53 Weeks

That's how long it's been since I slept on the ground, relieved myself in the great outdoors, drank morning coffee that tasted just like that, visited the petroglyphs as an appetizer before dinner, burned a fire in the middle of the jeep trail and carefully covered it with desert sand before retiring to the tent. That's how long it's been since I went to the place I know so well. One year and one week since I slumbered beneath the stars, hoping coyotes would howl me awake in the chilly morning.

I've made all the purchases that were on my list, packed only what I need, selected the books to take, my journal, colored pencils, new CDs for the journey . . . for tonight I will ride in the darkness to the same place I slept in November, 2008. I will step out of the car and make my usual observation, "Listen to the quiet!" And then I am sure I will cry. But not for long.

This campsite lies in close proximity to the deserted Aiken Mine - the site I always refer to as the baby giants' preschool. For the area surrounding the mine has so much machinery, so many trucks, so much debris it looks as if the school bell rang and all the baby giants went home, leaving their toys strewn about . . .

Limes photographed the photographer
photographing at Aiken Mine.

The coyote gourds will abound in all phases of development from wet and deep green to nearly white coyote gourd maracas. I'll pick some to add to my collection and I'll carry them home so carefully.

For just a little while I will hear no telephones, converse with no general public, fume about nothing in Las Vegas or look at my watch. I will eat simply and hike in the sun. I will take photographs for home dudes and collect rocks for Matt. I'll hope for a tarantula sighting. I may even get a little sunkissed since I live so much in the dark.

I'm going camping. My heart is full to overflowing.

Photo credit (at the baby giants' preschool):
J. D. Morehouse

In my ears right now: The clock ticking too slowly. I want to get out of here!

Something that charmed me: Last night I got out "the basket". The one that contains the cleaned and well folded camping clothes. I may have the ugliest camping clothes in the world. Mismatched, funky colors, zipper pulls bent and crooked. I will even confess to owning a pair of camping pants with no zipper and an elastic waistband, just like grannies wear. But I have world class boots and socks, plenty of warm layers . . . . I'm going camping.

Walls

I'd entitled the piece "Walls" and had been noodling at it - I was having fun. But before I could post it, I began to feel like I was running into brick walls, my head leading. I've had a little rough spot in which things got terribly out of balance. A little sad, a little angry, a little fearful . . .

I was right about something. I do not like to be on the back of an empty building in the dark where I can't be heard if I scream and I can't see out of my windows to see who might approach me. And that is what happened with the arrival of Pacific Standard Time. Yesterday by 3:00 p.m., the shadows on the deck were so long and dark, I had to give up my mood lighting in favor of the harsh fluorescents and I felt like I was in a police interrogation. The phones won't ring which means I'm not booking jobs. We're all over Google, coming up first, second and third in every search . . . where are the people?

But even I can't wallow in a hole indefinitely, so please - won't you join me in something lighthearted?

"You put funny shit on the walls, Limes. Here and at your place." "Define funny shit, Home Dude!" I wasn't all that amused. Carpet technician interior design critics? "Well, those tools in your dining room and fairies and old-timey looking stuff and some stuff I don't know what it is, and weird pictures and blankets." Oh! Home dude doesn't get sampler sized quilts on the wall and vintage, red-painted wood-handled kitchen implements and whimsical flying creatures posed to look as if they're actually fluttering around my rooms. Home dude probably doesn't get venerable things, either, but that's for a later post.

It might correctly be stated that I am a bit quirky and that I have strong attachments to certain items of decor. I have a deep need to be surrounded by things that are beautiful to me for some reason, and sometimes no one else can see the reason or the beauty. I also put up pictures and postcards that are hilarious to me, but maybe nobody else. I stick pretty much anything on the wall that won't tear the wall down. And then I admire my wonderful things, every time I pass them. My blog headline says I'd really like to invite EVERYONE over, so come on ~ take the mini-tour of my walls.

I am crazy for See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Say No Evil and have quite a collection of such images. Yes, it is true. I can go to the trashy, sleazy 80-year-old souvenir shop on Las Vegas Blvd. and find home decorator items. They also sell postcards of some of the Nevada Test Site detonations that I've picked up and fondled, but I've never brought one home.

I've not yet mentioned that each and every one of my much loved doodads has a story behind it. I can remember where I bought it or which friend gave me what as a gift.



