Category Archives: My True Life

Aug4

Coming to You Live

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Coming to you live from a cheap motel in big, hot Babylon…

This is the first post I’ve written in a long time that went up as soon as I was finished writing it. Lately, I schedule posts when I’m done writing them, and you might not see a post until weeks after it is written.

I did something a little different this week. I needed to write part 2 of a two parter I’d started in April before I left the city. Whenever I tried to work on it in a coffee shop, I was too distracted, and I couldn’t seem to force myself to make any progress. So I decided this week on my days off, I would go to big, hot Babylon and splurge on a room at a Motel 6 with internet and finish the post. I met my goal; the post is done, along with seven others, all ready to come at you in the next few weeks.

It’s 6am now. I’d only planned to sleep for about six hours anyway, but I think I got less than that. There was a lot of noisy stomping, interspersed with some yelling, past my door last night. My room is on a corner, next to a staircase, so I guess many people walked by. You’d think folks would know that a person in a motel room might be trying to sleep in the middle of the night, but maybe I expect too much from people.

The Motel 6 is not bad. I got many good things for my money, including check-in before 8am (which means I’m getting 27 hours in the room), a flush toilet, running water to wash my hands, unlimited hot showers, cold air blowing from the A/C, a fast internet connection at no extra charge, electrical outlets, free coffee in the morning (I’m sipping from a cup now), a double bed, free ice.

It was still a sketchy cheap motel. I ventured out at dusk to get some ice. My room faces a sort of courtyard where the pool is. I had to walk down a long outdoor corridor, then descend a flight of outdoor stairs to get to the ice machine next to the office. There were a bunch of dudes milling around, in the swimming pool, hanging out on the balconies. Also, people had not only their curtains but the doors to their rooms open. In a past life on the streets, I learned that when you leave your cheap motel room door open, you are inviting others to come over to see what you have to offer, so you can see what others have to offer. I wasn’t afraid because none of these people look at me and think I have anything to offer them, or at least I hope not. I hope I don’t look like a mark. I’m going to keep on thinking I don’t, since none of the people out there (including the woman standing outside the office who was so pregnant she might have actually been in labor) tried to talk to me.

My ice mission was thwarted because there was no ice in the machine (probably because some butt wipe had taken everything to fill a cooler), so I went back to my room and didn’t poke my head out again until just before six this morning. As I was walking to the office to get coffee, I saw eight or ten empty Modelo cans lined up on the outdoor part of the A/C until a few doors down. There were already dudes milling around outside, and I witnessed paranoid peeping from the corner of a curtain in a room across the way. My door is locked, bolted, and latched, and I don’t plan to walk outside again until 10:58. (Check-out time is eleven o’clock.)

When I leave this motel, I have to do a load of laundry, then maybe take a look at the nearby Goodwill. From there I’ll make a quick stop at Stuff-Mart, then on to Trader Joe’s. Then I’ll head back up the mountain.

My plan is to get the supplies I need (butane for the stove, food for my belly, clean clothes) to last me two weeks and just stay up on the mountain. It’s too hot to sleep in my van in the flat lands, and the only thing I really like about Babylon if I’m not staying in a motel is internet access at coffee shops. So I might as well stay up where it’s cool and beautiful. (If there were a place to do my laundry on the mountain, I would stay up there for a month.)

I found out last week that my campground doesn’t officially close until the middle of October. Of course the actual closing of the campground depends on weather and all other acts of nature and humankind, but I’m planning on being up there until well into autumn. It’s good news in that it’s a steady pay check.

After that? Stay tuned.

Aug3

Mamma Can’t Go No Higher

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I was climbing Moro Rock in the Sequoia National Park. I hadn’t gone very far when I came upon a family hanging out on a wide spot on the stairs.

IMG_3301

I took this photo of the stairs up Moro Rock.

I’d noticed this family before.

The older teenage daughter looked like she’d just stepped out of a Culture Club video circa 1984. Her eyes were heavily rimmed in black. Her short hair was a vibrant blue. She was wearing an over-sized flannel shirt with large black and white plaid, billowy black pants with small white flowers on them, and black Converse sneakers. On her head perched a large-brimmed black felt hat.

