hope

"No, thank you," I said.  "Ice cream seems hopeful, and I don't have any hope."  He was eating some Trader Joe's chocolate ice cream, straight from the carton.

"We don't have the right flavor anyway," I added.  "I need anti-patriarchy flavor."

He poured some popcorn into a bowl for me at my request.

For lunch we stopped at Blinder's Burgers, my favorite vegan burger joint, right now.  It's near the hospital. 

There were thunderstorms, and we watched the rain pour down.

Leaving, the intersection was flooded, so we went the other way.

Home, I watched ice balls bounce on the ground.  They weren't round--they seemed irregular.  Like the sky was spitting ice chunks at us. 

"Oh, oh!" I said, running for the door, in my yellow summer dress.

Thunderstorms are a good mystery, for me.  I don't get why the sudden downpour with the thunder boom, why the hail.  But that's cool.  I can just enjoy it.

fail

I fed, I listened, I housed, I was patient with.  I waited.  I helped, I planned, I smiled, I offered.  I replied.  I asked, I cared.  I gave the benefit of the doubt.

I got used up.  I don't have more to give.  I can't solve any of the problems.  I'm hurt and burned out.

I took time for myself.  I rested and abstained.  I wrote letters because it was easier than talking.  I was tender.  For that I got judged and misunderstood.  My motives were assumed, incorrectly.

In a way, making him a sandwich was an honor.  He was hungry.  I had bread and other sandwich ingredients.  I loved him.  In a way, I liked that he was hungry and I made him a sandwich he ate and enjoyed.

But in another way, I'm a caring woman who makes a sandwich.  He's an elder man who likes to be served and is used to it.  He could have made it, but he didn't.

In the history of sandwiches, that wasn't a famous one.  But I remember it.  For him, it was probably nothing.  He got into his truck and drove away.

Or that oatmeal I made for another elder.  I put in raisins--he praised me later.  In a way, it was the least I could do.  He's done a lot, and he's old.  In a way, I liked serving him.

But in another way, well, he never made me oatmeal.  When does someone make me oatmeal?

My friend asked me to clean up breakfast dishes.  He had to go.  I looked into his eyes.  I said, "Okay."

I didn't want to clean up breakfast dishes.  I put a hundred burritos into large ziplocks.  I put away the butter, the cream cheese.  I moved dirty dishes into the sink.  I made decisions about salsa and closed up the cereal.  I put away the milk.

He said "I love you" when he went, and I felt an instant of glow.  That was my payment, maybe?  I had to clean up breakfast, but I got love.

But love isn't really like that, is it?  I think love is free.

Where's my wilderness shack.  I'm retiring.  It's time for me to be a hermit.  I tried really hard.  I give up.

I heard someone talk about emotional labor.  It struck a chord.  There's the sandwich--then there's the emotion behind the sandwich.  My worth, his expectation.  Gender, age, time.  It took three minutes.  But he will never, ever make me a sandwich.  Not if I begged, not if I was on my deathbed.

Well, things with Ming aren't like that--I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about my dad or grandpas or uncles, maybe, and the men who are like them.

There's a picture of me with my grandpa.  It was the last time I saw him, before he died.  We're standing by his roses, and he's holding one of his little dogs.  He looks like he's in pain.

I feel like we didn't know how to relate, but we were trying?  And the photo is proof we stood together for a minute.

The world feels bad today, and it all seems like a fail.  But Ming said maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.

Guest Blogger on Sacred Peace Walk 2019 Cleanup

The event that is called the Sacred Peace Walk 2019 has officially ended. The last walker left yesterday for her home and the final round of cleaning up from the event continues. Loads of blankets, sheets, pillowcases, and towels that needed to be laundered are being and have been washed and folded this past week. Stuff misputaway are being gathered for proper distribution of where they rightfully belong.

This year many volunteer hands helped lighten the cleaning load so much of the cleaning has been done, now just the final bits remain.

I am feeling happy with this year's activities. Successful.

Now life returning to normal.

oat straw, magnesium, dance workshop

This lady I like who knows stuff suggests oat straw for anxiety.  I also heard of magnesium helping.  So we bought some magnesium yesterday at the health food store.  But they didn't have oat straw.

This morning Ming called an herb store in town Herbally Grounded to ask if they had oat straw, and they said yes.  So Ming went and bought some for me.  Very impressed, a big bag was only three dollars, and it's organic.  What a deal.  Hope it helps.

Also we went to the dance workshop I've been looking forward to for a while.  Did not want to go.  I was napping, and Ming woke me up.  My energy was so low. 

But it was good to get hugs and dance.  I used to be embarrassed of stuff like that.  But life's way too short.  There were five of us.  Lots of people told me they were coming who didn't make it.  But maybe next time.

