a bath there as well.  One learns something every day.  So it’s all very exciting, including today’s event, which is:  The Partner has begun installing the insulation. !!!!!!!!!!! The walls have been, up to now, a deep ocean blue.  Now they will be a color called Glistening Moonlight, which being basically white, should make the interior seem more spacious.  We’re hoping it will add a cooling element, naturally, which it definitely should.  Plus the single cell foam repels bugs! YIPPEEE!!! Big ants and such.  In theory non-toxic, to be determined.  Anyway we are hoping to keep things below egg frying temperature in here and reports will be forthcoming.It’s going from 35 degree nights and 58 degree days rapidly to shake and bake so results should be in soon. Another interesting thing will be just how this sounds in high winds- will it limit the incredible slapping sound of fabric against lattice? Or will that be replaced by the thump of foam board against lattice THEN slapping against the fabric…..

Otherwise it’s an ongoing balancing act between hope and despair, as is usual for humans if they’re honest.  These are very weird times indeed and it feels more and more like The War of the Worlds: Where is Michael Rennie when we need him?  and we need that spaceship to land.  Soon.  Really.  Klatu Nicto…uh…..And…if it could….just take Donald Trump away that would be lovely.  Perhaps he’ll be caught up in the Rapture in May instead.  We can hope.

Another Day, Another Bullet

I’m still mad, but not hyperventilating.  Just in case you were wondering.  I deliberately did not read about the upcoming proposed cuts for the next year’s budget to services for the elderly and poor.  No, I did not.  Yet.

Instead? The peace and quiet of a nice Sunday morning was shattered by what sounded like helicopters.  It turned out to be two Probable Idiots riding motocross cycles up and down the road, revving the engines.  Back and forth, back and forth.  The Partner looked through his binoculars, saw that they both had rifles slung over their backs, and that they at last took off as stealthily as they could given the amount of frigging noise they were making, onto our landlady’s clearly marked NO TRESPASSING property.  Up to absolutely no good.  Arrogantly breaking the law.  And? as well, threatening the lives of the many people who live up here, mostly in un-reinforced dwellings which could be easily penetrated by a careless bullet.  These guys looked pretty careless.

You have to ask yourself what would make someone think it was just OK for them to do that. That it was OK to trespass because they wanted to go kill something.  Which, if they did, they would probably have left in place because unless it was a squirrel they didn’t have the wherewithal to get it out. Maybe they were after coyotes (worse and more of it- who d’you think keeps the gophers under control, dummy? all the holes in the road from their little tunnels turn into universe bridging chasms over the course of a summer)- but then again, ten in the morning is not prime hunting time.  The chance of shooting a person by mistake is high.  So really, why?  Well, for one thing, who’s to catch them? It would take forever for any law enforcement to get up here if they even bothered.     In any event, The Partner took off on the run with his .22 mag…. stick….and,  with a well placed and oriented shot across the bow chased them out of their proposed trespassing trip.  Our across the road a piece neighbor was curious and asked about the gunfire when we saw him a little later.  He was happy that The Partner had been on the job so to speak.   It’s rough enough up here without a bunch of yo yos who don’t live here coming in trespassing and shooting, was his opinion.  My goodness.  We had to assure him they were gone to keep him from dashing after them himself.   He never leaves home without his rifle.

I’m intermittently wondering how I came to find myself in such an overtly trigger happy place. As someone who is really constitutionally incapable of hurting ANYTHING- some improvement in fly swatting and lethal spider dispensation notwithstanding.   Still, I remind myself it’s better than living above Richmond, California as I used to, where magnums and such like are used regularly with rather flagrant abandon.  A guy even pulled one on me once on the freeway.  And once in Oakland standing in line waiting for a movie.  My goodness.  Perhaps there really isn’t much difference.

Meanwhile, the incredibly stout hummingbird from last summer who has apparently lived here all winter in true superhero fashion, and whom we have named Tyrant, buzzed around in his special flyboy way, letting me know the feeder needed refreshing.  It’s good to keep things in balance, whenever possible.

Eagle, Owl, Knife Wound

My thumb got the worst of an interaction with a paring knife, which has put me out of commission to a certain extent where typing is concerned.  Meanwhile, of course, things go on apace, whether or not my digits are hanging by threads.