The younger child was of ambiguous gender (but I ultimately decided she was a girl) with natural red hair on the brink of dreadlocks–it looked as if it hadn’t been combed in a week. That child had a stuffed toy snake wrapped around her shoulders.

Mom seemed to be a redhead too and wore square reading glasses, but what I remember about her was what she said as the little shuttle bus pulled in. Run to the front kids, she instructed her children to push past the folks who had been waiting before them, there’s only sixteen seats on this one!

Of course, I and a family of four had been waiting for that shuttle 15, 20, 30 minutes, but mom didn’t care. She was bound and determined (perhaps hellbound is a better term) that her family was going to be on that bus.

So there they were again, apparently lounging on the steps to the top of the dome-shaped granite monolith.

I huffed and puffed and weezed and panted and made it a little way past them. Then I found my own little wide spot, hugged the rock next to me and stood there to rest for a moment.

As I stood there, I heard Mom say, You can do whatever you want.

Then I heard her screech, I said you can do whatever you want!

I looked over. The children had stood up and were about to follow Mom (and I realized at that moment there was a Dad too)  down the steps.

Mom then screeched Just because I have vertigo…

Apparently Mom’s vertigo had debilitated her, and she’d given the kids a choice: go on up without her or follow her back down. If this mom was anything like my mom, she’d offered a choice, but anyone who picked the wrong option was in for some mental and emotional punishment.

The Dad said, We’re all going to stick together…

Mom sounded as if she might cry when she said There’s no reception out here (referring to their cell phones, I presume). If we get separated…she trailed off, making it sound as if the family separated had no hopes of ever finding one another again.

She must not have remembered the days before cell phones, when folks who worried about getting separated designated a meeting spot.

Postscript: I ended up on the shuttle bus out of the park with this same family. Thankfully, I’d brought my MP3 player and headphones so I didn’t have to listen to their conversations on the two hour ride back to Visalia.

Jul1

Southern Gothic Declining Gentility Edifice

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One of the jobs I found on Craigslist while I was in Austin during December 2012 was a house and dog sitting gig. The woman looking for the sitter was very upfront in her ad that whoever stayed at her house had to be ok with sharing the bed with her dog. I was at a point in my life where I couldn’t be too picky, so I took the job. I wrote about the house and the job while I was there.

This place where I am house sitting is weird. And kind of creepy. And messy. There is a heap of recycling (I think) in the corner of the kitchen. It’s a bunch of newspapers literally thrown haphazardly into a corner. There are old fashioned, creepy-as-fuck baby dolls under glass.

The refrigerator is full of rotting food. I am not speaking in metaphor or hyperbole. The refrigerator is full and a good portion of the food in it is rotting. (One of the disgusting items in the refrigerator was a whole pie covered in a fuzzy growth. Who lets a whole pie go bad? Sacrilege!) Usually I would be excited to dig through someone’s leftovers and eat what would go bad before their return. This refrigerator simply scares me. I dare not open a takeout box for fear that what is in that box will try to eat me! (The homeowner told me she would clean the refrigerator before she left so I would have room to put food in there. She did not. I tentatively moved some things so I could get my stuff in.)

I’m in some Southern Gothic declining gentility edifice.

I’ve already had a talk with the ghost(s) that I’m sure are here. I told it/them not to haunt me. I explained that if it/they have haunting to do, C. (who owns the house) is the woman to haunt, that I’m just here temporarily and they should keep it down so I can sleep. Not that I’ve had one good night’s sleep since I’ve been to Austin, but I didn’t tell the ghost(s) that.

The lady I am house sitting for didn’t tell me until I had already agreed to sit and came out here to pick up keys that I have to give the dog half a pill twice a day so she (the dog) won’t pee in her sleep. Seems to me a potential dog sitter should know the dog is half incontinent and in need of pills before s/he agrees to take the job. Luckily, the dog eats up the pill in a blob of peanut butter, but still! (The dog also woke me repeatedly each night so I could let her out into the backyard. Was she peeing or just checking out the scene? I don’t know. It was dark, and I couldn’t see what she was doing out there. I didn’t want to take the chance that she actually needed to pee and by not letting her out, I was setting myself up to mop up dog urine.)