I wore my new blue dress.  It's comfy.

spring fever

Spring makes me crazy.  All the extra light. Warmth making my body feel different.  Plantlife going wild. 

Spring is too much.  Too many changes. So fluxy.  I asked Ming, are things going to change back?  He said he didn't know.

Long time ago I had really bad anxiety.  I was having multiple panic attacks per day.  I felt I wasn't going to last too long.  Then a rural health nurse put me on Paxil.  Suddenly I could live.  It was dramatic and strange.

Monday I had a panic attack.  Then yesterday I was panicking for hours.  Today I'm feeling better.  Taking it minute by minute.  Say a prayer for me.

remedy

Woke up from bad dreams about my upcoming endoscopy.  I would rather skip it.  "Can't we just have faith that my ulcer healed?" I asked Ming.

It bothers me that just because a procedure is possible, it becomes necessary.  Someone invented it.  It went from an idea to a possibility to a necessity.  I'm grateful to the people who think this stuff up.  And maybe my first endoscopy, when they put the four clips in to make the ulcer close, they saved my life?

But I feel like once is enough.  But it's complicated because of something else they saw, last endoscopy, that they didn't understand.  So they want another look.

Last time the drugs gave me that weird vision, and it was too much.  Things might be different this time since my health is better this time.  I'm not in the hospital.  I'm less anemic.

Well, I'm sorry to complain.  Lately I'm too anxious.  I thought I was done with that.  I want a remedy.

new tree

Planting a tree is like having a baby.  A hopeful act.

I see the new life in our courtyard and feel a little excited by its green.  I opted out of participating in its ceremony, but I know about it, and maybe it knows about me? 

Please live, little palo verde.

what happened, as spoken to Ming

I was standing outside, waiting for you, just kinda looking around.  Then I felt a feeling on my chest.  I didn't think much.  Then there was a "arrrgh!" and I felt it bite me.  So I went like this.  [motion of brushing off my chest] 

And I looked down, and I saw the bug on the ground.  But it didn't look like a bug--it looked like a rock.  It was a weird shape for a bug.  So I was looking at it, wondering if it was really the bug that bit me, and then I saw it stick out its wings. 

You know how a ladybug has wings, underneath its shell?  Transparent, thin, flimsy wings?  Well this bug had wings like that, and it stuck them out for just a second and pulled them back in.

I used to get bit by ladybug larvae all the time.  Back when I went to McKinley Park, there was a bench I sat on that had a lot of ladybug larvae sometimes. 

Why did they bite me?  I was just sitting there.  Maybe they were trying to see if I was good to eat?  Those assholes. 

Well, I guess ladybugs are good--they eat aphids.  They're cute, when they're adults.  Beetles are the diversity champions, you know.  I saw a graph.

Anyway, it was kind of emotional.  I think I killed it, when I brushed it off me.  I think it was sticking out its wings like, oh no, can I fly away?  I guess not--I'm dying.  Nevermind.

It was kind of too much for me.  Jeeze.  It's okay, Laura-Marie.  It's just a bug.

sprung

Yesterday was board meeting day.  But three people who would have been at the meeting were still in jail for the civil disobedience.  So things were chaotic.  They had a pre-trial video thing with a judge in the afternoon, and the judge wasn't going to let them go.  So we bailed them out, which was a headache.

Too much stress, social time, activity, emotion.  Too many things to do, too many physical objects to sort through and manage.  I feel burned out.  We got thanked a lot, but I know I'm doing too much.   Feel kind of disgusted with everyone and everything, including myself. 

Yesterday I was talking to two people in the courtyard and said some critical things about the Catholic Worker that I regretted afterward.  Not that I was wrong or unkind exactly, more than I didn't like the person I was when I said them. 

It makes me want to never talk at all.  I kinda used to be like that.  Not really talking.

One Walker decided to stay an extra week.  No discussion, no permission asked.  He watches tv in the back house for hours, naps in the armchair.  It's not really ok. 

Another person arrived today and asked to stay a week, unrelated to the event.  I couldn't say no.  But the longer people are here, the harder it is for me.  I need my life to return to normal.  When I was talking to Ming about it, he said, "We're not a hotel."  It's true but I'm horrible at setting boundaries sometimes, and I'm thinking I'll just keep hiding out.

I feel confused and kind of lost.  Upset about my friend who was beaten by a cop and arrested.  Worried about another friend who has a kidney infection.  Also it feels awkward to love so much these friends who I've known only a few years.  I feel kind of unmoored. 