Before you, observe the cherub shelf purchased for $1 at an estate sale - Mother Badger taught me well. Upon the shelf resides a glass perfume bottle I bought in Egypt, 7 nesting wooden dolls brought to me from Budapest, a beautiful old glass wasp trap and my beloved miniature mannequin whom I pose differently every Sunday. Beneath the shelf you will see cowboy offerings presented by the Badger. Yes, you do detect I have an affinity for all things cowboy. And the Badger has been known to indulge me in that area. Note to self: photograph some of the boots.

The angel wall is located right next to the front door. Although I am possibly the least religious person you could name, with virtually no faith, I am drawn to angels as I am to fairies, dragonflies and other beautiful creatures with wings. The angel and dove on the top are on the lid to a cookie tin I have dragged with me to many different homes. I think it is one of the most beautiful images I have ever seen. The little beauty below is a sea shell angel with a porcelain face, highly embellished. She hopped on my bus on one of many wonderful trips to Sanibel Island.

Above the computer fly the funky Florida fairies and the flapping pink quilt sampler has a story to it. Every day I secure the corners of that textile treasure to the wall. Every day Virginia Woolf engages in the catly activity of removing the fasteners, so the corner of the quilt flaps. She does this several times a day. I reattach the corner of the quilt several times a day. It is a good arrangement and keeps us active.

However, the wall that seemed to perplex home dude the most was the dining room wall with its burlap bag from Blue Mountain coffee beans brought to me from Jamaica and the 60-year-old kitchen implements. Although I took pains to explain the purpose of the clunky old potato ricer and why it charmed me, he couldn't catch onto why someone would first cook the potatoes, then change their consistency. What the heezy, they were already cooked - wouldn't you just eat them?

True story: He'd just finished a big meal with two pieces of birthday pumpkin pie and cocktails. I was clearing the dishes and not looking directly at him when he said, "This place looks just exactly like you, Limes." I snapped my head around pretty quickly, still stinging from the "Limes, you put funny shit on the walls" comment. I thought, "What, the place looks like me? Old? Small? Tattered? Dusty?" But the Badger was grinning widely - his statement was a tip of the hat to me and my decorating prowess.

And now I intend to end my personal pity party and rejoin the living. I've got some favored blogs to read and some comments to make on them. I've got blogs I peek at surreptitiously and don't comment at all. I've got to write another post. I've got a trip to pack for. I've got plans for this weekend. I've got to get on with it. ; ~}

In my ears right now: Benson and Bloomsbury chirping their empty heads off and I'm glad of it, for the phones are so quiet I'd begin pacing except for their birdly company.

Something that charmed me: The Blogger who jumped through quite a few hoops to land on a real e-mail address and then sent me a message saying "We miss reading you. You're too quiet. What's wrong?" Like Eeyore, I'd say, "Thanks for noticing me."

How Many in One Day?

Tuesday morning everyone was prepunctual, including Limes. I had to smoke the sidewalks to fit in all the miles and still be at the office as early as I knew they all would be. It was an unspoken early arrival day - everyone knew, though it was never discussed. I pulled in and was assisted upstairs with my bags of stuff I'm always carrying. Everyone had hot coffee in hand. One of us had stopped at Starbucks ;} and home dudes had stopped at the places where the clerks give them a free cup o' Joe for who knows what reason. Maybe some people are still kind to pleasant young men who give them lots of business.

Matt led the parade up the stairs, giving the blow-by-blow, hour-by-hour details. He pointed, gestured, imitated, pantomimed and acted out everything he had taken in so deeply from the deck Monday. The others listened, once in awhile asking, "Is that right, Limes? Is that how it went down?" I replied, without variation, "Matt has it, homes. He watched it all very carefully, informing me of what was going on as it happened." We crowded into that little space on the deck between building and barn, peering that short distance north, shoulder to shoulder, packed in close, coffee cups steaming.

When we went inside for our sales huddle, Cesar had a story to tell. Cesar graciously volunteered on Monday to take a day off because we were slow at work. He visited a friend and at some point in the day, decided to go to Arby's for a meal. After placing his order at the drive-thru microphone, he pulled up behind a car. Soon a car pulled in behind him, and his life became a surreal sandwich.


Although the Arby's worker had his food bag extended through the pick-up window, the driver in front of Cesar would not move forward to collect his meal. When a few minutes passed, all the drivers in the long line began to get twitchy. Horns were honked and citizens stuck their heads out their windows to holler words of encouragement to the driver in the front car.

