My daughter, who'd been camping over the weekend with friends, walked through the door two hours ago.  She was sunburn, sand and smiles on filthy black feet, full of the joy of being alive.  Twelve of them went including the birthday girls mother.  They had two camp spots at the Sunset Beach campground right on the coast. 

She climbed trees, played in the ocean, watched the sunset from the beach, roasted marshmallows, ran from raccoons, went for a late night walk with a friend to see the stars, "A WHOLE SKY FULL OF THEM MOM!"  They could see galaxies, constellations, even saw a shooting star (I love that a shooting star took her breath away).  She watched the fog roll in off the ocean and creep through the campground.  She listened to the waves crashing on the beach below - even when darkness and fog obscured her view.  She saw whales breaching and spouting, dolphins playing, just yards from shore. The whales were so close they were HUGE and frightening and eerrie and beautiful and breathtaking all at the same time.  They saw seals and a dead baby dolphin tangled in rope. They saw hundreds and hundreds of sand dollars - whole ones, "You couldn't go five feet without finding a sand dollar!"  There were too many for her to bring home.  She brought her favorite four - and they are beautiful!  She and a couple friends made a giant heart on the beach out of the rest and took a picture. They made sand castles and watched them get washed away by the "Rogue Wave".  She found another tree to climb, "The COOLEST ONE YET!", just before they left. She smells of campfire and happiness! 

I watched her telling one adventure after another, her eyes bright, her hair pulled up and wild on top of her head, her muscles sore and aching from use.  I thought to myself, how glad I am that I'm the one who got to raise her and not my parents.  They wouldn't have let her climb a single tree (maybe my mother would have, but never if dad was around and he was in charge), get too close to the water or do anything where she might get dirty. They certainly would not have let her out late at night to stand above a beach just to watch stars! 

Sometimes I feel gypped.  Guess I still have growing pains. 

But I'm soooo happy for her - datsa my GIRL!  The kids decided they want to go again, March maybe. Next time they want me to be the parent on board.

I've been putting off something I knew would be unpleasant.  There had been trouble a little while ago with a decision my daughter made for herself.  It was not a good decision - definitely not the worst thing I've had to deal with as a parent, but still, action was required.  At that time, the consequences for another such err in judgement on her part were clearly defined. The consequences would be severe, something that would cause her great duress if ever they had to be called in. If consequences aren't strong enough for effective impact, no lesson is learned.  Time passed, no further issues.  *I have to say, to my daughters credit, righ been an easy raise, not prone to disasters and outbursts.  Our relationship, mother to teenage daughter has been pretty much void of ugly arguments.  Her judgement is usually sound for one so young - more sound than some twice her age.*  Back to the story.  I received a letter in the mail several days ago.  My heart sank deeper with every line.  I would now be forced to enforce the previously agreed upon consequences. Damn!  Like I said, I'd put this off for several days, but today was the day.  I showed her the letter.  Really, there was nothing to argue about.  She knew in her heart this day was coming. She knew she hadn't been keeping to form.  And yes, she knew where the responsibility lie.  Still it hurt - both of us.  Disappointment sucks.  Disappointment in your own self REALLY sucks.  We talked, we did better than I'd anticipated actually.  Some other things came up and we cried.  Nothing to yell about.  She needed to have a GOOD cry on her own and The Enforcer was the last person she wanted comfort from - I get it.  We went our separate ways to do whatever we needed to do next.  My daughter went into her bedroom, I went into mine to write.

Behind the scenes - for two days now, I've been trying to fix a couple of problems I made for myself wile setting up this site.  This site is important to me.  Me and anything technical? Like oil and water!  My frustration level has been as deep as my focus has been these last three weeks in getting this online - INTENSE.  I sat at my computer, brought up the pages, tried without success, to correct the issue.  No go.  Alright, I need to get out.  I strapped Ginger, my Border Colle, to her leash, grabbed the 'necessary' bags, told my daughter we were leaving and then we left.  I took my cell phone with me.  I needed to talk to my homies as much as my daughter needed to talk to hers. 