It used to be it look me so long to make friends.  Now I have a ton of friends, and I can't be there very well for everyone.  Also, it feels uncomfortable, not knowing basic facts about someone I feel close to.  I forget where people are from, for example.  That bothers me.  How could I keep track of it all? I'd need a spreadsheet.

Well, I've been up for an hour.  I need sleep, but the fitful dreams are so bad.  Ming was sleeping very quietly, and it was freaking me out.  Usually he snores.

Lots of funny things I forget to tell you.  For whatever reason, too tired to write them down. 

At 10pm four friends were finally released from jail.  Ming was calling the adult children of a friend who was in jail to update them and called the wife of another.  Txted our friend with the kidney infection and offered to give her a ride back to the hospital.  Her fever is too much.

The neighborhood mockingbird is singing, so comforting. 

I like when it's been a hard night and then I finally wake up with light streaming through the window.  I say to myself, oh, it's finally morning--I can get up.

viva the revolution

We went to Walmart--that's the pharmacy we use.  It's nearby.  I waited in line to pick up some pills.  But there was a problem.  Their computers were down.  No one could get their medication.

"Is this the end of civilization?" I asked Ming.

"Yeah, everything is going according to plan," he said.

"Great," I said, uncomfortable.

I wanted to get some bananas while we were there.  We walked from the pharmacy area to the grocery area.  There were huge long lines at all the open registers.  The customers looked impatient.

"I think there's going to be a riot at Walmart," I said.

"We should get out of here before they lock the doors," Ming said.

There was an announcement.  We paused to carefully listen.  Customers with 15 items or less could pay in the liquor store.

Of course we had never been in the liquor store.  So that was a little adventure.

Also in the news, seems the minivan's transmission is dying again.  And I had my first panic attack in a long time this morning.  It was uncomfortable.

racism is real

I have a young activist friend I love.  On facebook today I saw his post he was beaten and arrested by a cop--he said it was for obstruction and that he didn't do anything wrong or fight back.  His parents bailed him out.  He showed photos of his wounds.

I feel sad.  This friend is sensitive and brilliant.  He has a radio show.  He learns languages and draws pictures.  He pontificates on anarchy and current events and identity politics.  I wonder how this will change him.

I know it's racist.  My friend is half-Black.  When white friends are arrested, I see how they're treated, and when Black friends are arrested, I see how they're treated.

I feel sorry my country failed my friend.  I feel sorry about racism and slavery and history.  I feel sorry about police behavior and what they get away with.  I'm busy with peace work and radical mental health and zines and poetry.  But I feel sorry I haven't done enough against racism.

He was just here--he cooked vegan tortilla soup for the Sacred Peace Walkers on Sunday.  I brought him ingredients in Freedom House and watched him squeeze a lime over the pot.  I remember thinking how creative he is and how a brilliant person can be smart about many things and make good soup.

I think he might try to sue or find some kind of justice.  I want to contribute money, but that feels lazy.  I know police hurt people of color all the time.  I feel stupid that I feel more when it's my friend.  But I guess that's human.

Not sure what to do.  But this is a blog post about it. 

If you knew him, you might cry.  He's a miracle.  Not deserving the slightest disrespect, let alone to be beaten then caged.  My prayers are with him, but I don't want to pray only.  Let me know if you have any ideas.

burnout

The swamp cooler sounds bad, like there's a problem with a belt, so Ming turned it off.  I'm uncomfortable and unhappy.  Up in the night.

Zillions of things to do.  I was haphazard.  What a mess.  There's no good place to look.

Ming is chipping away at the mountain of dishes.  It seems to take forever.

The mats are still at the church, which looks bad.  The administrator doesn't answer our emails or calls.  So we're just going to show up before church on Easter Sunday and load up the minivan. 

I feel upset it's come to this.  I was supposed to have a sabbath.  Maybe someone else can go with Ming.  Just thinking about it is too much.

I asked someone for help.  He said he was busy.  Of course--tomorrow's Easter.  I wanted to say, yeah, I'm busy too, but I'm doing it anyway. 

I'm sacrificing myself for a relationship between the church and the non-profit.  Why am I doing that?  I'm thinking of the greater good and the future.  It hurts, not to take care of myself, but the alternative hurts more.

We need to buy a new landline phone.  We have two broken ones.  The arrested people wrote the landline's number in sharpie on their arms beforehand.

Get rid of two broken phones, buy a new phone, return this working phone we borrowed to the Catholic Worker.  Just those three things are too much.  There are a zillion other tasks too.

I feel like the things to do are endless and killing me.   I guess this is burnout.

I need privacy, quiet, and solitude.  I need sleep.  I need a good place to be.  I need a clean kitchen so I can cook and feed myself decently.  I need the energy to take a shower and wash my hair.  I need a working swamp cooler.  It's supposed to hit 96 on Thursday.

