As The Shoe Drops

I always say never get too comfortable when things are going well. It’s a recipe for disaster. With that kind of intro you might suspect that I’m going to tell a tale of woe but I’ll spare that for now. Let’s just say I got comfortable. My expectations went into overdrive. I should know better.

Face it, “sheep happens” says a dear friend. I’m not even sure where I am going with all of this. Another chapter in my memoir perhaps? A way to keep everyone guessing what comes next? A ploy to keep my readers asking? A plot to sell the book?

Whatever the motive is, life goes on. I seem to have a higher power who thinks I haven’t learned my lesson yet. Just one more adversity, and maybe she’ll get it?

The point is, I am still writing, I still plan to have my first draft done by September, and I probably have a new chapter. But wait – at some point we need to decide when the project is complete. Now I know why many people write more than one memoir. Another shoe drops and another story is born.

How many times have you re-written your story? How do you decide when it’s done?

Accountability: memoir word count is now 71312

#RecyclingLivesMatter

Recycling Lives Matter

Tired of embarrassing advertisements for Depends, cat stalking videos, internet scam clicks and hacked friend requests? Try a bit of Talking Soup. I selfishly recommend it because my article happens to be featured today. But, dig a little deeper beyond “My Son is Homeless” and find a treasure trove of stories on this free online magazine website, everything from health and love to weird and wild. All without ads!

Eight years ago Amir Soltani and Chihiro Wimbush began their crusade to document the lives of several homeless recyclers in West Oakland. If you have been following my blog, and especially my FaceBook page, you may be tired of seeing my posts begging you to watch the documentary, Dogtown Redemption. Just in case you haven’t seen it yet, the PBS broadcast will be online for only a couple more weeks. After that you can purchase a copy of it from the Dogtown Redemption website.

We can thank Amir for his dedicated and compassionate work with the homeless and Alliance Recycling. I owe much to Amir for giving me the courage to share my story and his encouragement to take it one step further with a memoir. It’s off to a good start but I’ll admit I’m currently muddling around with a muse who seems to have vanished. So for now I practice the habit inspired by my recent online writing class – 20 minutes a day – just get something down. Anything. The muse will return.

Meanwhile…

TOMORROW: Join the conversation on Alliance Metals, poverty and housing in Oakland — Stop Oakland’s War on Recycling Protest on TUES 7/19 at 4PM at Oakland City Hall.

The Nameless One

Truth is I experienced a moment of insanity shortly after Christmas. My heart ached for JJ during winter vacation. His friends were all out of town, Santa sent the wrong gifts, and on top of that he had to deal with the mingling of dysfunctional family personalities over holiday meals. Suddenly I had this great idea that a new kitten would bring moods of elation back into the house. And so we went on a kitten hunt.

Kittens are sparse in January. The youngest at our local shelter was six months old. “I want a kitten. One that will grow old with me,” JJ insisted. We called all the pet stores with adoption signs. No one had anything young than a year. I called a friend who works with feral cats. “We have three little black kitties just ready for adoption,” the lady said. She continued, “they are loving, sweet and feisty. Their mother abandoned them. You could take all three.”

We went to visit the lady. JJ fell for the runt kitten, a dainty little girl, a bit timid but warming up to him as we spoke. A week later we went back and picked her up. “What’s her name?” I asked. JJ didn’t respond.

We decided we would call her “the nameless one” until she developed a personality. We posted her kinky tailed photo on Facebook asking for suggestions. While they are all appropriate descriptions, none of them came near her personality traits. Shadow, Blacky, Smokey, Natasha, Cocoa, B&B, Ebony, Mystic, Smolder, Bitimunous, Amber, Cinnamon, Superwoman, Kinky. All good suggestions but she just didn’t answer to them.

From the picture above, one might want to name her Bright Eyes. But look a little closer. Look under the rocking chair she is so precariously clinging to. This is just one small piece of evidence that her name could be Destructo. Touring our house, I can come up with a few more – Shatter (broken glass), Litter Queen or Sh*t Disturber (thinking out of the box), Psycho (night terrors), Rug Rags (shredded carpet), Pensive (where have all my pens gone?), Curtains (shredded), Photo Bomber (see photo album), Infinity (the figure eights at my ankles to trip me), Xfinity (remote control), Disdress (closet alterations)… and the list goes on.

Maybe I’ll name her when she reaches the senility of Wanda cat. Notice I said “I’ll name her.” Yes, I have been granted guardianship of this cat that JJ no longer allows in his room. Thank God we didn’t take all three.