Here’s another crazy thing that happened. C. hadn’t mentioned money, so I figured she figured my payment was getting a free place to stay. I hadn’t brought up money either. Yesterday when I came over, as I was about to leave, she said she would leave “half” on the table, would a check be ok, or did I prefer cash?  I said cash and told her I don’t have a bank account. I was pretty excited that I would be getting some money (especially since now the dog is getting pills and oh, there’s a cat to feed too). Well, when I got here this evening and looked on the table, there was NO MONEY. Weird. Weird. Weird!

When C. returned to Austin, she did pay me, and she hired me to clean her house and cook for her. We had the following exchange one day when I was working at her house.

C. told me that she is only the second owner of her house. It was built in 1932, and the first owner (a woman) DIED in the back bedroom (C.’s bedroom, where I slept with the dog while house sitting) in the 80s. I fucking knew there was a ghost in the house! I felt it! Not that it did anything. I think my little preemptive speech took the wind out of its ghostly sails. Anyway, I asked C. if she believes in ghosts. (She is a psychologist, so I would not have been surprised if she had said no.) She said, “Probably.” I asked if she ever thought there was a ghost in the house and she said no, but maybe there was a guardian angel. I didn’t tell her that I felt some kind of presence there, and I didn’t tell her I did a little out loud talking about how I was not there to be haunted.

Jun23

Hierarchy of Homelessness

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A couple of years ago, I spent the winter in Austin, Texas. One night I was downtown, on Congress Avenue, waiting for a bus. I was approached by a friendly young African American man who soon asked me where I was headed. I told him I was going to South Austin. His questioning quickly turned to whether or not I had a husband or kids. I told him I had neither, while realizing that he was being more than friendly. I didn’t get the idea that he particularly liked me or wanted to go home with me, just that he wanted to go home with somebody, the home being more important than the somebody.

I told him that I was staying with friends and I couldn’t really bring home company. (I wasn’t at all interested in the guy, but I’ve never been very good at rejecting unwanted suitors.)

Then he told me that he lived in a tent down by the river. He explained that it was very comfortable, with an air mattress and  lots of blankets. He talked quite a bit about the comfort of his tent. (Perhaps he had decided that if he couldn’t get a home for the night, he would settle for a somebody.)

He also told me that he’d been dating a woman, but it hadn’t worked out. He told me that when he dated someone, he didn’t like to act like they were homeless, he just wanted to act normal, do normal things like go out for dinner.

I told him that I understood, that I’d been homeless, that I lived in my van when I wasn’t visiting friends. Then I commented that I had lived under bridges before.

The man physically recoiled and immediately began protesting that he had never lived under no bridge. The idea of me having lived under a bridge (which is true, by the way) seemed to truly repulse him.

I guess that was his hierarchy of homelessness: those who sleep in tents next to the river are above those who sleep under the bridge.

Jun11

Hummingbird

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Content warning: This post mentions an abusive relationship.

I left a bad relationship by running away in the night. I walked and walked and walked, sleeping along the way on the doorstep of a church, in an abandoned house, in the driveway to a pasture in front of the gate, and in a wrecked car outside a closed auto repair shop. Although it was June, the altitude was high enough that it still got cold at night. I had nothing besides the clothes on my back, the glasses on my face, and my driver’s license and a broken headlamp in my pockets. Whenever the cold would wake me, I’d stand up and start walking again.

Sleeping in the car was a luxury. I could almost stretch out in the backseat, which was plush and cushiony. It was fairly warm in the car, and I felt fairly safe. I found the car just before dawn and slept there until late in the morning. I don’t know how I managed to go unnoticed. I guess it was a blessing.

I walked and walked, and the day got hotter. I stopped at a gas station and drank water from the sink in the restroom. At one point I lay down under a tree on the side of the road and napped. I walked more and realized I probably should drink more water.