I'm not getting up on the roof.  Seems like swamp coolers are always broken, like they're a project.  I feel like giving up.

"What can heal me?" I asked Ming as he fell asleep.  He answered something in sleep language.  I'd like to sing myself well again.  I don't want anyone to hear me singing, though.

The dishwasher is whooshing, and I wonder if I could sleep again.  There's not enough help in this world.

my earnest request

Please never buy me unsalted butter again.

happy anniversary to my beautiful love

You know I'm really fastidious.  So I can see why I get upset when others are not.  Leaving out foods that belong in the fridge or on ice.  Chitchat when things need to be put away.  Questions unanswered--do they think I'm asking questions for my health?  Kitchens left a serious mess for the next persons.

Maybe another name for fastidious is "stick up the butt."  As in, "Laura-Marie has a stick up her butt."  Do I really want that to be my legacy?

No, I'd rather joy.  But there's no song in my heart at the moment.  I feel beaten down by life.  I have no balance between work and play.  Feeding 55 people is no joke.

This morning my friend gave me and Ming a beautiful card.  There's art depicting dogwood flowers.  That's a very tippytop favorite flower of mine. 

I remember dogwood trees blooming in the redwood forest, those white flowers so perfect and strange with the little notch in the petals.

They bought too much spinach too early.  Before, we were expecting 80.  So we didn't go through as much spinach as expected.  It's getting withered or slimy, slightly yellow.  I could go through and pick out the good leaves.

But I'm so tired.  My back, my brain, my heart.  My feet.  My legs that ache.  My mind and its plans.  My soul and its feelings.  I've felt everything, lately.

Today, our anniversary, I kinda wish Ming and I could go off and soak in the hot springs, relax, whisper about the past and the future. 

Instead, we were up before 5am.  I was tasked with waking up a Walker at 5:30.  I was afraid I would scare her dog and the dog would bite me.

"Do you want me to wake her?  I'm not afraid of the dog," Ming said.

"You're wearing boots.  And you're not afraid to hurt a dog.  I'm afraid to hurt a dog," I said.

We saw some Walkers off.  We got lunch stuff ready, but I'm afraid they forgot the silverware.

It feels fitting that Ming is serving others and will walk a couple hours in the desert, if all goes according to plan.  I bless him to do what he needs to do, and he'll come home around 4:30pm.  We can have some kind of date.

And hopefully we have at least 30 more years ahead of us, together.  He's 52, but his family members get to be old, so maybe longer.

I'm thinking about that future and feeling optimistic.  Also, I remember one night long ago.  We were in Las Vegas and there was an open mic.  We braided each other's hair in the kitchen and went out, holding hands.

Lately there's not enough comfort, for me.  The vegan burgers are so lovely and relaxing, to know I didn't hurt any animals with my meal, though of course, suffering is everywhere--maybe the farmworkers were exploited, transporting foods caused pollution, or a family of mice was destroyed by the plow.  Probably all three.

Well, we can do our best.

Thank you to Ming, to Johnnie for marrying us, to all the Sacred Peace Walkers for their love and support, to the desert itself, to the land itself, the sky, the secret cloud.

cat-astrophe

It's time to relax, but I'm having trouble getting my mind off things I need to do.  I washed some radishes and cut them into quarters for tomorrow's lunch.  I put some sheets and towels to wash.  I called and emailed and txted people to logisticate.  I made schedules for tomorrow and Friday.

I want some comfort.  I've been eating too much sugar, or more than usual.  I've been taking naps.

Last night someone expressed surprise that we were willing to pick her up at 6am.  People don't understand that during Sacred Peace Walk time, sleep goes out the window.

"So does common sense," Ming says.  It's temporary.  But I wish it was over, when it's over.  We have a board meeting Easter Monday.

What was that thing I was going to tell you.  Oh, I told some Sacred Peace Walkers a few days ago that the black cat is Rainbow.  And the huge orange cat is Catastrophe.  Hours later I heard a Walker tell another Walker that the cats were Rainbow and Disaster.  I guess they didn't get the pun.

Here's my friend Senji with Catastrophe.

alone

Yesterday I felt like giving up.  It can feel like swimming upstream, maintaining a good attitude about how weird I am.  It can be hard having different needs and getting misunderstood all the time.  Misread motivations.  I felt done with people.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hermit.  I daydreamed about living alone on a green hill in a small wooden shack.  I think in this daydream I was kind of a man--I had never heard of a lady hermit.