We saw an eagle the other day.  Apparently there is a nesting site next to the creek where every year new eagles come into the world.  I was thrilled.  The propane guy, who was in an unusually humane incarnation this week when we got our tanks filled, told me how his “friend” used to shoot eagles because they were killing his lambs.  He’s full of fun stuff like that, actually.  It interested me to hear that he attributed the human motives of viciousness and blood lust to the eagles’ taking of lambs.  Like there was a gang of Crips in the sky or something.  Completely missing the point of Hunting So There Is Food.  People are quite amazing.  I was just happy he didn’t leak propane all over the tanks while cursing environmentalists this time, as he usually does.   No, this time? He went on to bemoan the fact that wolves, mountain lions, and bears are ALL “out of control”.  We spent 200 years getting rid of ’em, he said.  Now they’re back…and yes, those damned environmentalists.  I kept my mouth shut, which I’m learning to do around these parts, friend.  Took heart in the fact that we have some of those out of control critters behind the yurt instead. Unfortunately I did burst out laughing inopportunely, seeing an image in my head of all the aforementioned creatures pushing their ways to the front of the line at stores and NASCAR events, sunglasses pushed atop their heads.  It can’t be helped, really.

Then, deep in the night, we heard an OWL.  Again, I was thrilled.  No sighting yet but, still!  Lots of large hawks, and the flowering wild fruit trees glimmering in the woods, illuminating thickets.  The local beavers appear to have been temporarily stopped- an irrigation culvert ringed by willows and whatnot was providing a splendid damming site.  Then, one week, the Cal Fire crews ablaze in their orange suits were out there, hacking and burning.  It was funny really, to think- it took a crew of half a dozen men about three days to undo what one beaver had done, basically, overnight.  My money’s on the beaver for this one.

Meanwhile, of course, it takes all the force one can muster to get through the days and all the things that are happening all over.  People walk up to me in the post office talking about, literally, how the end is not just near, it’s here.  And do I have anything for that?  It’s hard not to feel some level of fear and anxiety, (along with sparks of hope at the developments in Wisconsin and in Egypt).  Not to mention anger at the stupid greed and selfishness that has brought us to this pass.  What a colossal waste, when you think about it.  Human beings can do a lot better than this, I think.  The question is how to dislodge all the power stuck at the top, wedged in with all that money and dishonesty.  And covered with a lack of love and a disrespect for Nature.   You gotta wonder what those people are thinking.


to the dogs. or, to the mooooon……

Rumi said that when you woke up empty and afraid, you should take down your drum instead of going into the library.  So is blogging the drum or the library?  At present it feels as though I’ve got more Situations surrounding me than Carter EVER had pills.  But we’ll focus on the immediate present in hopes of some temporary relief.

It’s January, Gentle Reader.  Typically January is still Winter.  It snowed here three short weeks ago.  Now? It’s almost 70 in the afternoons and the mosquitoes are out in full force.  Yesterday we had over 25 mph winds which, thankfully, blew the first cadre of mosquitoes away.  We realized that the portable evaporative cooler, which never got put in storage after last summer’s blow out festivities, and I’ve been using as a book stand, is going to be back in service any minute,  so how great is it we didn’t struggle to horse it around outside, seriously.  To think I thought we wouldn’t need it till June.

People actually look at you in all seriousness here and ask if you LIKE THE WEATHER.  Usually it’s when it’s either about 115 degrees or it’s just snowed or frozen or you’ve crawled into wherever it is through freezing fog.  Like the weather?  Talk about something that doesn’t make a rat’s ass bit of difference- that would be whether any puny human has any opinion whatsoever about the weather in these parts.  All you can be sure of is there’s plenty of it and it’s all extreme.  Keeps you on your toes.

Also, dogs.  We have a relatively new neighbor up over the hill, who has a gang of dogs, as does everyone else out here.  Except us.  This guy’s dogs bark, conservatively estimating, about 70% of the time.  They start about sundown and continue until about lunchtime.   This morning in the early dawn light, what should great our wondering ears but the cacophony of canines in hysterics.   The Partner leapt up, got the pistol, went outside and smartly fired off a volley of shots.  Amazingly, the guy made his dogs stop barking.  I’m learning that this is how people communicate out here: Shooting.  We had pulled to the side of the road for an emergency pit stop the other evening and no sooner had we done so than, yes, a smart volley of rifle fire greeted our ears.  So we wouldn’t get any fool ideas about going down that (public) road any further.  Last night someone with a shotgun proved to all within hearing what a bloody godawful shot they were by firing off about seven separate sets of shot.  Broad side of the barn, anyone?  Or, who’s the craziest?