I saw a row of businesses set back from the road. I thought maybe I could get water from someone working in one of the stores. I walked up to find most of the stores empty. When I peeked through the front windows, I saw that the rooms that weren’t empty looked more like workshops than stores. I walked down the line, past more locked doors, until I found a man in his workshop polishing stones with some sort of belt grinder.

I asked him for water. He took me a few steps away to his tiny house. He filled a mug with water and handed it to me. As I stood in his doorway and drank, I told him where I’d come from and where I was headed. He said I was still six miles from my destination. He took an empty gallon plastic juice bottle from his dish drain, filled it with water, and handed it to me. I thanked him and went back to the road.

I walked, and I walked some more. At least now I had water to sip. I found a long, sturdy branch, so then I had a walking stick. I found a ball cap on the side of the road, so I had a little protection from the sun. I walked and walked. In all, I walked eleven miles, but I felt like I’d walked an eternity.

The person I was leaving behind had told me repeatedly that I was a bad person, that whenever people didn’t help us or when bad things happened to us, it was because of me. In that walk, I was testing the universe. Bring it on, I thought. If I’m a bad person, bring on what I deserve.

I saw a car pulled to the side of the road, a woman sitting in the driver’s seat. I approached the car and told her I hadn’t eaten anything all day, asked if she had a granola bar or something else I could eat. She handed me a Cliff Bar. I ate it slowly as I walked.

I ended up in a tourist area where people sell arts and crafts. I looked at what people had for sale. I looked at one woman’s jewelry. It was lovely and I told her so. Her prices were good, and I told her that too, but said I had no money. I told here where I’d just walked from, and she asked if I wanted some cold water. I said yes, and she gave me some from her thermos. It was icy and delicious.

At this tourist spot, there is a rest area with restrooms and water spigots and picnic pavilions. I went there, walked around, scavenged in the trash cans for food, found a picnic pavilion that faced away from the road. When it got dark, I lay down on the concrete between the bench and the stone wall of the pavilion. When I woke up cold, I went into the women’s restroom where it was warmer and lay down in the larger of the two stalls.

Shortly before dawn, when there was just enough light to see where I was going, I began walking down a trail that started at the edge of the rest area. I walked and walked until I came to lone tree. Under that tree I sat and rested.

That day was much like the first, except when I got back to the rest area, I noticed an attendant/groundskeeper, so I added avoiding him to my list of things to worry about. I was afraid if he noticed me hanging around, he would call the cops on me. I didn’t relax until he left at five o’clock.

On the third day, I talked to one of the sellers who told me about a food bank in town the next day. He told me they would hook me up if I could get there. Then he suggested I talk to the woman who owned a concession stand in the tourist area about doing some sort of work in exchange for food. I’d had the same idea, but was glad to know he thought she’d be agreeable.

When I approached the women with the concession stand, she said she’d be happy to let me work to earn a meal. She cooked an egg and cheese burrito for me and had me eat it before I spent twenty minutes washing the windows on her stand.

Later that day I met a man who said he’d give me a ride to the food bank the next day. He asked me if there was anything else he could help me with, and I said I could use a blanket and a backpack to carry my (meager) belongings. He said he did have a backpack he could give me and a sleeping bag too. Then he said he lived with his mom, and if I wanted to, I could go back to his mom’s house with him and spend the night there.

I guess I should have been skeptical or more cautious, but I absolutely trusted the man. He didn’t give off any weirdness or bad vibes. So I went with him, and everything was fine.

His mom lived nearby, in a rural community, in a home she had built herself over several years. The house was small and rustic, not by design, but by necessity. Electricity was generated by the sun. Water was collected from the rain and snow that fell on the roof.

The man and I walked about half a mile down the road to the community free box where I found a pair of tan linen pants and a pair of too-large-but-they’ll-do Keen sandals so I didn’t have to wear my boots in the heat of the summer days. Once back at his mom’s house, I took a bath in water from the previous winter’s snow. After my bath, I put on my new-from-the-free-box linen pants. The man gave me a clean shirt—a bright tie dyed t-shirt he’d bought from folks selling such shirts to finance their journey.

The man and his mother shared their dinner with me, although I could tell their resources were slim. When it was time to sleep, they showed me to a single bed in a small storage room. I slid into the blue sleeping bag the man had given me, and I felt a little bit safe.