I really wanted to be alone.  Later I saw part of a kung fu movie and saw a man living alone in a shack, and it seemed deliciously familiar to me, although I am not a kung fu master.  A simple life, quiet, me and the wind.

Where did my fantasy disappear to?  I have too many friends now, spread thin, and people come and go all the time.  But secretly I have another life inside me, the imagined life.

We picked someone up last night.  We were given the wrong address.  I knew it was wrong too because I told Ming googlemaps was showing the dot in the middle of the street.  The address did not exist.

When we finally found him, the guy smelled strongly of weed, and I was annoyed.  If you're too high to txt your correct address or have a proper conversation with Ming about directions to your apartment, maybe you shouldn't get so high.

Being lost and all that added a lot of time to our trip.  So this morning, up at 4, I would ask my body to do things, and it wouldn't obey.  "You haven't taken care of me, so I won't do what you say," my body told me.

Luckily helpers came at 9.  They did a lot of work, making vegan sandwiches, dicing avocados, carrying stuff, washing celery and carrots. 

I entrusted some cute little pink scissors to my friend K and asked her to snip open the packages right before lunchtime.  I also entrusted her with the gluten-free bread.

I still feel like giving up.  But I never give up.  I'll rest.  Later when Ming returns, we need to shop again with the donated Walmart cards, ingredients for the vegan risotto a new walker is cooking tomorrow in the Goddess Temple guesthouse.

"Just bear with me, about this," I told Ming.  I'm single-minded about replenishing the snack boxes.  In past years I didn't do well with that, so I'm obsessed with doing well now.  And bringing out toilet paper for the portapotties.  And do they have enough whatever.

"I'm done being a person," I told Ming.  "I tried really hard for 42 years, and it didn't work out."  He was falling asleep.  But when I woke up in the morning, I was still a person.

outlier

My overwhelming feeling is: all my hard work preparing is paying off.  All that scheduling, listmaking, delegating, asking for help.

Yesterday I told my friend--asking for help is a job in itself.  I messaged and emailed around fifteen people, just asking them to be building monitors at the UU church.  There was some back-and-forth.

"People think help magically appears.  That only happens in fairy tales," I told Ming.  We were lying on mats in a nursery.  I was looking at the paintings on the walls, thinking of a witch who would appear in disguise, or those ants who sorted something overnight for a worthy girl.

There was a thing telling the kids to vote.  I thought that was weird because they have to wait a decade.

Also, I realized that in previous years, I would feel guilty for hiding out.  I would force myself to be social when I needed to be alone, which would have really bad consequences for me. 

Now I know how to take care of myself and honor who I am.  I still feel guilty, but that doesn't stop me, now.

It's hard having my behavior misinterpreted.  Yesterday morning a lady jacked up on speed or coffee or having a manic episode maybe saw me standing outside by the door, just thinking.  She called my name and asked, "Are you ok?" in a way that felt weird. 

I said, "It's ok, not to be ok."

It's hard for me to act normal--people always want others to act normal.  And I can't be social for very long.  People think I'm lazy or conceited or whatever they think.  Who really cares.

channel islands

We slept at the church.  The mat hurt my back.  While I slept, pain crept up in my upper back till I had to get up.  Then when I got up, my lower back hurt.  So I was down and up.

This morning, I start the beans.  People come to help me around 10.  They'll make salad.  Put toppings into plastic boxes.

I was talking about the channel islands, how Anacapa is three islands or one, depending on the tide.  Dolphins coming to the boat, a whale and her baby.  The lady I spoke with didn't even know about them.  They are a highlight of my life.

o life, banana boxes, judging judgers

If you leave bananas in a banana box, in their plastic bags, they get wet.  I guess they're living things, so they breathe or somehow, I dunno, water comes out.

So I think it's good to unpack them.

I'm trying to center this morning.  I'm trying to be ok--ok with people, our pettiness, our self-important crap.  Our arrogant, hurtful shit.

There's so much tenderness.  Then there's coldness, cruelty.  Pain of being judged.

Well, I judge.  So here I am, judging the judgers.

I slept half the night without Ming.  He was building monitor at the church from midnight to 7am.  I did fine.  I dreamt of...eggs for sale from a farm, many colors of eggs. a mountain lion idea. weirdly overly-ornate bathroom no one was using. store with too much religious propaganda in it.

I'm hiding out as much as I can.  Maybe tomorrow will be the hardest day. 

I keep telling myself: in a week and a half, all this will be over.  I think of it like getting my life back.  But this is life too.

Sacred Peace Walk time begins: warm cabbage juice

My friend brought me fresh cabbage juice.  She cured her ulcer that way.  Juicing cabbages.  A cabbage head a day.

It's sweeter and spicier than I expected.  The cruciferous veg are my humble loves.

