where I live...

"And what did you do all day?"
"Do you live in a barn?"

First quote, often heard from my ex husband, when he'd come in from work to a house strewn with graham crackers, crayons, sleepy kids and Legos - And my answer often was,  "Honestly honey, I have no idea."

Second quote spouted by my folks, when as a child I'd often rush out leaving the front door open wide.  Today my answer would be, "Yes, I feel as though I do kinda live in a barn", because not only can I be found located inside one more and more with my kids and their horses, it is also oddly enough, the place I find myself most at home.

I drove through bothersome Southern California pre Christmas traffic to the dog beach this morning with my young lab and sometime around noon, I finished my first must do errand.  Later I squeezed in a tuna sandwich, made and consumed hurriedly over my kitchen sink, where I looked out the window at my wobbling fence with literally no thoughts in my head.  I picked up my son from middle school and ushered him through ancient Egypt, Pharaoh Menes with his red and white crown, as we sat in the warm sun on the metal bleachers watching while his sister ran her first day of high school track.   Somewhere around the creation of Memphis, capital of long ago Egypt, my father called from that barn I feel I live in, waiting for me...

"And what did you do all day?", came rushing back into my head.   Where had the day gone and why had my plans with him fallen out of my mind and what exactly, if anything, was in my mind anymore?

A thousand apologies, 70 miles per hour and one sorry a*#, forgetful woman, an hour late.

But in the barn things slow down.   It's not me who sets the pace.
The sun slants differently and dust motes dance in it's diagonal.
My girl is my girl and my boy is my boy, Ally is Ally and then there's Johnny...
Johnny Cash saunters unabashedly behind and tethered to my shy daughter, his red halter and white star blaze adorn his head, like the Pharaoh Menes, king of united, ancient Egypt; and Johnny Cash, my sweet king, king of the stable, to me anyhow.  
Johnny, gentle and warm aligns himself with my ailing father, puts his soft, white muzzle against my father's forehead... and then my lateness, forgetfulness, what have I done with my day-ness is forgotten, forgiven, for nothing.

And yes, I live in a barn, because in the barn I am just myself and I don't know where my lipstick is, my old calluses come in handy, my dull eyes tend to moisten up more and more, my age is indeterminate, my shoes are flat, my children are purposeful and I am for God knows what reason, always, always present.
Into my life came Johnny Cash with his bum leg hidden beneath a liquid chocolate exterior and sometimes I feel like Johnny with my own bum leg that I pretend doesn't exist and I hide so well.

Johnny is a lover, not a fighter, though he's fought a bit lately...

In all my life I've never known any living being more perceptive and kind with his kisses.
He makes everyone I love feel loved and for that and for all those soft muzzle kisses, I am eternally grateful.
 And yes, I really do "live" in a barn...

ENVY me this...

Envy.

Envy has consumed me the past few days.

I am e n v i o u s.

My children have been gone for a long weekend with their father -

AND his girlfriend.

In the 7 years I've lived separately from the person I married, I've rarely had to part with our kids for more then a day or two and never have I had to share them with another woman.

And so I'm full of envy.  

I'm envious of any other mother who can look at 4 days of freedom as a good thing.  

I puzzle over how I can become the kind of person who might take this not so long break to just go on with her life and maybe live a little, shop a bit, dine out, sleep in, let loose, sit tight, or maybe even have one of those manicures I vaguely recall...

Instead of enjoying freedom, I imprison myself, keep myself occupied with worries and a vivid imagination that I'd like to shut off, but I can't and never could, it's not me...

If I had a dime for every time I've had to remind myself to simply breath deeply these past days, I'd have an awful lot of dimes, enough to call China for hours and hours in a phonebooth from 1974...

Do this;

Walk the hard to walk dog/puppy 

Feed and water the horse

Talk with friends

Fix the computer

Edit the jillion photographs I take constantly of my kids and of every single thing we do in our life together.

And inside the photographs I see it, just us.  It's her, it's he, it's me.

Inside the photographs I see the truth

I see not what my worries create

I see how much easier it is for me now -

except sometimes.

Sometimes it's hard.

Sometimes it hurts.

Someone could envy my pain -
it's born from this incredible love.

Someone could envy my worry - 

it grows from the gravest garden of fear, fear of loss.

Someone could envy my little loneliness

which stems from a connection that branches out, up and on and on till it brushes the sky, with roots buried deep in the earth, grounding us always, like an unbreakable promise.

Envy me, my envy...

Envy me my overzealous, sad and jealous state - 

it exists in the small world I gladly call home, bitter sweet home - where I'll sadly be waiting happily for you.

...wonderful tonight

And you know you're all grown up when your parent becomes your peer...

Riverboat themed party, in Southern California, 1995ish -

but I didn't dress in costume like everyone else did.

I wore a pencil skirt, white

and a colorful blouse, not riverboaty one bit, but definitely all grown up.

And my date was my father.