Soon enough, Cesar decided he'd never wanted an Arby's sandwich badly enough to wait as long as this was taking, but he couldn't move his car forward or backward. He decided to step out of the car and have words with the driver ahead of him. As he approached the door of the car, he got a little hinky. The man was slumped toward the door, his head resting on the window, eyes closed. What? Another dead body in an unexpected place? Not that Cesar has ever experienced that line of thinking before, but just the same morning . . . . perhaps the man was sick or injured, and Cesar is a good human being. He opened the car door and the man's body slumped out toward him. Cesar's heart kind of sank and he noticed other drivers beginning to step out of their cars to come and see what was happening.

The man's body gave a mighty shake. "Oh, man! I fell asleep. I just worked a double shift and I'm beat. I fell asleep right here in my car." He put his car into drive and roared off, not even collecting his Arby's meal he'd paid for. Cesar picked up his own and the other man's lunch and drove off, thinking, "I can't wait to tell this tomorrow."

In my ears right now: Lucinda Williams - the dark, the hip-hop, the sentimental, the passionate love ones and the suicidal. I don't believe I'd care to sleep on a bed of nails. Someone got me going on her music again. I'd forgotten how much I am drawn to her even when the particular song might be repelling.

Something that charmed me: The Las Vegas skies as I came to work this morning. Usually we have solid, light blue with nothing for visual relief or solid, dark gray with nothing for visual relief. But the California storms have sent us a skyfull of widely scattered stratus clouds. At sunrise, there were colors ranging from peach to fiery orange, from blue to black. Some areas where completely dark and cloudy, but up in Red Rock, the sun shone on Turtlehead Peak where I nearly expired on a hike one time and on the caramel and brick colored faces of the rock formations. And the wind howled on.

Bright, Flaming Snarfle

The phones are not ringing as much as we'd like. No ringing phones, no jobs being booked. Maybe the general public is as moony about the change of season as I am. There is some evidence to support the claim that a big dose of nasty has been tossed into our municipal water supply. We are suffering a large number of truly nasty encounters. Customers forget they called us, so we're knocking on doors where no one is home. I am in my "lose no job" mode.

He called Monday afternoon. I took an immediate dislike to him and felt my eyebrow furrow - the right one with a gorge so deep I could store a pencil in it. "Don't blow this, Limes. Get the job." He is a "type" I struggle to work with well. They are invariably male. They clearly resent the amout of time it takes to book the job. They can't or won't give clear information about the carpet's condition. They need to tell me how to run our business. They take pains to tell me that carpet cleaners are con men who purposely run up the bill by recommending unnecessary extra services. Friend Terry gives me a bad time about having a problem dealing with whole classes of people. I always say, "No, Ter, I'd be crabby about anyone who behaved that way. It's not who or what they are. It's the way they behave." So, it went something like this.

Limes: "What are the rooms that need to be cleaned?Customer: Three bedrooms and a hall. OK, 3 bedrooms and a hall." "AND the family room." "OK, 3 bedrooms, a hall and a family room. Can you tell me the last time the carpet was professionally cleaned?" "It's only a month and-a-half old, but we have to clean it between tenants." "OK, so first professional cleaning. Are there any spots, stains or heavy soil?" "Well, um, hem, haw, I don't know what you'd call heavily soiled. I'm colorblind." "Oh, colorblind. OK, but you can see darker areas from lighter areas, right?" "Well, I'm going to say no spots or stains or heavy soil. It's 6-week-old carpet." "This is my quote, sir, based on your description of the carpet." "And it won't be one more penny than that?" I have learned all of my standard phrases from listening to David on the phones. "Sir, I've given you a quote based on listening carefully to your description of that carpet. If the carpet is in different condition than what you've described, it's possible you could need some additional services." "How much would that cost extra?" "I couldn't tell you, sir. I can't see your carpet through the phone." "Just send somebody out here to give me a quote." "No, sir, I can't take my service vehicles off the road for quotes. That's why I ask so many questions - to get a sense of what your carpet needs." "OK, let's book the job. I'm Scott with ABC Property Management, the address is . . . just have them go in and start the work, but call me when they're on the way so I can head over to pay them." "No, Scott, you'll need to be available, at least by phone, when they have inspected the carpet. You have to authorize the services before we start the work." "OK. Do you think they're smart enough to operate a bolting key pad at the front door?" "I think they can just about manage that, Scott. They operate machinery with moving parts and hot water."

Hanging up the phone, I said out loud, "That man is a snarfle." Snarfle is not actually the word I used. I used a plain, well known word that is a body part. It is never meant as a compliment when used to describe a human being. I will not put it in my blog.

