GPS and the Handy Bag of Unknowns

Once upon a time…

Camping/ hiking meant the car is driven up a gorgeous asphalt path, into the woods. Leaves and debris dance across a paved sunlit road and sometimes, you spot a deer from the window.

My groomed four legged companion lounges against the back of the seat, blissfully leaning out the open window with a happy, open mouthed, long tongued grin. Eyes would be half closed in happiness.

I would be dressed in smart yoga/ sweat pants, with shoes to match my tank, and my hair twisted just so that the sun would hit and highlight the right strands.

To be prepared I had two bottles of water, one to share and a collapsible bowl to put it in. A granola bar for me and two doggie treats for the friend. Plus my handy book bag full of easy to use unknowns was always packed and ready in the trunk in case there was a slightly extended stay.

If one was staying over night a cooler was packed with beer and steak in a bag marinating to be cooked over an open fire. A couple of blankets and tent were in the trunk and there was one of those disposable tooth brushes packed in the handy bag of unknowns front pockets and there were five bottles of water.

Then I moved. I met my best friend. He tells me happy stories of camping and although I am a little apprehensive of the camping stories that involve negative degree temperatures and the four lettered word “S-N-O-W”, all in all it sounds fun!

The tricky thing about the Wild West is that even in this modern world… hiking may include four legged creatures that aren’t your friend. There are not happy fireflies that dance at night either. And the day might end at 90 degrees and the night could start at 40.

Never the less… I love hiking and I loved camping. Surely this will all be just fine….

The fiancé pulled out a GPS last night and showed me how to use it. I didn’t want to know how to use it. Knowing may mean that fate decides to throw me a pop quiz where my score could be a very unforgiving grade that I would be unable make up later.

“So this is just incase we get separated?” I attentively asked.

He nods, still looking at the screen, “Or incase one of us has be left behind.”

I nod as coolly as possible, “Ok.”

He looks up at last, and says seriously, “Well if one of us breaks a leg and the other has to make it back to the car.”

I swallowed.

Today I have decided that the best way to handle this situation is not to think about it.

I did decide that it might be prudent to get and OPEN my handy book bag full of easy to use unknowns and discover was in it. I had added an extra pair of socks and female necessities but apparently, this bag contains all kinds of goodies. Like a battery or solar powered radio, a first aid kit, water purifier packet thingy, and other stuff. Very good to know.

Quote of the Day

"Shoes are the perfect clothing item as one’s size in shoes does not fluctuate with one’s weight."

Haunted

While in Mexico, a few months ago, I found a tiny fragile sea dollar... a breath could crush the translucent designs found bleached into its side. It hung softly to the top of the salty water, surrounded by broken and ragged beached brain corals and sharp rocks.

I could not hardly breathe when I found it. I am not one to pick up shells very often. But this one was part of my hands when I raised it with shaking wondrous fingers to my eyes. I could feel the well wishes from the giver of this jewel.

I left it in the door of the car on the way to get it something to rest in…

And there it broke. Perhaps it was the heat in the car or maybe it was when I opened and shut the car door, but how ever the ending happened, it happened.

It is that dreadful feeling that I felt afterwards. I felt clumsy, careless and awkward. It was a crime, just as if you were given a gift with love and thought and in exchange you spat on it, stomped on it, threw it into the street as the giver watched in dismay.

There are a few things that I am ashamed of… and this is one of them. It haunts me and sits on a shelf in my mind, with a handful of other things. They don’t taunt and say anything. But they are there and I am uneasy with how to put it to rest.

The Libertarian Part Two (See Capitalist -May 2009)

At work and walking past The Boss, who again, I really do like working for, the "Libertarian" crooked his finger at me in a ‘polite’ come here.

I stifled a sigh.

“I don’t believe in God,” he announced, “But I do believe in the Devil.”

I nodded as understandingly as possible.