She, whom the party was held for, a coworker of his

a forty year old coworker, when forty seemed all grown up, which today, to me, it does not...

There were all forms of gambling going on that night, with irresistible, pretend paper money and over exaggerated glee, and I knew when I walked in that night that I'd be the big winner of the entire event and I was, but knowing so beforehand, understanding this in my gut didn't  actually make winning the big pot any less wonderful.

Weekend in Vegas for two, all included, all mine...

I separated myself from my Dad that night, often and appropriately, so he could mingle and I could be grown up single

I was suddenly and awkwardly closer in age to my parent then I'd known possible.

We were friends.

Since that time we've been many things, 

father/daughter being the most clear but not always the most easy of our relationship status

friends

relatives

peers

teammates

companions

champions 

opponents

and many hard to explain couplings

We are one of those car chargers that accepts most common receptacles for reenergizing.

We are good together.

All good.

Today, hour after hour, I never felt bored or wanted anything about our mutual suffrage or our shared hardship to end. Not ever.

I loved the toughness, but only wished it was my turn for the hard parts and not his.

I loved the bloom the two pints of red provided his precious cheeks

Today we were parent and child again, but this time I was the parent and he the child

I don't know how to be in this relationship all the time

I only know that the love I feel is outgrowing the hothouse it grows in.

He the Gardner, I the soil and the seeds are the million things between us.

I love my father.

And there were moments in our day, this day,  that I swore he'd never appeared more handsome

People used to tell me he looked like a movie star***

And tonight, he looked wonderful.... if wonderful means; I love your face and your eyes, your sighs and the feel of your cool hand in mine.

I love you daddy is not enough to say I love you daddy.

You looked wonderful tonight.

She loves me...

And into each life a little rain must fall...

though lately it seems to be falling like a river

strong, steady, constantly flowing

News, bad news, doesn't always travel fast.  

I took more then a day to tell my folks and most of my friends that my beloved pup Daisy is gone

It is the sad end of the longest and most successful relationship I've ever had.

Day in, day out

she was more often then not, wherever I was

the beach, the car, the mountains, the bed, the park, the bathroom floor,  the couch and even just the other day right there in the horse stable with me, happy and absolutely unintimidated.  

She's been smack dab in the middle of my life

for the past sixteen and a half interesting years

tail forever wagging

Spirited, intuitive, smart as a whip

sweet, kinda smelly, loyal, devoted, brave little bitch and I mean that with all the love in my heart.

Never more brave then when I brought home a hundred pound rescue who tried all our patience and whom would not exist today if not for the better half of him, if not for my Daisy.

He waltzed into our house and into our quiet life and dropped his big dog chocolate into her smooth peanut butter existence and sort of just like that, they harmonized and coexisted peacefully for the most part and when not peacefully, humorously for sure.

They were the oddest, odd couple.  

She alfa, all 16 pounds of her and he knew it.

She was the love of his life and she was certainly one of the great loves of mine.

Witness to my entire marriage, birth of my two kids, my long and winding divorce, our relocation and all the rest of it...

We people who have dogs blessing our lives may never ever realize how exposed, open and real we are with another living, breathing being, until that being is no more.

No one knows me like she did

no one knows how bad I am

not how good

not how tired

not how happy

 how lazy

how hyper

how funny

how retarded

how brilliant

how lonely

how blessed

how anything I was, am, might someday be -

because she saw all of me, really and truly, the me who is me

and she loved me anyhow ...

I know she loved me.

I know she loved me because every time she saw me, her adorable daisy of a tail wagged...

I held her wrapped in my arms, close to my heart, as she left me yesterday morning.

It was one of the most precious moments in a life of precious moments.

It was an honor to hold and kiss her as she disappeared.

Today, I'm profoundly aware of her absence and I'm afraid only slightly aware of my loss.

When I hiked my big dog today hoping to exhaust him so that he might not need the valium and prozac the Vet prescribed for my oversized, overly distraught Daisy lover, every few moments I looked for her.  

 Up in the tall green grass,  walking way up high, under the blue sky, with the breeze blowing my hair across my eyes, my heart pumping warm blood from my head to my toes, the air full of moist earth and wild flowers - over and over, I looked for her.  Over and over, I was painfully reminded that she wasn't with me anymore.

She wasn't in the tall grass rolling in some dead bunny 

she wasn't eating a decaying Cliff Bar discarded haphazardly by some careless hiker

she wasn't being scarfed down by a bandit coyote just off behind the scrub brush

She was just not there -

and I wanted her to be

Are we ever ready to say goodbye to one who never hurts us?

who loves us unconditionally?

who trusts us?

who forgives us?

who has no preconceived expectations of us?

Into each life a little rain must fall

 and into mine a little Daisy...

pensivity...

pensive...

And why should this relationship be any different?

I'm always pensive, waiting for a reaction.

I can remember a time when I was braver and I'd act to cause a reaction

but that was long, long, long ago and hardly me.