I needed to be judicious about which technician I would send on this job. When he came in from his route, I said, "Cesar, I need you to work with me. I need you to start your day early and I'm sending you out to an utter snarfle. Maybe you'll do better with him than I did. Maybe he works better with other men. But to me, he is a snarfle." Cesar's eyes got pretty big. I'm not known to use the word snarfle right out loud to home dudes. He knew I was riled. I related the phone call exchange with Scott and Cesar said, "I'm on it, Limes." As I pulled into the parking lot early this morning, I saw him pulling out in the van to go do the early job for the snarfle.

Cesar called the man to tell him he was on the way. The phone rang a long time, but Scott did answer. Cesar reminded him, "Sir, I need you to be available, at least by telephone, once I arrive. I will need to get your OK to start services." It was agreed. Cesar arrived at the home, managed that Rubik's Cube of a bolting key pad on the front door in a nanosecond, inspected and called. No answer. No voicemail. He tried again. After an hour, he radioed me. "Limes, I don't want to lose the job. My house is about a mile away. How about if I go home and wait to see if he calls me before I have to go to my next job?" "Ten-four, Cesar, thank you for working it so hard." "Ten-four, Limes. Limes? You had it right again. He's a snarfle."

Scott called Cesar about an hour later. Cesar told him the carpet wasn't terrible for being a rental and the only extra services he recommended were two rooms of preconditioning at $15 a room. He explained that by preconditioning, he could get the carpet to 95% of its original condition. Scott then proved what a big bouncing snarfle he actually was. "YOU CAN'T GET THE CARPET CLEAN FOR WHAT SHE QUOTED ME? WHAT AM I WASTING MY TIME FOR? I HAVE TO SHOW THIS HOUSE THIS AFTERNOON . . ." and he slammed down the phone. Cesar radioed in, "Complete waste of our time, fuel and good nature, Limes. Snarfle. I'm moving on to my next job." Damn it. A lost job. A lost terrible job, but I'm just sayin'.

The morning rolled on. I always have more than enough to do. Finally the phone rang and I sat down to try to book one. The man wasn't very pleasant. I tried to be very pleasant. I did neck stretches and tried not to squeeze my pen so hard. I purposely kept my voice light and I sprinkled every sentence with "sir". It was a hard job to book. It did flit through my head a time or two: "How many really nasty aggressive men are there waiting to land on me while I try to land them?" His last shot was, "Are you sure you can get them clean? You're not going to get out here and charge me more are you? Send somebody out to give me a quote first!" A little light came on. "All right, sir, and what is your name, please?" "I'm Scott with ABC Property Management."

Well. I put my pen down and sat back in my chair. I took my voice to its softest tone. "Scott, we won't be coming out to see you today. It's apparent you don't even remember which carpet cleaning company you called yesterday or you wouldn't be calling me again this morning. You hung up on my technician this morning, and I'm hanging up on you now . . . ." I didn't slam the receiver down, either. I wouldn't want to break our office equipment.

David laughed out loud when I told it. I couldn't wait to chirp Cesar and say, "That snarfle!" Cesar chirped Justin who high-fived me so hard when he came in that it nearly knocked me off my feet. "Damn, Limes, you sure know how to call them!"

In my ears right now: One of the Badger's custom mixes. I like what he cobbles together. We share a number of musical preferences. It doesn't matter which of his mixes, I'm probably going to like it. Crescent City, Someday Soon . . . .

Something that charmed me: I needed to find illustrations for this post. I couldn't put up a picture of an actual snarfle. So I searched on keywords that were much lighter in tone that what I actually called that man. I searched "ugly worm". And that's what you see above, no matter what vile, putrid, nasty thing you may have thought was depicted. Just worms.

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.

Back to Work

I didn't work at all last week and that is very strange for me. I learned a lot of things. I learned that I was more exhausted than I had even guessed. I learned what my home looks like in the middle of a late summer morning or afternoon. I learned I will need to tell David more frequently that I need to take some time off. He supports that. I learned that I kind of like spending a few quiet days with the phone ringing rarely. I read a lot and I slept. A lot. I made good food and froze individual servings. I have not cooked for myself in a long, long time. I got a massage just before Stephanie left for Denmark and I can hold out for the two weeks she'll be away. Possibly.