Watch This Space

We’re still looking for a place to live.  I have volumes to write about this experience, which has surpassed the County Emergency Room in Total Yuck, Disgust, Fury, Disbelief and Misery Factor.  But the team here at Rancho Boozilla soldiers on.  Meanwhile, Gentle Reader, the Crazymometer is clicking like a geiger counter: Today’s Oprah has a segment on Beauty (a small indulgence while we work), featuring now the craze for breaking legs to increase height in China.  Whoa.  That scares me and I’m fearless.

Film at Eleven


So, we’ve been packing.  It’s funny what makes me burst into tears and what is kind of a King Solomon’s Mines thing.  Wine glasses, former.  Finding a whole bag of Yerba Santa leaves? Definitely King Solomon’s Mine.  Meanwhile, next week we sally forth to find our new dwelling.  Should be Interesting.  Thank God there’s a place up there that makes great Lemon Drops.

Meanwhile things are as usual.  Birds are back to laying eggs, Boo is a jealous wreck and was put in solitary this morning as a result of her Grievous Misbehavior, and I’ve been thinking about “healing” in the sense of what it involves to actually reach such a condition.  It involves paying attention, and allowing.  Allowing meaning not putting up an array of Expectation, Demand, Petition, or Fear.  Allowing meaning let it be as it is and taking it from there and not from your own “idea” of what it is.   Meaning, also, not making a war out of seeking harmony and balance.

So, Gentle Readers, off we go.  To be further expounded upon at a later date…….

Misadventure, with Hollandaise

So, yesterday we went out to breakfast as an unusual and most welcome break in the routine.  This would have been fine if the devil hadn’t made me  I hadn’t decided that life was impossible without Eggs Benedict.  This particular place, which is actually wonderful, operates on the premise that more is more.  It says two pancakes, sometimes you get four.  It says Eggs Benedict and you get something that looks like a small buttercup color lake with tiny pontoons floating in it.   Net net, it plunged me, even having not partaken of the dish in its entirety, in a state of suspended and putrified animation in a gaseous domain, temporarily.

Which left me plenty of time to think, while I was trying to position myself in such a way as to not a )explode, or b) implode.   Last week was pretty rough, again. The spot of Friday pawholding with a friend who found dealing with menacing and foul mouthed 20 somethings on BART (the Bay Bridge has been closed , and the Ferry wasn’t working because of an oil spill in the bay.  Perhaps, really we need say no more.) ultimately more than she could take was just a small part.  Combined with her empathy for a colleague at work who had come back from a trial in the deep south.  The trial of the murderer of his daughter.  Who was white.  By her boyfriend, who was black, and demonstrated his total innocence by immediately decamping to Canada post event.  Apparently the papers in this town trumpeted the constant refrain that the only reason this young man was considered as a suspect was because he was black.  Forget forensics, right?  Meanwhile, I think everyone in the Bay Area is, and certainly should be, disturbed and sickened by what happened to the Richmond high school girl at a school dance.   It is an odd thing to come to terms with the fact that there are individuals out there who seem to have, actually, no real human component.  Who will hurt you and think nothing of it. The possibility of life in prison seemed to get their attention, interestingly enough.  The thing that I noticed though, was that somehow, now, everyone is racist and right off the top, too.  Before it was just white folks.  Now it is everyone.  Whatever happens, it is related to the color of your skin, not your behavior.  While this is oftentrue, it isn’t ALWAYS true.  Kids in the Richmond case who were picked up by the Police because they had been watching and texting their friends about it and not lifting a finger to help?  They were of course picked up just because of their skin color. Not because they were there and participating on some level in an atrocity.  Basically.   People are accepting rotten behavior and limitations on their own freedom because they are afraid to speak up and experience the wrath of one of these individuals , who of course come in all sizes, shapes, colors, stripes, sexes and persuasions.  I met a raving white one yesterday and it shook me up more than a little, in addition to narrowly missing turning my car into an accordion. Also I was not happy with myself: Yo Mamma lept to my lips in a heartbeat and that isn’t going to help anything overall.   It’s terrifying, actually, to see all of this.  It is as though all the work and thought that happened in the last forty years….just didn’t.  On top of the stomach balancing act, it really was just too much for me yesterday.    Even taking a broad view of why this happens and allowing for the truth  of people’s feelings about discrimination and the brutal reality of its existence in daily life- we still cannot be treating each other in this disrespectful and cruel way.  Period.  It is time to put down Your Personal Very Important Story.  What you do to one, you do to all.  How you treat someone else is how you treat yourself.  Food for thought.  Without, perhaps, hollandaise.