The next day we went to the food bank, and I got to pick out canned goods and granola bars because I had no way to cook the dried beans and rice they were giving out to people with normal kitchens. Later we went to the river and the man swam while his mother and I just put our feet in to cool off. When we went back to their house, they shared their food again (this time a little fancier because of what the man had gotten at the food bank), and I spent another night in the storage room.

The whole time I was there, the mom tried to convert me to her Baha’i faith. She showed me a book which outlined the principles of the religion. I think she thought I’d been sent there for her to convert. I listened patiently and attentively, but I didn’t feel any sort of calling to the Bahi’a faith. As for as religions go, it seems like maybe it’s one of the better ones, but I understood an expectation that in order to live happily, all people will have to become Baha’i. I believe to live happily, people of each religion need to leave alone people of other religions. That probably means I wasn’t (and am still not) ready to be Baha’i.

When we woke up in the morning, the man and I went back to the tourist area so he could try to sell the jewelry and leather goods he made. I spent the day with him, but after the rest area attendant left for the day, I went back to the picnic pavilion that faced away from the road. When it got dark, I lay my sleeping bag on the concrete between the back bench and the stone wall and went to sleep.

In the next few weeks, I established a routine. I’d roll out my sleeping bag in the picnic pavilion when the sun went down. I’d wake up at the first light of dawn, gather my few belongings, and put on my shoes. Then I’d walk down the trail I’d found on the first day. The attendant was only responsible for the rest area and never went down the trail, and I never saw a ranger out there either. I’d walk out to the tree, spread out my sleeping bag again and sleep for another few hours or just hang out in the shade until I was pretty sure the man would be out selling his goods. Then I’d walk out to meet him and sit with him until he went home.

I wore the tie dyed shirt every day.

One morning I was under the tree in my sleeping bag. The sun was fully up, but I was cool in the shade of the tree. I had my glasses off and was lying on my side with the sleeping bag pushed to my waist. I heard a loud sort of buzzing behind me and thought it was some kind of large insect. I didn’t move or try to swat it; I just lay still. Then I felt something bump my back. It wasn’t a big bump, but I definitely felt something hit me. Then I heard the buzzing in front of me. I opened my eyes and saw a hummingbird for just a moment before it zoomed away.

Teal and Brown Hummingbird Flying

The hummingbird had seen my bright tie-dyed shirt, thought I was a flower in the middle of the desert, and tried to sip some flower nectar. The hummingbird was probably just pissed off and hungry, but I thought my encounter with it was a blessing.

If you are suffering from domestic violence (or wonder if what you are suffering is domestic violence), you can visit the National Domestic Violence Hotline website or call the hotline at 1-800-799-7233 or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY).

For more information about getting back on your feet after financial abuse, read the article, “Starting Over: How to Rebuild Your Finances after Escaping a Financially Abusive Relationship,” by Madison Blancaflor.

Image courtesty of https://www.pexels.com/photo/animal-avian-beak-bird-349758/.
May31

He said/I said

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Yesterday I shared a post about an ad I put up in the “strictly platonic” section of the Austin, Texas Craigslist a couple of years ago. In my ad, I sought guys to buy me ice cream in exchange for conversation.

One of the first men to respond was R. He immediately wanted to IM, but had very little to say. (What he did have to say was poorly written.) He also wanted to exchange photos right away. We set a time to meet, but he kept initiating contact before our meeting. The following exchange occurred the day after our initial contact and about two days before we were supposed to meet. (I copied his side of the exchange directly from his emails, so all mistakes are his.)

He said: i had a stoke 5 yrs ago im good now no peranent damage

I said: I am glad the stroke left you with no permanent damage. That must have been scary!

He: after stroke … i know u dont want , dont let it affect us, not sure if my dick gets hard now. could you give a hand just to ck.hand in pants is all. dont hate me now . you seem nice i can talk to you dont just ignore mew now

Me: No, I don’t hate you now, but I am kind of surprised that you asked me this…

Haven’t you tried masturbating or looking at porn? Does it get hard when you look at porn?