20 Minutes and Turkeys

Returning to California summer after eight days of tropical greenery and wide open beaches of Kauai shocks the body into reality. Temps reached 100 here today. It seems hotter than the humid 85 in Kauai. I long to plunge into the ocean. I’d settle for a pool which gives me second thoughts about the burial of our pool a few years ago.

The sunrise alarm of Kauai’s colorful roosters is replaced with these turkey youngsters outside my bedroom window calling for their mom. They spent the morning with cries of abandonment. Maybe mama turkey couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe she needed a morning off. Late morning we heard her call, far off down the hillside. I watched the young ones mindfully waddle down the driveway.

So why did I include “20 Minutes” in my title? Because the last four weeks I committed to the exercise of writing 20 minutes a day. Everyday but Sunday. I managed to do this in spite of an eight day vacation proving to myself that I can find 20 minutes out of 24 hours. Not always easy, and sometimes writing into the late hours, but the course is complete. I thank my instructor, Len, from Story Circle Network for offering this class. Len offers a binder full of lessons, generous feedback and gentle reminders. If you need inspiration, go there. Check it out. You won’t be disappointed.

I can’t promise 20 Minutes a day posted here. My priority is to finish the first draft of my memoir before Labor Day. But, you can be sure I will be writing 20 minutes a day somewhere.

I think I hear the turkeys calling. Later.

Beautiful Kauai

Contemplation

The View

Aloha and Mahalo

When JJ heard that grandma was going to Kauai again there was a tense moment of rebellion. “Why can’t I ever go with you?” he asked. Funny, children never remember when they have accompanied you on trips. I gently reminded him of our trip across country to Virginia to see Uncle Don and Aunt Bonnie. I pointed to the scrapbook from our Alaskan cruise. “But I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii,” he says, arms crossed. I assured him that his day would come.

Plans changed a bit. One of our friends couldn’t go and our hostess offered JJ the spot. Who could say no? We bought the tickets. And plans changed again. This time our friend said she worked it out and could now come on the trip. A bit of trepidation ensued when JJ found out he’d now be traveling with three grandmas. Eight days is a lot of time for a thirteen-year-old to hang with three old ladies.

We managed to pull it off. JJ got his own room high up in the loft. We got the run of downstairs. We wore him out each day – shopping, snorkeling, shopping, eating, shopping, snorkeling, traveling around the island, shopping, snorkeling, eating. We’d end the day with an hour in the swimming pool. JJ escaped to the loft for refuge and slept nearly ten hours each night. We are tough old ladies.

The biggest challenge was catering to his dietary whims – for the most part. He had a brief change of heart about diet once we sent him 1/2 mile up the street to Taco Bell for breakfast on a hot, humid morning and he returned with two cheeseburgers from Burger King because Taco Bell doesn’t open until 11am. Our explanation of Hawaiian time fell on deaf ears. Bubba Burger was 1/2 mile the other direction and that became the favorite fast food of choice. Next time he may eat what we eat. For the month of July he has agreed to thirty-one days of no fast food. We shall see.

Snorkeling was the highlight. With rented gear JJ had a quick snorkeling lesson in the pool and we were off to the beaches. First up was Lydgate Beach Park, an area with two enclosed ponds, perfect for beginners. For a kid who only had one two week swim lesson session in his entire life, JJ surprised us with his ability to outswim any of us. Snorkeling is now his favorite sport.

We moved on to Poipu where we returned three times. It was the best – except for one day – the day we crossed the sandbar to the adventurous side of the beach. Maybe a little too exhausted and heading back to shore, a huge wave plunged us over to the rocky area. A little banged up, JJ missing one fin and the snorkel gear, we bumped and scooted our way to shore, a big lesson to be learned. An expensive lesson.

Moala’a Bay was the favorite beach. I promised my friend I wouldn’t advertise this one. It’s mostly private, not so easy to get to, but the most beautiful beach we visited. While it was lovely to bask in the sun there, on this particular day, it was too risky to snorkel. We tried to follow the channel out to the reefs but wind and waves warned us not to proceed. Don’t go there 🙂

Did I mention we went shopping? I tried my best to fill up that extra thirteen pounds of space in my suitcase but bottom line, I added only five pounds to the suitcase, five pounds to my body and a weighted fistful of charge slips. Of course we absolutely needed everything we purchased. JJ caught on to the math quickly – one gift for grandpa – two gifts for us – one gift for daddy – two gifts for us – one gift for mommy – two gifts for us.

While it was the adventure of a lifetime for JJ, I think he is happy to be home cuddled up with his nameless cat. JJ survived eight days of three grandmas and questions their ability to agree on anything. We three old ladies survived the teenager the only way we knew how:

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