He sighed heavily, and put his feet up on his desk. The "Libertarian"is a bit tall and honestly looked cramped in the small gray cube with his long legs awkwardly up

“I used to work for a lock down for teenagers who had drug problems, had been abused. I told them there was nothing wrong with drugs, that they can be used medically –Now, now, not meth! Meth is not included on this one. Meth is very bad and its just poison and should always be illegal- but the rest simply enhance your personality! Drug use is just a symptom! Picture a red glowing ball on an picture, see it floating forward, out, up down”,

Excited he used his hands to illustrate his words and bounce his ‘ball’ around the cube,
“And where were they? They were in lock down! They didn't know better. The only way a kid can make money at fourteen is to sell drugs! There aren't any other options!”

I attempted an interjection at this point, “Actually kids can babysit, deliver newspapers, mow lawns-.”

“That’s a lie! Only a rare few kids know about those things! You can’t hold kids to knowing there are other ways. All they know is that by sleeping with this person for drugs, they can make their pain to go away! I mean, hats off! They have technically found a way to successfully numb their pain -And it was a good thing they were screwing up their lives at their age. I mean, things could be worse! They could be 42 or even 43 with a nice wife, two point five kids, a house and job! What would it be like to lose the job, have your kids hate your guts, your wife divorces you and you're on the street without a penny? WHAT THEN??"

The "Libertarian" is turning an interesting shade of red as I ask, "So…can I help you with something?”

“This internal software is a bastard, a down right baseless and frustrating bastard.”

“Is it down?”

“No.” He stated defiantly.

“What is the problem?”

“I need to re-set my password but I don’t know my old password. I tell you! The Devil does exist!”

I looked at him and waited.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Yes…?”

“What is my old password??”

Now Reader, I confess I don’t go around asking everyone for their passwords and writing them down for this type of situation.

“Call the help desk and they will help you re-set it.” I made my escape.

Battle of the Earwigs

We all know that ear wigs are nasty bugs. NASTY bugs. Nasty should be Capitalized, italicized and underlined. I wonder if they really do go into one’s ears?

I live in the high mountains in a desert and although there are lots of creepy crawlers here, such as lots of ants, this is, at least compared to the east, a relatively bug-less place…

That is until the rain came about three weeks ago...

After a week of drenching rain began The Invasion of Earwigs. They swarmed the apple tree, the plum trees, the gutters and the front yard lawn. They could even be found on the bathroom floor occasionally. Charlie valiantly assisted in the war by eating them and then promptly throwing up.

Ruthless measures were taken. Just over a week ago, my fiancée brought them a mini Noah’s flood. They made a frantic bid for escape but they were cut off by sprayed raid bug killer.

But we had celebrated too soon. They still poured out of rain gutters, climbed into shoes and could be found in Charlie's upchuck.

Yesterday, we doubled our efforts. "To HOME DEPOT!", we cried. There we found bug killer and sprinkled it on what remains of the lawn. Grubs and such have eaten the roots and the dead patches are overwhelmed with ear wigs. We dug up the dirt and also mixed in grass seed with the bug killer. We sprayed the fruit trees and the edges of the outside of the house.

Shortly after, within about 30 seconds of completion, it rained some more. They began their evacuation in earnest.

I sat on the front porch, with the water hose vengefully locked and loaded in my hands, spraying them back onto the destroyed grass and wondered if the war was drawing to a close. Or did we simply up the stakes?

Dream on my Shoulder

I woke up with another dream. Literally. This Dream sat on my shoulder, yawned with me and staggered up and also came to have a cup of coffee.

I put on my mascara while it clung to my shoulder like a koala to a eucalyptus tree. Dream perched to the back of my head rest as I hurried to work and it squeaked in protest when I took a corner a little too fast.

This has been “One of those days.” We all have had one of these and although we all apply these days in different ways, all feel the same way about them regardless.

After this day filled with people who also seem to be carrying dreams around like sulky cats or yapping little dogs on too long of a leash, I have decided to talk about mine with the hope that by doing such, it will get down off my leg and politely sit in place.

The first dream this week was about a little boy. He was not mine. His sticky tousled butter hair clung damply to his serious face and large dark grey eyes. I woke up worrying about him and I haven’t been able to turn around without hoping to see him, but to see him with a smile.