Called person #1 - no answer.  Person #2 - no answer.  Person #3 - no answer.  Person #4 - answered and listened, but I'd already vented to him the previous day and now I felt bad taking him away from his family on the weekend.  So I got off the phone without emotional resolve.  Pout and emptiness.  Alright, turn focus to Ginger.  She needed to take care of serious 'business'.  Into the bushes (Ivy) she, and I, went.  My phone rang.  My Sweetheart returning my call.  This was not a good time for him I could tell.  He hung in there for a few minutes trying to help.  In the meantime, Ginger finished the 'necessities'.  I had leash in left hand, phone between left ear and left shoulder with the 'necessities bag' in my right hand.  I gathered up her abundant 'deposit' and was trying to tie the bag.  Problem was, I was talking with my head mashed to the cell on my shoulder, tying the poop bag and trying to turn around in the bushes all at the same time. I was near the edge, the concrete gutter.  My foot caught on a root, my ankle twisted, I was thrown off balance and I went down!  Guess what - I knew I was going down. I tried to break my fall with my free hand - the hand that had the FULL bag of poop in it.  If you have any imagination you know what happened next.  My hand landed right in the middle of that dang bag of poo, sliding and mushing and gushing of course.  I got sort of lucky because most of it went out the side. I was unlucky because it was the side next to my little finger.  So there I was, bad couple of days, had to be the hardass Mom, brain fried, heart sad and disappointed, I fell, twisted my ankle, banged up my knee and landed in a bag of poo.  I'm trying really hard not to draw too many parallels to this incident with my life.  Not having much luck.  And yes, I got poop on my finger.  And yes, I behaved accordingly, used a lot of cuss words loudly, had a somewhat mild freak out, regrouped, left my dignity right there on the sidewalk (wouldn't be needing it the rest of the day) limped home and sterilized myself.  Is there a moral to this story?  Heck if I know!

I realized something today, it's the trees with movement I'm drawn to.  Trunks that twist and bend, branches that reach and stretch like a dance.  They flow, and since I am energy, I flow with them.  A tree is a journey.  A tree is a whole vibrant life.

I grew up in a town where the townspeople 'cut back' their trees so they wouldn't be in the way.  Cut the big branches off every year leaving the trunk as a tall amputated, vulnerable stump.  In the spring, small branches grew out of the spots where the originals had been - but they were always small, never allowed to grow to full potential.  They looked ridiculous.  They were mutants, carved by control crazed humans.  This is how it was for me growing up  in my home.  I was constantly being cut to shape - weakened, my spirit mutated till I no longer knew what I was.

Maybe that's why I like it here so much.  Trees are allowed to be trees.  They are appreciated for their beauty, their shape, their uniqueness.  They grow as they were intended to.  They twist, they flow, they breathe.  They are allowed to be what they are.  As the community grew, it grew AROUND the trees so everyone could fit.

That is all I ave to say about that.

One of the biggest problems for me being me, is that I'm an energetically sensitive person who needs to breathe in and experience the energies of the natural wild world - you know, grass, trees, wind, dirt - all that stuff. Actually, THAT'S not the problem.  The problem is I live in a city.  A big one. The majority of the ground is covered in concrete, there's concrete everywhere!  And cars!  I can't escape the constant drone of cars.  I can't smell the earth.  I can only take so much of this before I start feeling like I'm withering away and shrinking, like my soul is dieing away.  Sometimes my craving for the natural earth is as strong as any chocolate craving!