I hope you are being sincere and not just trying to bait me into talking sex with you. Because if I find out you are just playing me to get me to talk about sex, I am going to be really pissed.

He: no never did i stopped masterbating thats what worries me
no im not trying to bait you promise there are plenty girls out there willing. just like i saidi dont want sex

Me: You know, I am nice, but not nice enough to stick my hands down a stranger’s pants just to see if his dick works, especially after posting on strictly platonic AND telling you that I’m not looking for sex. But I am nice enough to give you some advice so you next time you meet a woman on Craigslist you don’t creep her out within less than 24 hours.

Get to know a woman before you start talking about your dick and worrying that it might not work, especially if you meet her through a strictly platonic ad. Strictly platonic means not interested in sex. So if a woman posts an ad on strictly platonic, don’t mention your dick at all. If you meet in person and she seems interested in your dick, then you can tell her that it may not work. She’ll let you know if she wants to stick her hand down your pants to see if she can get you hard.

In the meantime, try masturbating. Look at some porn. You obviously have a computer and internet access. There’s plenty of porn out there. Find something you like and see if you can get your dick to work. If porn doesn’t do it, I’m probably not going to get you going.

And you know what? I am not meeting you for ice cream on Thursday. You are already off my calendar. If you are more concerned about your dick than you are about the boundaries I set in place, I really don’t want to hang out with you. I understand being concerned about whether or not your dick works, but you just asked for too much too soon.

He: sorry really

May30

Ice Cream and Conversation

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In the winter of 2012/2013 I was staying with friends in Austin, Texas. I was spending a good portion of time on Craigslist, looking for jobs. After watching a documentary called Craigslist Joe, I started checking the “strictly platonic” listings.

I came across an ad from a guy wanting to have drinks with a woman after work. I responded to his ad. He alcoholic beverages, bar, beverageresponded to my response. We decided to meet after work (meaning after his work). I picked a bar close to where I was staying so I could walk and not be concerned with driving after drinking or getting into a car with a stranger. I put on cute clothes and fluffed up my hair and met him at the bar.

I had a beer. I don’t remember what he had–a beer or a cocktail. We ordered an appetizer sampler platter. He was pleasant, a businessman of some kind dressed for casual Friday. We chatted. He wasn’t someone I would have spent time with normally, but we were getting along well.

Then he mentioned his wife. I must have looked at him strangely. I didn’t realize I was having Friday afternoon drinks with some woman’s husband.

Then he clarified. He was talking about his late wife. He was a widower with two small boys. He loved his wife; I could tell. That’s probably why he posted his ad under “strictly platonic.” He probably wasn’t ready to get involved with anyone or even have a one night stand. He was probably tired of hanging out with the guys in the office and just wanted to have a drink with a nice woman.

We never saw each other again. We talked about seeing each other on another Friday afternoon, but we never did.

However, his ad gave me an idea. Would strangers buy ice cream for me in exchange for my company?

I wrote the following ad and posted it in the “strictly platonic” section:

Brown Cone With White Sprinkled IcingIce Cream and Conversation

I’m a mostly broke traveling lady with a young spirit who likes meeting new people, laughing a lot, and having fun. Why don’t we meet at Amy’s Ice Cream? I’ll wear something cute and you can buy me an ice cream cone. We’ll talk about whatever is important to you, or if you’re the shy type, I’ll regale you with stories from the road. We’ll depart new friends with a fun Craigslist story to tell our old friends.

I’m not looking for sex or a romantic relationship. I’m just looking to spend a fun hour or so with a nice person who wants to buy me ice cream (although I might be open to lunch or dinner too). I don’t care what you look like or how old you are, as long as you are NICE. My life if too short to hang out with jerks!

I’m only in town for three weeks, so this offer is limited.

I started receiving responses almost immediately.

The first guy I was supposed to meet stood me up. Straight up stood me up. No call. No email. No apology. It was not a nice game he was playing.

Most guys did not stand me up, although I did not meet every man who sent me an email. Some behaved inappropriately and found themselves cut from the ice cream list. Some just couldn’t sync their schedules with mine.  (I did have a life–and obligations–outside of eating ice cream with strangers.)

