Longing . . . . Yearning . . . .

I have a deeper, brighter line of demarcation in my life than most, or maybe it simply seems that way to me because I have a starring role in the drama. Nearly everything about me can be categorized as "before" or "after", for everything truly changed that much.

"Before" was childhood and youth, a long marriage, finally a child, the long career, my work life ending when I was 46, because I could do that. I thought I had the future planned quite well. OK, so the marriage wasn't sparkly and I didn't know what to do with myself if I was no longer defined by that career, but I decided I could hang in for a lifetime despite all that. The child was a nice reward to stay for. Ex already had squatters' rights in our home because he'd stopped working before I did. We were trapped in our home together all day, every day unless we looked for a purpose to get out somewhere. It took about four years for those walls to reach their maximum capacity, barely containing emotions building and unresolved for 30 years.

"After" is not yet fully defined, as I am still living this life. It's a work not yet completed. "After" has contained some of the highest highs and the lowest lows I will ever know. I'll keep you posted, interested reader.

"After" has included a man I knew from "before", but didn't know for 30 years. Our process of becoming reacquainted included, of course, the telling of the things we loved or disliked, the interests that caught our attention, the things we now knew how to do. "Do you remember the disco era?" We both hated that! "I converted to Judaism. My daughter was bat mitzvahed and worked in Israel." Wow! I came to "after" very well-traveled in Europe, Mexico, Egypt and on the world's cold and warm oceans. I could rightly be called an ocean person. He spoke compellingly of his love of the desert - photographing it, camping primitively in it. I knew nothing of the desert and was, in fact, just a little afraid of it. I'd driven through it all my life to one destination or another. It was pretty dull. Brown, hot, huge. But I was interested in him and if he was interested in the desert, then I'd check it out. "So, will you teach me about it and show me what you love?"

I have many wonderful desert adventures to share and beautiful photographs to punch up the stories. I will begin to share those soon, but this post is meant to be more general in nature. On the first camping trip, he uttered not one disapproving word about my four duffels and backpacks teeming with way too many, completely inappropriate clothes for desert camping. He didn't raise his eyebrows over my bringing shampoo and conditioner and hair wax. At least I didn't bring the blow dryer. Although friend Janne had taken me to Big Five to get boots, they weren't quite right either. But I didn't know that for a long time, because he was not critical.

When we rose up out of the deep gorge from our hike on an early outing, the wind was screaming. He was in the lead. He reached the top of the trail, where one's head pops above ground level like a gopher peeping out of its hole. "Oh, my god, our tent has blown away!" Well, he's known for his sense of humor and ironic wit. I know when he's funning me. "Ha! You can't fool this city girl!" It had. Despite being anchored by my four bags and his meager duffel full of necessities, that purple dome tent had had its stakes torn from the ground and had rolled seemingly half way across the Mojave.


It took just the one time to snare me. Emerging from the car into the dark, starlit night as we arrived, I said something I've never failed to repeat on any desert trip: "Listen to the quiet!" I learned to love the hiss of the lanterns. I reveled in the conversation and laughter and a shared cocktail in the campsite before ending our day in the tent, sometimes freezing and sometimes roasting, but always preferring to be right there, rather than anywhere else. During the months that are acceptable for camping in the Mojave - about October through May - we went out a couple of weekends per month. For years. Although we celebrate winter solstice rather than "Christmas", we have enjoyed our holiday dinner "out there" more than once. I could rightly be called a desert person.

Fast forward: nothing remains the same forever. Other interests take priority. Work schedules must be considered. One has to decide what one will spend free time doing. Cycling races took over the number one spot. If you care about someone, you support their endeavors and I have been willing to sacrifice some camping opportunities for some cycling races. The odd, rare campout has been enjoyed from time to time.

But now it's truly and officially fall. The last cycling race is in sight. I read something on his blog that said, while he has had such a racing season he can hardly believe it, he aches to be out in the starlight. I wish he'd said "eager" or "anticipate". "Ache" rather tore me up. I sent an e-mail to concur that it is time to camp. I used words like "longing" and "yearning". They are my truth. I named places like Paiute Gorge and Cow Cove. He came back with "Ibex Dunes". For I need to wake up to the sound of the coyotes and drink the good coffee dripped through the Melitta filter. I pine for the long hike in the sun, whether I am bundled up in a parka or wearing as little as possible. I am starved for the little treasures one locates on the desert floor - from shiny rocks to live little lizards, old mining tools . . . it doesn't matter the details. It's all good. I desire to scramble up the rock pile and find still more, previously undetected petroglyphs and pictographs.