Today was such a day.  I walked down to my babysitting gig - still don't have a car - and part way there I got a text that I wasn't needed after all.  Fine.  I've been working really hard lately, pushing myself with this website and confined to my cave.  Part of my route parallels a small river, more like a creek really.  Old, old trees, very tall and very full, guard this little river.  Floods have eroded the ground beneath some of them causing them to tilt toward the water.  As I was passing, and thinking/stressing about everything I had to do, a strong gust of wind blew through the trees way above my head.  It was cleansing, it was the sound of Heaven.  I stopped to look up and to listen.  Crunchy yellow and brown leaves drifted toward the earth below.  I knew some would be landing on the water.  More wind.  Before I knew it - or could talk myself out of it -  was over the guard rail and heading down the steep embankment.  The going wasn't too bad, I used the cemented sand bags as make shift (albeit slippery) steps.  I'd seen geese, ducks, turtles and even a hawk and an otter down there before.  (This was the place I'd once considered releasing Buntah.)  I sat.  I could see the fish ripples, gently rolling along the top of the water, the rings melting into one another.  I could hear the flip splash of fish breaking the surface looking for food.  I could also see the junk - old mangled tires and wheels of every kind, discarded underwear and socks dangling damp in bushes, hubcaps, shopping carts, diapers, crumpled bottles, bits of magazines, wire grates - all that city type detritus.  I tried hard to look past it.  I looked up into the trees and watched them being played with by the wind, softly.  Every now and then a yellow leaf would break away and free fall through the branches, if I listened hard, I could hear them running into other leaves and branches on the way down.  Some of them actually made it to the water, floated gently on the top.  I watched for fish, turtles, anything to remind me the earth was still abundant with life.  And then quick as a flash, I'd wonder what kind of large mutant creature was going to come lunging out at me, and stressing thoughts would go bounding through my brain.  I tried to drown out all city noises.  Being so far down from the road, I didn't hear the steady drone of cars, just the frequent passers driving over a grate - thump, thump, thump thump - in the road.  I was unsuccessful ignoring the bulldozer next door too. When the wind blew I cold smell the trees, Eucalyptus, Aspen, Pines, Sycamores and others.  I cold sort of smell the earth.  And then I noticed the reflection of the trees and sky on the water.  I'd been so busy looking INTO the water, I almost missed the most beautiful part!  This was an unexpected treat.  My heart caught itself up and I held my breath as the skin on my arms prickled with goose bumps.  Now there was an all over full body smile and even a shiver!  But dang, here came a blasted water snake slicing through the reflection and sending chills of another nature through my body!  Yep, all chance of reverie was lost.

So, where did that leave me?  With a moment of wonderful shine but not quite the refill I need.  If only I could've taken the sound of the wind in the trees home with me, that would have helped.  The sound felt like it swept right through me, washing away the tedious gunk inside.  I climbed back up the bank, hit the road, turned the corner and got blasted with the honking, the cars on asphalt, doors slamming, stoplights blinking, muffled humanity noises, car exhaust and concrete everywhere I turned.

Right now, it's late, I'm in my cave, been writing for hours.  Ginger, my Border Collie, is asleep on the bed beside me and Buntah - my little toad friend is a cold little round ball of life on my lap, she's just chillin'.  Oh God, terrible pun, sorry, couldn't help myself.

This isn't my first post in October, but it is the first post I haven't managed to delete somehow.  I've been learning the ways of creating a website and I have to tell ya, learning THESE ways hasn't been nearly as pleasant as learning the ways of OTHER activities - wink, wink! 

To preface the posts I lost, this website has been churning around in the spin cycle part of my brain for many months.  A few weeks ago, I realized I needed to push the "GO" button if I actually wanted anything to happen.  Since then, my sole focus has been cranking this out. Barring essential activities such as work and running to the store to restock our supply of Marie Calendars and peanut butter, I grounded myself to my CAVE till this was finished.  My CAVE is a teeny tiny writing station I set up in a corner of my bedroom.  It is NOT comfortable by any means, and not spacious enough to stretch or breathe in.  I am the victim of my own intense focus.  What can I say, nothing unusual there.

Yesterdays post was brief.  I may have actually encountered a man with Turrett's Syndrome (if you're too young to remember "What About Bob", Bill Murray introduced us to Turrett's - involuntarily spouting profanities). He approached the bus stop muttering to himself.  I assumed he had an ear piece in and was chewing someone out.  I kept my distance because he was also pacing, checking his watch, and periodically throwing his hands back over his head.  It wasn't until the bus arrived I realized he wasn't wearing an earpiece, he was just going off.  F** this, Sh** that and on and on - barely a repeatable word in there anywhere - oh my.  He didn't have the endearing puppy dog quality of Bill Murray either.  This guy was Ichabod Crane meets Alfred Hitchcock in dirty khaki's and a grimy yellow T!  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when we reached his stop.

My daughter the "clock cop" is grouching at me - it appears my time is up on this, the bigger computer (this has my Photoshop, the cave doesn't).  It is time to walk the dog, exercise the toad and then, then, hmm, I don't remember what comes next.  I'm sure it'll hit me as soon as I walk out of this room!

I realize now, I have so much content and such a high degree of perfectionism that this site will be a work in progress for some time.  Pleas be patient if you see pages that aren't finished yet.  For now, I think I'm up and running!  WAAAA-FREAKIN-HOOOO!!!  Feels good to be writing again!