The second dream was last night. This was a jumble of candy cane colored street stripes, snow in a high desert, Santa Claus forced up on stilts to be hung on a cross, wind shield wipers blown off by howling winds and losing my favorite shoes as I was forced to slug through a giant pond of a puddle. As I was standing on the other side, glumly glaring at the spot where mud sucked them off, I looked up and around and thought “I have been in this terrible version of Alice in Wonderland for a while. I should be waking up soon.”

With this thought I decided to ditch the car and walk for a bit. My feet bleed and ached but as I was aware that these were my dream feet I wasn’t too worried about it. I seem to be in perfect shape and none the worse for wear whenever I enter a new dream. Plus the wind only howled if I got in the car.

I wandered from the open field into what I thought was another one until I reached the slightly receding road’s bottom and saw wan abandoned, and once very nice, suburban neighborhood. Tumble weed tumbled, as it does; cracked and aching dry sidewalks and driveways split open for weeds and the front yards were filled with burnt yellow grass that tried to wave their tiny tinted blades in the (now)soft wind, but instead broke continuously into dust that sighed around me in the silence.

Where did the snow go? I looked back up. Yes Santa was still up there and yes he was too far away to help and yes there was about eighteen feet of snow….

But here at the bottom it was death valley meets the sub-prime crash of 2007.

I wished for and then looked at the helpful watch that appeared on my wrist. About thirty minutes until the alarm went off. I could wake myself up but I tested my physical self and I was still quite comfortable and deeply resting. Plus I didn't sense danger. It was as if this bizarre broken world did not yet know I was there still.

But then It did. I couldn't see it, I could not smell it but I could breath It. This danger felt like ants had crawled into my lungs and left me gasping for air. The sun was suddenly burning, burning, it was burning my skin! I could not breathe the air that had no life and choked as I tried. My pulse hopped up and as my heart tried to flee, the rest of me tried to stay calm. Where was it? What was thinking this malice and had noticed me? A dry cracked wail broke out from the deadly stillness; throwing hot drenching icy fear to trap and hold me in this world of deep despair.

I thought of waking up but forgot how to shake myself out!

I then thought of green and I thought of home. I thought of blurred hills and glowing moss, I tasted the smell of my best friend, I reached for the thought of my dog’s eyes. But I shivered and I lost them.

-Then I heard her coming.

My Wind Woman’s arms stretched out with her flowing cloaks of starlight, rain and mist. She slipped over the road where I had come from; she covered the snow, swept away the dust, the haunted hills and the road disappeared in her loose waves of grace; (she has a way of taking over everything); As she descends, (her face always haunts me) and I can see her dark, mischievous and dangerous eyes. She came down behind me, caught me up in her midnight blue hair and whispered “Wake up!”

I felt the clean chilling touch of her breath through my bones and sat up in bed.

Dropped

I dropped the golden ball I held last week. It is somewhere under the desk. I have been looking for it, or when spotted out of reach, glaring at it, for the last three hours.

Reflection

I am day dreaming today. I want to go to the art store and pick up some canvas. I want to feel the itchy tingle of paint drying against my skin. I like that feeling. It is not comfortable but it is comforting. When paint crams under my nails to the point that they ache I feel like I can understand the texture of the wind and the weight of breathing.

I walked Sally last night and watched the cloud’s reflection in street puddles. The storm raged and twisted and wrapped into its self, far above, it was a giant silken throw of silver grey.

Then I tripped on the sidewalk. It helps to watch where you walk.

Notice

I am happy today. I was happy yesterday. I am holding a little glowing gold ball in my hands and grinning like a kid with a pillow sack of candy on Halloween.

I am happy today. I woke up light and interested. The world is possible.

I gave two weeks notice to The Boss yesterday. Jr Boss is out and I am sorry for her loss but yet I am grinning once again today.

Maybe I will be an artist and make people happy too. Maybe I will figure out how to rescue a German shepherd named Max. I have been watching him for three days wondering about his fate. He has eyes that want to be happy.

I wonder how to make a better pork loin roast in the crock pot. One that will melt in my best friend's mouth and put him into a food coma on the couch.

The purple flowers are delightfully happy too and the bulbs I planted late earnestly stretch their arms out further –INCHES- further, every day.