A couple of fellows took me out for meal. An older Latino gentleman treated me at one of those upper-scale burger joints. He seemed so lonely and somewhat frail. Another fellow took me to breakfast at Kirby Lane. He and I hung out a couple times after our initial meeting and are still in-touch through email.

Several of the guys were from out of town, visiting Austin for business. I guess they wanted to get out of their hotel rooms and do something other than go to a bar or eat dinner alone. I didn’t have much in common with most of them, but I was pleasant, and they were pleasant, and the ice cream was always delicious.

One of the guys visiting Austin was from San Francisco. He was Asian and seemed like a grown-up surfer with long hair and a laid-back attitude. He told me all about Burning Man and encouraged me to get a reduced price ticket to attend. (I looked into it, and the process to get such a ticket wasn’t as easy as he’d made it seem.)

When I told the Lady of the House about putting up an ad to meet people who bought me ice cream, she said it was one of the saddest things she’d ever heard. (I’ll admit, that stung a little.) She thinks it’s sad that there are people so lonely they’ll shell out dollars to talk to a stranger.

But I thought the whole situation was fun and kind of sweet. It wasn’t just about the free treats for me. I enjoyed meeting people who seemed very different from me and trying to find common ground. I enjoyed hearing about other people’s lives and learning what they were passionate about.

And the ice cream was always delicious.

Images courtesy of https://www.pexels.com/photo/alcoholic-beverages-bar-beverage-cocktail-613037/ and https://www.pexels.com/photo/candy-sugar-party-colorful-108370/.

May17

Update: It Snowed Again

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Wednesday (May 13) was my day off, so I headed to Babylon (population 55,000). In one shopping area there is a Stuff-Mart, a grocery store, a Denny’s, a Taco Bell, a Starbucks, an Office Depot, and a bunch of small stores. Directly across the street is a Target, a McDonald’s, a Panera, a Dollar Tree, a Big 5 Sporting Goods, a Kohl’s, a Little Caesar’s, one of those mega pet stores (can’t remember the name), an Auto Zone, a couple of restaurants, and several other shopping possibilities. Just down the road is a movie theater, a gym, a Burger King, a Goodwill, a laudromat, another grocery store, a couple of gas stations, a donut shop, and many other small stores. Pretty much anything I wanted to buy was available in a couple of blocks. (Except Shoe Goo. I couldn’t find any Shoe Goo.)

On Wednesday I did a bunch of shopping, then made a bunch of phone calls, then hunkered down with the internet at Panera for several hours. At an appropriate hour, I drove over to the Stuff-Mart and settled down for the night. I got up at 5:30 on Thursday, and headed over to the laundromat. While I was waiting for it to open, I went to the donut shop in the same row of the strip mall and got myself a giant, greasy, delicious apple fritter.

Laundry done, I went back to Panera for a couple more hours of internet. After that I filled up the gas tank, did a quick stop at the Goodwill, and got on the road.

I got back to the campground ten minutes before the snow. I’d been hearing there was a storm coming, so I purposefully left Babylon early. I didn’t want to get caught in the snow.

About twenty minutes after the snow started, the ground was covered and the tree limbs were dusted.The temperature dropped pretty fast too. I fired up Mr. Buddy and spent the afternoon putting away my clean laundry and reading.

When I woke up Friday (May 15), there was still snow everywhere, and the fog had set in. The sun tried to peek out a couple of times, but never made it through the fog. The whole day was grey and cold and snowy.

My supervisor came by pretty early in the morning. She told me I didn’t have to work in such nasty weather. I was glad she said that because I really didn’t want to leave the van. I did go out in the morning and make my rounds, but I was glad I had paperwork I could do inside, next to the heater.

My supervisor also told me that I would report to my own campground on Tuesday. I am excited to get there and settle in.

Around three o’clock, I decided to go out and sweep the restrooms. I was starting to feel like a pretzel after being folded up on myself in the van all day.

The fog was really spooky. It made me feel really nervous. Maybe I’d feel differently if I were from London or San Francisco, but I’ve never lived with fog, so it makes me antsy.