Flame Thrower, or Rotten Eggs?

Before we get our selves in a twist regarding the reference above: This is just a fantasy I have about how my driveway should be dealt with.  I am officially over the edge about the driveway.  The rotten eggs might be workable.  I’d probably feel too guilty if I actually incinerated someone.  HOWEVER MUCH THEY DESERVED IT.

I was going to write about how it thundered all night long last night, much as it did on another September night eight years ago.  Completely out of season and unusual here, but symbolically? Yes indeed.  And I was awake for the entire thing because the Partner is still not well.

Then, the phone rang and I learned that a dear  friend had died this week.  I was going to write about her incredible grace, gallantry, bravery and humanity facing a travail that most would have found too much to bear long ago.  I got to see her a few weeks ago, because the Partner’s quick eye noticed her at the grocery store.  I got to give her a big hug then, at least.

So, perhaps I will write about those things.  When I am not so angry at the stupidity surrounding me.  This anger  involves- and I bet, Gentle Reader, you will not be surprised to learn….the driveway from HELLLLLLLLLLL.  AGAIN.  

So, despite on and off rain, there’s a garage sale across the street.  Parking across the street and on our side too.  So where does an idiot wench, about whom we now write,  park? My driveway.  Not in the parking place she could have backed into BEHIND the driveway, no, smack dabby dab in the middle.  There were three small children in the back, who eventually started screaming at the top of their lungs when I.W.’s partner, after lengthy perusal of yard sale, which was all toys, learned to her dismay and surprise that they didn’t take checks for seventy five cents.  But that was later.  Having spotted the blockage of the driveway at the outset of this festive encounter, I walked out and asked her, politely, and in my Jin Shin Jyutsu t-shirt for God’s sake,  to please not block my driveway.  Her response? Was that I was a crazy bitch and she wasn’t moving. They were just going to be a while and I wasn’t going anywhere.  She wasn’t moving.  I was crazy.  And a bitch. Etc. So, I said, you can’t back up, please, and not block my driveway? More of the same.  Thank you for being so cooperative and setting such a good example for your kids, I said.  She said something unprintable.  At this point she noticed all our neighbors were now out staring at her with obvious distaste and an air of let’s get ‘er boys! call the cops!  She backed up and managed to take two parking spaces.  Several people tried to park behind her, couldn’t because there wasn’t enough room, and left.  Our other side neighbors arrived home and squeezed their small car in behind her, narrowly missing the car behind them, which belongs to my other neighbor and is quite the Hot Corvette. He saw his car about to be smashed and entered into the fray.   Small car neighbors got out of their car and asked I.W. if she could move her, still idling, car up a teeny bit.  Mr. Corvette waded in saying, if my car gets hit somebody dies.  Finally I.W.’s Portly Partner wandered back from across the street, kids screaming with no toys, got in the car, flipped me off, and at long last they left.

I confess to puzzlement.  And dismay.  And? I’m really sick of this.  I can’t get out of, I can’t get in to, my own dratted freaking driveway that I get to pay extra rent for because of the Privilege of Having a Driveway.  Not even.  So I’m thinking that while mayhem will not help anything, of course, and we all have to try , as Gandhi said,  to be the change we want to see in the world?  A stash of rotten eggs might be perfect.  Oh, you’ll just be here a little while? Perfect! WHUMP. Right on the windshield.   Really.  Because the meter maids never come in time, except for the periodic person who parks there drunk and leaves, so that the car’s still there an hour after I call the police to come because someone’s blocking my driveway.   I’m open to better ideas.