The Walkers are arriving.  People in the courtyard are talking about religion.  I was hiding out.  I met someone.  I hugged people I barely know.  I hugged people I didn't know.

Made a phone call, made a list.  Made another phone call.

My friend replaced our bedroom door handle.  It had been janky for a long time.  I feel really grateful.

It was stormy-cloudy then rained--wet sidewalk, wet dirt.  Now it's sunny and windy.

My energy is leaving me, social energy.  Just listening to them talk about gas stations, editing videos, poison burritos.  Just the sounds of their voices.

My friend likes the aloe flowers as they bloom in the courtyard.  I listen, I react, I thank.  I thank and thank.

uncomforting things

me:  My seatbelt is engaged.  I don't know who would marry a seatbelt...

Ming:  Someone strapped for attention.


---

me:  You people who need foods to be a certain temperature--you know what you are?  You're wimpy!

Ming:  You people who don't need foods to be a certain temperature--you know what you are?

me:  Tough?  Awesome?  Cool?

Ming:  No.

me:  What are we?  Tell me!  Say it!

Ming explained how when people are abused, they learn to eat their food at any temperature, getting yelled at, waiting as they get yelled at, and then they're still hungry, so they eat the food cold.  It was a sad explanation.  I wish he wasn't right.

It was kind of a strange morning.  At Costco we bought two carts full of foods for the Sacred Peace Walkers.  Lots of snacks for the snack boxes--nuts, granola bars, craisins, cookies.  Some juice.  Lots of breakfast ingredients--tons of tortillas, five gallons of salsa, dozens of eggs, 50 pounds of potatoes, 30 pounds of onions...

I'm wearing my new dress.  My friend was drunk and over-joked with me about wanting Ming to go away.  I guess I look extra-hot when he's drunk.  It was uncomfortable.  I've had enough of placating, avoiding, and putting up with drunk men for one lifetime.  Jeeze.

I told Ming, it almost makes me want to go back to wearing jeans every day.  I wear a dress for fun.

Now Ming is gone to the Goddess Temple with our friend to do some spring cleaning.  I want to rest.  But I'm actually planning, emailing, making lists.  Moving things around.

I opened a box of Wheat Thins.  One of the bags inside was totally open on the bottom, so when I pulled it out, crackers went everywhere.  I should sweep.

I bought some beef jerky.  I told my friend, I never bought beef jerky in my life.  I thought it would be a nice treat for the complainy omnivores around Thursday.  But it was expensive, maybe a luxury item, and I shouldn't have.

Life's strange.  I want a hug.  It's fly season again.  One got in and is making imaginary shapes in the air with its kitchen flight.  Different flies want different things.  Some stay mid-room.  Some buzz frantically at the windows.  Some bother you.

I want to go out for vegan hamburgers, so deliciously comforting, and sit with Ming at a table, just me and him.  But it's not time for that. 

I want a lot of comfort.  What's comforting, in this world.  I have a list of comforting things I wrote down in my journal.  At least the wind died down.

night

I think my sense of smell is coming back.  When I was in the hospital, it went away, no idea why.  Now I get a whiff of things at times and feel excited.  Smell is an important part of life.

My eyes hurt and they're itchy.  I resent allergies.  Is it pollution?  I resent that I'm supposed to fork over tons of bucks for allergy meds.  I tried two last year.  I hate pills.

I ate some delicious grapes very dark purple.  They tasted great.  I'm too tired to cook anything.  I shopped till I dropped, for the Sacred Peace Walk--five different stores today.  R gets gift cards donated, so I have to figure out what's best to get where and try to use the cards in a smart way.

Well, I feel like the pain in my eyes is telling me to go to bed.  I was supposed to have dinner with friends, but it would have been abusing myself.  I'm out of energy.  Social energy is the hardest, for me.

I made a schedule for the next few days, what I'm doing when.  Gnight, everyone.

all we want is total freedom

I like the way doing something can teach me things that carry over to when I'm not doing the thing.  Like meditation taught me to access a quiet place inside me I didn't know was there, and I can visit now and then, even when I'm not meditating.

Also now celebrating the sabbath once a week, it taught me something too, a new mode of being, and I can slip into it on a non-sabbath day also.  Feels great.

Then again, there can be bad lessons from bad times also.  How being abused taught me lots of wretched things that were not true.  I have to keep unlearning them intentionally.  It's a job.

Being depressed also can teach someone bad behaviors, habits, ideas.  I've been there.  Gotta shine some sunshine onto those sad places and try to lighten it up.

We put up some new art that's nourishing my soul.  Here's some of it.  What do you think?  I find it delightful.

