Back In California
"This world...and then the next," my Kansas-bred grandmother used to say. I was never really sure what she meant but she said it after she had experienced some small sorrow or exasperation. I think Nana believed this world was a vale of tears to be gotten though by grit, determination, and holding on for dear life. And who knew what the next world would be like? But when she used that expression, she didn't sound too hopeful. In later years, my mother took up the refrain and now I hear it ringing in my own ears.
Where is joy this overcast morning in the backyard of my brother's house in Ben Lomond, CA? The acorn woodpeckers, a whole gang of them, are knocking and banging overhead somewhere, making their 'kacka-kacka' calls to each other. A grey squirrel and a stellar jay are facing off over first rights to the birdbath. Looks like the beginning of another nice California day. So why do I feel grey?
We flew down from Spokane on Saturday. My oldest pal, Way Out Willy, and his wife Kay picked us up at the San Jose Airport. We went out to dinner and laughed about nothing in particular, as we always have. "Joshed" as they used to say. I've known Will since we were Baby Beatniks together nearly fifty years ago. He's become as strange and crotchety as I have but I'm okay with his crotchets -- you don't get that many best friends in a lifetime and God gave me one. Someday I'll write about him, but I'll have to disguise his name so he won't get mad. Maybe I'll call him Way Out Billy.
Will was out on his adventures for a long time but he made harbor at last. Now he has a sweet wife, and a cool little house in the manzanita thickets and an old dog Miles who remebers Patruska and I when we come to vist and wags his tail and grins.
How I long for a safe harbor. A place I can put my stuff. A place where I can get up in the morning and know where everything is, know that today will be a lot like yesterday, pondering and writing and going down to the coffee house to see what the other talking pigs are doing.
This is just a phase, of course. Too much experience, too much chaos. Too many days just trying to get through to the end - like the homeless guys experience every day of their lives. No wonder so many take drugs! When we do get a home again, and peace, and a fire to sit by on winter evenings, I know I'll get restless and start planning a new adventure. Perhaps a voyage to Kerguelen Island, the far away land. But for now, this grey California morning, my sciatica hurts and I just want to go home. If I had one.
Sorry. I don't usually get this personal. Next I'll be telling you about Sniffy's birthday party. With luck, I won't make a habit of it, but you never know. I may be going into a new phase.
Where is joy this overcast morning in the backyard of my brother's house in Ben Lomond, CA? The acorn woodpeckers, a whole gang of them, are knocking and banging overhead somewhere, making their 'kacka-kacka' calls to each other. A grey squirrel and a stellar jay are facing off over first rights to the birdbath. Looks like the beginning of another nice California day. So why do I feel grey?
We flew down from Spokane on Saturday. My oldest pal, Way Out Willy, and his wife Kay picked us up at the San Jose Airport. We went out to dinner and laughed about nothing in particular, as we always have. "Joshed" as they used to say. I've known Will since we were Baby Beatniks together nearly fifty years ago. He's become as strange and crotchety as I have but I'm okay with his crotchets -- you don't get that many best friends in a lifetime and God gave me one. Someday I'll write about him, but I'll have to disguise his name so he won't get mad. Maybe I'll call him Way Out Billy.
Will was out on his adventures for a long time but he made harbor at last. Now he has a sweet wife, and a cool little house in the manzanita thickets and an old dog Miles who remebers Patruska and I when we come to vist and wags his tail and grins.
How I long for a safe harbor. A place I can put my stuff. A place where I can get up in the morning and know where everything is, know that today will be a lot like yesterday, pondering and writing and going down to the coffee house to see what the other talking pigs are doing.
This is just a phase, of course. Too much experience, too much chaos. Too many days just trying to get through to the end - like the homeless guys experience every day of their lives. No wonder so many take drugs! When we do get a home again, and peace, and a fire to sit by on winter evenings, I know I'll get restless and start planning a new adventure. Perhaps a voyage to Kerguelen Island, the far away land. But for now, this grey California morning, my sciatica hurts and I just want to go home. If I had one.
Sorry. I don't usually get this personal. Next I'll be telling you about Sniffy's birthday party. With luck, I won't make a habit of it, but you never know. I may be going into a new phase.
Labels: Across America, Baby Beatniks, Photos by Patrushka
posted by Christopher Newton at 9:23 AM
6 Comments:
I personally think the best adventures are when you have a home waiting at home, even if you leave it to go wandering for a year when Gandalf shows up at your door with 12 pigs in cloaks demanding ale and seed cakes.
You've been on the road for quite a long time now, and your wanderings have been during a particularly unsettled time worldwide which adds to the overall stress. I can certainly understand your wish for a home.
I personally think, and I don't say this to add further grey to your day, but that the homesickness you are feeling will never be fully healed by any home on this earth. Darn, that does sound depressing. But I find it a comfort when I am let down by this world to realize that it is not my home. It's like there is a little piece of heaven in my heart placed there by God, and when I begin comparing this world to it, this world falls desparately short...and I feel homesick. Homesick for heaven. That is good news, because I really think I'm going there later...so it's only a temporary sickness.
Maybe that is what your grandmother was trying to articulate.
Being in your own home is going to be great! A place for everything, and everything in it's place. And the time is approaching. So surf the melancholy, brother Pig...it is leading you to a brighter shore.
(Oh, and thanks a lot for the "Way Out Billy" crack...you made me laugh so hard I spewed coffee all over my computer monitor!!!)
Sometimes I wonder if only a dog and a bindle would suffice. Then I realize they probably wouldn't. Itchy feet and a longing in the heart are good recipes for adventure me thinks.
And yes, Paula is spot on!
A few minutes of diversion: Poems from a Pig
Thanks Genevieve for the Freddy poems link. I posted an appropriate resonse at Larry's blog. Freddy has been a major influence on me and my outlook on life owes much to the time I spent with him at the impressionable age of eight. What a hero! Greatest of the Talking Pigs!
Post a Comment
<< Home