I'm the woman with 100 pair of high heels who wears mainly flat shoes

I'm the one who doesn't open her mail, but pays bills on time and in the most unorthodox ways, just to avoid the direct insult of looking at the cost of this life we live.

I'm the mother who'd rather perish then upset her children, ever.

I'm the lady who can sugar coat a peppercorn, if need be.

But there is one relationship I can't dance around.

There's someone who can see right through me

and as a result, I've never felt so open.

yep - the horse.

Sorry folks, it comes back to it, him, that...

Just months ago I was afraid, but excited

Past few weeks, less scared, still excited but always cautious

People said this - that - the other thing, but it's just words until it's your experience...

I don't know for how long, but I can assure you this, it's becoming routine -

When I stand in front of him, after having walked him round, lunged him good and tired, brushed him soft as new, we meet eye to eye, standing in the cleaning stall, all our chores behind us...  and in time, his nose manages to choose a route to meet my nose, with the tenderness of two timid teenagers ready for a first kiss, just maybe.   And from his massive nostrils comes warm breath, steam that blasts my lips and chin like babies breath from a volcano.  And this produces an unstoppable curvature from the sides of my own mouth upward.    It's a goof.   This whole horse kissing thing is a magic bullet of happiness which I can't explain well at all.   How I wish I could do it justice.   My heart races and my insides flip flop, while my mind stills, like it never does and I'm finally no longer pensive...

Until something breaks this fragile connection, like a leaf falling or a girls laughter, a dog barking, a horn blowing, a motorcycle roaring.   Like a clock ticking, we come together, the thing I've feared largely, the virtual commitment - of which I've been a life long phobe... Bliss, but not for long... and then I'm comfortably uncomfortable pensive again

Later, in my kitchen, making Chicken Tortilla  Soup without the benefit of a recipe, I think about the kiss.  I know I'm smiling and I don't know how to explain why to anyone near me, nor do I care to.   I only want to acknowledge that this precious gift called life is

one long as_, scary ride, but I love standing up in the middle of it all and feeling it.  I love making all those hard to make choices and mucking up the messes only to feel the reward; which in this case would be, the breath of a beast bigger then 4 of me, against my face.

And I feel like a rock, strong and solid in the wind which sweeps cross a beautiful world, 

steady, obscure, grounded, ready to roll, substantial and insignificant, in other words - perfect...

Until I'm pensive again...

forget-me-nots, things I remember well...

My memory is just awful

What I ate for lunch -

What was her name?

When did that happen?

Where?

How does that story end, begin

and was it real?

 Or was it just in my dreams?

Sometimes I remember something as truth when in fact it never happened or was yet to happen, like Fritz dying and Elizabeth Taylor too.

When she actually passed away, I'd already mourned her, but Fritz, apparently I'd not really let go of him enough and so I cried all over again when he departed for real, long after he died in my realistic dream.

Fritz my uncle's dog, who lived with us in France;

such a sweetheart, such a good pet and such a traitor.   I'd find him out on the streets of our town, having taken himself for a walk, lying motionless as if he'd been shot, but only just sunning himself in front of the butcher's shop.  

Me on my way to the post office where they'd run out of stamps to sell me and him lying there, pretending not to know me, the foolish American girl who shaved her legs and underarms...

My awful memory is not one bit awful, but is in fact powerful, vivid, burnt like a brand on my brain when I recall certain times, some distant and some just recent, where I'm moving over the earth, walking, touched by the sun, brushed by the breeze, like on the fields of tall, beige, living, breathing, bending stalks of gold surrounding the volcano I visited with my children last week. 

So alive was the earth -

exhaling through steam vents, puffing out blue-grey smoke toward the golden sun, which melded the steam orange and black, till they met with the silver clouds above and became one, alive more...

And then a month or so before, when I walked beside my friend and the dogs ran ahead of us, searching the soft, giving, bed-like fields, with the blond blades all parted and lying down, breaking beneath our feet as we followed and waited for them to point out the treasures, the colorful birds.

And in my memory, those fields, the volcano and the hunting ground, are not what they might appear to be outside my mind.

They are not violent, they are not all together wild -

they're peaceful, heavily scented; fresh, musky...

The strands hold you

The sun pushes you down

Your own breath wakes you, prompting you to resist everything else, which lulls your mind,

slows your heart and sends you into a living dream, which you cannot forget and wouldn't want to.

In fields of my youth, all laughter and motion, my body ran through the stalks, like a lover's hand runs through hair

all breath and memory.

Walking like that, it's where I make the only promises I keep. 

My internal resolutions

Things that you don't know you want, but you do.

You want them 

and you wake up to it

in the fields, with the sun and the airs

your breath and the breeze, which become one.

And the people beside you

your children

the hunter

even just yourself

are all you need

and you make a promise

and the promise becomes your memory

and you won't forget

when you walk in fields of gold

you'll remember me when the west wind moves