Also yesterday we went to Red Rock with our new friend who had never been there before.  I liked seeing the scrubby oak trees.  Ming put an acorn cap on my head for a hat.  I looked at manzanita with its beautiful red wood, touched a thick leaf.  Appreciated this juniper I stood beside.

Do I look younger?  Something seemed odd about this picture, a new attitude maybe.

I wanna go to this place and just sit on a bench for an hour.  If only there weren't all those tours.  Twenty people show up on their scooters and the tourguide talks and they leave.

We ordered new teeshirts also, took a chance on a weird color combination, and I think it's nice.

Finally, while I'm posting pics, here's my favorite sticker which I pissed off an old man by talking about, on Sunday.  He believes in the system.  Anarchy excites me and motivates me, and if it's ridiculous, that doesn't keep it from being wonderful.  Pic by Ming!

vibrant

"Sometimes I try on other people's perceptions of me.  Like a little kid trying on too-big dress-up clothes," I told Ming.

"I never did that," Ming said.

"I've seen kids do it," I said.  "Like D's, or G's, or my mom's, or someone who doesn't like me.  All those opinions, they're not me.  What am I?  What I am is a mystery, right?  Unfathomable.  I don't even know what I am."

We were driving home from radical mental health.  I was dazzled by a bike event at a bar where we parked while Ming picked up a pizza from our favorite pizza place.  Bikes everywhere, hundred of them, bikes lit up with Christmas lights, bike riders wearing black vests covered in patches.  I laughed, delighted by the sea of bikes.

It had been a good meeting--good moods, kindness, nice balance.  Our friend facilitated the second half, a welcome break for me, and he did a good job.  It amazes me, the smart, stimulating things people say.

I'm thinking how much I enjoy when people talk about the things that matter most.  How we really feel, what most want, our fears, our needs, what we think about ourselves, what's worked for us.

There we are, ten vibrant people, including the mystery man holding the camera.

art

hard work

We went to the farmers market this morning on our way to visit our friend and her baby.

We ended up buying some art from a vendor there.  He told us the stories of making the art.  I gave him an apple-tasting zine, and he hugged us solemnly.

He told me the last zine I gave him, he felt a lot of feelings reading it.  He said he would go traveling by himself, just him and his backpack, and have lots of sad times.  I was surprised because usually I hear about people being so happy when they travel.

But I remember when Ming and I went to Canada, it was hard work.  There were painful moments--getting scolded by a mean mother on a crowded bus, being expected to act super social with couchsurfing hosts, being shamed for needing rest.  Not to mention the border crossings, detained and questioned separately, car searched.

Well, I freaked out yesterday.  I was overwhelmed, preparing for our big event.  There's too much stuff in our house, and then the event means bringing more in--lots of food, coolers, cambros, paper towels, trash bags...

People arrived to drop something off, I thought, but then one wanted to stay the night.  He was very social, and his need to talk didn't match my need to rest and be quiet.  I was bad at setting boundaries.  He walked into our kitchen.  I listened and sympathized, but I could feel the tiny amount of energy I had slipping away.

It's a windy night.  The windchimes are banging out there.  I cleaned off the left side of my desk and dusted.  Moved some empty jars away.

Wish us luck.  There are the problems, then a painful way of reacting to problems.  I wish I could be more calm sometimes, but I'm only human.  We're working on it.

changing

Things are changing.  While one community member took another to radiation, a third community member was carrying a shovel around the courtyard, doing some kind of work with the earth, I guess. 

A while back I saw him throwing rocks into the trees, which I considered bad behavior.  I'm guessing he didn't like the bird poop on the courtyard's sidewalk.

A community member leaves this weekend, moving to Arizona.  She was here less than a year.  She's a hard worker and will be missed.

And a community member has a new girlfriend.  She just quit her full-time job and is now over here all the time. 

It's a lot to get used to.  I take changes to who I'm living with really hard.  It takes a long time for me to adjust, and there's no willing my adjustment to go faster.

Not that the person leaving is a problem, or the new girlfriend's arrival.  It's all ok.  But I have to sit with it.  Nothing to solve here.  I just need to let it sink in.

Laura-Marie on National Parks

Weird what people go to National Parks for--athletic self-proving, maybe--I just wanna go off-trail, sit on a rock, and look at a bush for 20 minutes.  I'm looking for God everywhere.  I want a spiritual experience and plenty of postcards.

garden dreams

Ming left early for Creech to see the action--our friends are peace vigiling there.  If anyone gets arrested, Ming and I are doing jail support all night, picking people up when they're released and taking them to our house to rest in the lounge.

A mockingbird has been keeping me company since 5:30am.  I need to write some letters and call a doctor.  I'm grateful for what I hope will be an easy day.