I’d swept the two women’s restrooms near the front of the campground and was walking around the side of the building to sweep the men’s rooms. I looked across the little concrete porch in front of the doors and saw a…creature. I was so surprised, I screamed. I didn’t know if the creature was a bear or an Ewok. It was actually a dog. A big dog. A big grey dog with a big fluffy head. He was friendly and wanted to play, so I was embarrassed that I’d screamed. Part of the reason I was startled was because I didn’t know where he’d come from. I didn’t realize any people were in the campground.

The dog’s person walked up about then. She and her guy had just pulled in about ten minutes before, she said, although they already had their tent up. I asked about the dog, and she said he was husky and his father was part timber wolf. He looked a lot like a wolf.

Then the woman told me that she and her guy live about 25 miles from the campground, and they’d decided to come camping because it was their anniversary. If It were my anniversary, I would not want to spend the night in a tent in the fog and the cold. On my anniversary, I’d want to spend the night in a big comfy bed in a warm room. I guess people are different.

The dog was running around, wanting to play, chasing the golf cart as I drove it. He was totally wet, from running through the fog and the wet grass. So not only were the couple spending their anniversary in a tent in the cold and the fog, they were sharing that tent with a big wet dog. Not what I would want to do on my anniversary. Not one bit.

Saturday was not as cold, all the snow melted, the fog dissipated, and the sun came out. I spent most of my work day cleaning fire rings and picking up small trash from campsites. It was good to be outside in the sunshine.

And I’m happy I bought four bottles of propane at Stuff-Mart.

Apr26

She’s Gone

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And by “she,” I mean me.

On Friday, April 17, I finally found out the date I was expected to report to California for my training for my summer job as a camp host. The date? April 27. Yep, they wanted me to arrive for training in ten days.

I was told that the snow on the mountain had melted, and people wanted to be up there camping, so they had to get the camp hosts in. They were getting all the camp hosts for that area together as soon as possible to get them trained and on the job.

At first I was kind of pissy. I had originally been told that the job would start in mid May. How is April 27th mid May? (Hint: It isn’t.) I had a job making $13 an hour (with the chance for bonuses) that was scheduled to last until May 20th. I had a place to stay paid for through the end of May. By leaving before April ended, I was effectively throwing away $300. Also, I was not ready to go. I still didn’t have new tires. I still didn’t have a back slider window. I still hadn’t replaced all the rusty screws holding the high top to the van. I still hadn’t bought a Luci light or a bunch of food or the cleaning supplies I need.

And then I just got over myself. I was on my way out. Out of the hot, dirty city. Out of a job, which, while well-paying was numbing my brain and causing me to have ideas about how I could really work better if I could could just get a little bump of speed, not too much, just enough to perk me up. Out of driving twenty miles a day through streets lined with strip malls and stores, supermarkets, restaurants, shopping opportunities of every kind. Out of the beautiful yet brown desert. Out of the rat race. Out of the game.

I was moving into free. Free on the road, with the Grateful Dead and Lucinda Williams singing through one cheap speaker and the tiny, cheap MP3 player which doesn’t even let me set up playlists, but instead plays whatever it wants, whenever it wants. Free to sing along at the top of my lungs or shout or curse or listen silently, no one in the passenger seat to judge or disapprove or be offended. I was moving into the mountains, into the trees, into a place that shows up on the map as a huge expanse of green. I was moving closer to the area of the magical hot springs I visited with my boys two and half years ago, knowing when I left that I would be back someday, somehow. Moving into quiet and solitude, but also into people from everywhere that I will meet as they too come to visit the trees. Moving into myself. Moving into the trees.

I wasn’t sure how I would scrape together all the money I needed to do all the things I needed to do before I hit the road. (In my original plan, I’d have had four to six weeks worth of pay from scoring essays saved up before I took off to Cali. The way things actually worked out gave me 34 hours of pay on April 24, with another two weeks of pay coming on May 8th.) But then I realized, it was only money. I’d gone farther on less.

No sense panicking. No sense worrying. All I could do was do what I could do, then hit the road.

The title of my post is a reference to the Grateful Dead song “He’s Gone.” I took the photo in this post.