I've had a difficult change of season from summer to fall this year. I almost thought I had some version of Seasonal Affective Disorder as I've been quiet, "down", moony. I don't sleep and I can't write and I can't "get right". I spy the "Not Available to Work" calendar on the wall in the office, and Limes' name appears nowhere.

Yesterday I read a comment on a blog I follow. I immediately confess that these are not my own words, but they struck me in my heart and gut. She wrote: "I long for something I cannot even name." My eyes filled with tears. I long, too. And soon we shall go camping.


All photo credits: J. D. Morehouse

In my ears right now: Bob Seger - Against the Wind. The lunatic wind right now is sucking my office steel and glass double doors open and shut, open and shut. A gust was clocked at 72 mph in Red Rock last night. The Badger is riding up in it now, though it's calmer than it was in the night. Virginia Woolf and I trembled in our bed as the wind screamed. Dylan is too aloof to care about such things.

Something that charmed me: On that first camping trip a comment was shared. "I love my little camping table and my lantern." I grew to love them, too.

Try It, You'll Like It!

Ex and I lived in a 4-square mile city that incorporated the year we married. This city is the donut hole completely encircled by the San Diego metropolis. Oddly, however, the place feels like Nebraska or Wisconsin or Idaho. One has no sense of living near the urban sprawl or of being 7 miles from the ocean. It just has a different feel and we liked it. Amber has never lived at an address that is not located within this city.

I was really active in the local Soroptimist International organization for a number of years. Despite the large number of prominent old goats in my former city, despite their thinking they run the community, it really is a matriarchy. The women rule in Soroptimist, Friends of the Library, Kiwanis and Rotary, the Chamber of Commerce and Concerts in the Park.

My friend Janne and I crossed paths many times a day in these different pursuits and at Soroptimist we were kind of the go-to girls. We were the up-and-comers, as a lot of the Soroptimists were 70+ and slowing down. That was OK with us. We were in our 40s, feeling strong, creative and brilliant.

This was a time during which Amber was closely watching me - watching how I do things. Learning to be a woman, an adult, a do-er. She came to a lot of events other people did not bring their children to, but Amber went where I took her. She didn't cause anyone any grief and she's a well-rounded, successful, accomplishing person today because she was taken out into the world and shown how people do things.

Our Soroptimist group had a sister club in Osaka, Japan, and we interacted with those good women often. It happened that the president of their club was coming to the San Diego, so our group organized a fancy tea and reception. It was decided that Janne and I would then give the lady a San Diego tour, take her out to eat, and show our hospitality. Amber quickly joined in the mix - there was room for one more in the car. And, by the way, the lady spoke no English.

The day arrived. Janne, Amber and I had actually rehearsed our tour stops, scripts and how we'd pantomime to the lady what we were showing her. We'd printed things off the 'net and bought postcards and mementoes to present to her. The three of us would take turns presenting so the lady didn't have to hear the same person speaking a language she didn't understand.

At the tea, everyone was bright and chirpy. Gifts were exchanged from club to club. Photos were taken. Lots of smiles and blushes as everyone attempted to communicate. Amber's eyes were saucers as she took it all in.

We toured for about 4 hours, ending up at Old Town, because where the else would you take a visitor from Japan to dine on authentic Mexican cuisine? Here is where the original settlement of San Diego was established in 1769. There are wonderful cantinas and shops filled with colorful wares, as well as historic buildings, mariachi music and dancers. We waited a long time and were finally seated at a sunny table. Janne ordered margaritas and Amber had her first virgin margarita. Clearly our Japanese friend enjoyed the margaritas. She tentatively tried the chips and salsa - she didn't turn cartwheels, but she ate more than one.I ordered her a combo plate that feature a little bit of everything to be offered. When the food arrived, this good woman gave it the old college try. However, guacamole, sour cream and refried beans put her to the test - OH, the faces she made! I'm sure in other circumstances she may have spat into the bushes, but she managed to choke it down and put her fork on the table. The rest of the meal she focused on the margaritas.

That night when we got home, I asked Amber to tell Ex about the day. I wanted to hear her impressions. She gave a really credible rendition of events - she told it much the way I would have. She shared a few Japanese words she had learned from our visitor and did a pretty decent job with the inflection, to my American ears. She told her dad she enjoyed her virgin margarita and then said, in her delicate 12-year-old voice, "Dad, you should have seen the lady pack away the maragaritas!"

In my ears right now: What do you think? Mariachi music. Sort of. Part of a Dwight Yoakam tune.

Something that charmed me: The 99-Cent Store cactus in it's 99-cent pot is throwing yet another glorious flower. I'm going to see if I can get the Badger to photograph it!