I need some rest after the Joshua Tree trip.  But the house looks terrible.  It gets temporarily messier when we come home from a trip, as the stuff Ming unloads from the minivan is all over the place.

I bought some seeds online: borage, okra, fava beans, parsley.  Didn't realize I was buying big packets.  After the Sacred Peace Walk, we'll plant them.

Joshua Tree Zine Fest 2019

It was a really great zine fest--nice people, lots of variety, great music, amazing venue!  Who ever thought of doing a zine fest off-grid out in the desert, and who ever knew it would work.  Wow.

A problem was the lack of shade.  I lucked out, being positioned by the Border Kindness canopy, but almost everyone there was overexposed.  Tons of sunburnt people and dehydrated people.  I don't mean a one hour sunburn--I mean a seven hour sunburn.  That was a bad idea.

Strangely, to the side on the ground was a pile of white tarp rolled up, like they had the tent material, but something went wrong with setting it up.

No apologies, no explanations.  Also, after we got there it took a while to find an organizer to check in with.

My table-neighbor was very nice, and I didn't mind hearing him talk about his new zine comparing the artwork and bios of several serial killers, but he was drinking beer the whole time and spilled Budweiser on my table half three times.  Ming says the table-neighbor got beer on a copy of Lost Child, which is highly ironic.

One of the musicians wore a disturbing straw mask while playing his strange electric lute?  He also had a wide water bottle with coins in it that he shook around to make a sound.  It was desert music.  I think his name was Sorcerer Family.

I lasted till 5 then shook hands / hugged with some people I met and retired to the minivan where I took a selfie.  I think I look pretty, slightly sunburnt in my favorite space dress.  It gets more compliments than all the other clothes I've ever owned combined.

I relaxed and txted with Mom and some friends, feeling so happy to have survived the fest, glad we did it, and grateful for my life, zines, and Ming.

Ming tabled for another 45 minutes then packed us up and drove us to Indio where our hotel was.  Indio wasn't what I expected at all.  The Thai restaurant our hotel desk person suggested was $15 a plate minimum.  We were so hungry--we'd gone without lunch, as there were no vegan taco trucks at the fest as hoped for / imagined.

We ended up at a slightly less expensive pho place for dinner, getting veggie pho that was not very good really.  The tofu portion was tiny and broth was not that flavorful--needed some ginger and lemongrass maybe.

My good mood vanished halfway through dinner.  I was suddenly overtired.  We finished, paid, and went back to our hotel, where I slept fitfully with bad dreams, but Ming was comforting and nice.

Turns out that hotel room fridge had four unopened beers in it, and Ming found a plastic bag in the nightstand with someone's personal belongings they had left behind.  Yuck.  Ming didn't like it, saying he wants a hotel room not to have the previous occupant's stuff in it still.

Then this morning we decided to go home by way of Lake Havasu because my friend in England asked if we would take a picture of the London Bridge for him.  It sounded fun.

So we went back by Joshua Tree National Park, stopped in the park for another look at wildflowers and some more postcards.  Ming hiked a little also.

There's a flower in bloom that I was calling ghost flower because it has that weird translucent look, and we read in a wildflower guide that its actual common name is ghost flower.  Hmm.  That was a special moment.

I took a picture of Ming with a flowery hill behind him.  Wow, how beautiful.

Now we're in Needles again.  Ming is out buying us dinner.  Tomorrow we return to Vegas and dive back into regular life and Sacred Peace Walk preparations.  Can we stay here?

I learned the desert is bigger than I thought it was.  We drove a long time and were still in the desert.

Ming and I talked a lot as he drove.  I was telling him how if I ever have to go back in the hospital again, I'll do things differently.  For example, I'll go for little walks in the halls.  I was overwhelmed last time and didn't understand that walking around a little might really improve my recovery time.

At the fest itself, I learned that nobody seems to care about apple tasting, the zine or the activity.  That zine is so little, pretty, and green, and the ideas and words are so sweet.  But nobody wanted it.  The poetry also--nobody cared a bit about it.  Lost Child was neglected.

Not sure what my plan is.  Etsy is annoying, now more than ever.  Fests are a lot of work and we don't break even, considering travel.  I can give my zines to family and friends in person and through the mail.  But it's expensive to copy them, and postage.

Zine life is good, but I can see why people give up and blog.  Oh wait, I do both.  I was telling my friend how I don't get writer's block--she asked how I deal with writer's block.  When you never stop writing, the pump doesn't get rusty.

We'll see if Ming and I make it again next year, if we even get accepted again, if we apply again, but maybe we should bring our own popup.  The end.