Monday morning felt a little different as I drove in. I've been musing for awhile now that autumn is almost here. Monday morning I lived that. No blazing sunrise in the desert. Glowering gray sky, scattered clouds, and I really shouldn't have been wearing my sunglasses as I drove eastward in the sunrise hour. There were some youngblood skateboarders that I really couldn't see well enough as they exhibited "bullet-proof" and I exhibited "need to get to the office".

Up and down the stairs twice, as I am a woman who carries bags and bags of stuff, plus I had David's birthday gift and on Mondays I stock the office fridge with my food for the week and I had Starbucks and, and . . . "Limes, you going to sit down?" "Yes, home dudes, let me greet my little birds I missed so much and then I'll sit." "Good to see you in your chair, Limes." "Thank you, homes." "Thank you for such an awesome gift, Limes." "Found it at the Harvest Festival, David."

So ... Monday (as well as many recent days for a few years now) the wind screamed. My return to work started with one of my favorite events - we had a huge wool rug to clean for a commercial client. I love this process, as it takes place out on the deck and no matter whose job it actually is, everyone pitches in. I've never heard one of them say, "Hey, I need to be paid commission for this if you want me in it." I've heard each of them say, many times, "Hey, Bro', what's that [cleaning solution] mix you're using?" or "Show me how you approach this." or "Uh-uh, those fringes aren't good enough. I'm going back after it." A little fun has grown up around, "Hey, Limes, come out here and I'll teach you a thing or two." For I have the classes and certification, but have never cleaned a carpet or rug. But once when we had an enormous and very, very old handmade rug to deal with, I was able to show them how it had been cut down and reassembled from something very much larger because I sew and work with textiles. This is us doing what we do very, very well. It's a beautiful thing. We learn from one another. We value and respect one another.




So the enormous wool rug was cleaned and placed across the deck railing to be blown dry by the remarkable wind. It was a grand day for it. The morning progressed, all vans and all technicians out on the road for a busy day. Black August behind us, September seems better. I worked hard at re-entry and David showed all the signs of a man being pulled hard in many directions. The phones jangled, which is a good, good thing. Cashlynn and Chloe shih-tzus went up and down the stairs a few times for potty breaks, Bloomsbury and Benson birds seemed to sing for me particularly sweetly. About mid-morning, I heard a very loud expletive that immediately suggested to me that rug had set sail across the Las Vegas skyline. Yep! Overboard. Aloft!

In David's new enterprise, he occupies a much different role than in our little world. He dresses beautifully and professionally. I'd known the man to wear beautiful athletic wear every day since I'd met him, but now he wears beautiful career wear. Down the stairs he went in his gorgeous lavender shirt and crisply creased trousers. Up the stairs he trudged with that wet, smelly ton 'o wool rolled up and tossed across his shoulder. As the phones still screamed, I could only watch him out the window. He moved patio furniture. He stretched the rug out on the deck in the sun where it lay in its 400 square feet of glory. He brushed himself off muttering, "Damn, not one of them noticed the hurricane force gale? They all worked on it and not one of them . . . "

The morning pressed on and I was booking jobs at a fast clip. David went next door to where interviews are being conducted at his new business venture. I saw the first interloper clomp across that wet rug in the middle of booking a huge job for a new client I had wowed. Uh-oh! Rug clomping! In something that must have been reminiscent of the old Candid Camera clips, my phones rang non-stop for the next 2 hours. They were rolling to voicemail and I had three lines going at one time. I watched interviewees come up the stairs and cross that mighty rug both coming and going to and from their appointments. I was so distressed by this, I had to turn my chair away from the window as I was being distracted from my phone conversations. Not that I could have done a thing except direct traffic - that rug is too big for me to roll or move in any way. Finally, David appeared from around the corner, eyeballed the condition of the rug, ran to its edge and nearly tipped over onto it! This was not turning out well, this rug venture.

The afternoon passed quickly and home dudes began to roll into the parking lot. The pair whose job it actually was to clean the rug trudged up the stairs. I heard Justin say, "Where the hell's that rug?" while he was still in the stairwell. I saw the relief on his face when he saw it laid out on the deck. I also saw the terror cross his features when he saw the thing's condition. We all began to talk at once and the noise level rose. There was some urgency to re-clean this rug, get it at least partially dry, and deliver it as promised. Human nature being what it is, before the work began, everyone needed to express a little angst. Then home dudes tore into it again.

The next morning in huddle, the rug was discussed. "Was the customer happy with that rug, guys?" "Oh, yeah, we've got a customer for life!" "Great - good save, you two!" "Limes, you seemed a little too amused watching a couple of guys have to scramble for their lives." "Oh, no, homes! I never want to see a man have to do his work over again. I was just thinking how, in my inexperience, I'd have approached that rodeo a little differently. You all would have laughed at me, but I picture myself employing maybe ropes, bungee cords, string, a little twine. I might have been silly enough to go looking for a pair of big rocks or some of those full plastic gallon jugs of cleaning solutions we keep by the hundreds. Yes, you'd have snickered at 'the girl', but sure as shootin', I wouldn't have let that rug fly away!" This is us doing what we do very, very well. It's a beautiful thing. We learn from one another. We value and respect one another.

In my ears right now: Steppenwolf ~ Magic Carpet Ride.

Something that charmed me: We all came from vastly different work backgrounds. We've all proven to be open and willing to learn. I've learned from them how to look around and find some solution for a problem quickly with whatever I have at hand, make my fix be good enough and move on to do the next task well. They've learned from me how to be good record keepers who can do math and who participate in discussions in staff meeting. We've learned from each other, and grown.

Further Evidence

In the dawn this morning, I walked into Starbucks to buy my coffee and all three meals for the day (oatmeal, no toppings = brunch; white chicken pasta salad with kalamata olives = lunch and dinner). Yes, (blush) sometimes I manage to avoid the grocery store in pretty alarming ways. I don't have time for that and the servants I was promised have failed to materialize. I noticed walking into the establishment that the sunrise was glorious, as have been our sunsets for a few days. That's because our skies are filled with smoke from the conflagrations in California, and we're promised another few days of smoke advisory. I was a little crabby, and needed that coffee.

When they spotted me, my favored baristas, a young man and a young woman, started windmilling their arms in the air, pointing to a shiny new announcement poster. Beginning this morning, pumpkin spice latte is back! Never mind that it's only September 1st and it will be 104 degrees here today. It's autumn, dammit! It must be. Starbucks said so.

So Greg said, "Limes?" "All right, Greg, a tall skinny pumpkin spice latte, please." It was already lined up on the prep counter to be made for me - they spotted my car when I pulled up. "Whipped cream on that, Limes?" "No, Greg, that pretty much defeats the purpose of 'skinny'."

I walked out grinning, carrying my day's calorie intake in a brown paper bag. Although caused by something very bad, that sunrise was gorgeous. And if pumpkin spice latte is here, then eggnog latte can't be far behind.

In my ears right now: Lucinda Williams, "Over Time". Elvis Costello included it in his "Artist's Choice" CD of favorites, and I'd have to agree.

Something that charmed me: I love calavera (skull) art that celebrates the Mexican Day of the Dead. Check the party at the cantina! The lovely senoritas with hair bows attached to their skulls and full, party skirts, home dude guzzling what appears to be a pitcher of margaritas. I like a party!

Changes

I like the autumn. That doesn't make me special. Lots of people like the autumn. It is a beautiful season and I regret I've never lived any place where I could see the flaming colors in their glory. In the autumn, the sun and air become lighter, fainter. The outdoors feels different and one senses at every level that things are changing. Autumn comes on the heels of my birthday, so I view it as the beginning of a new year. Even though my calendar still says August, I went to a "Harvest Festival" yesterday with the Badger . . . yes, things are changing.

In a quiet spell, I spent maybe a few moments too many reflecting on "what are you going to do next, Limes?" For as the autumn marks the beginning of some new things, it marks the close of others. I feel a bit unsettled. The landscape is a bit wiggly for a person who prefers everything so very solid. It wiggles with both promise and concern.

This summer a loved one and I learned to actually talk about things rather than commit lies of both omission and commission in order to make sure all the explosive topics remained completely swept under the rug. We're not heroic or admirable, in particular. We didn't decide to learn this new way of relating with one another. We were rather forced to it. Detonating explosives is risky business, as one can be terribly hurt or annihilated. But taking those risks, working them together, surviving the detonation, taking great care to remain committed to the love shared and to not hurting the other . . can land a pair in a safe place that is new and different. New and different can take awhile to absorb. Each step taken tentatively. Make sure the ground holds. OK. Take another step.

Many cycling races have bumped off many potential camping forays into the desert. But the racing season is ending and the autumn makes the desert tolerable for camping . . . until it makes the desert intolerable for camping at freezing temperatures. I am strongly drawn to taste the way the coffee is just a little different when made on the cookstove and to be wakened in the dawn by howling coyotes. I long to wear my really good boots to hike, see the petroglyphs I know so well, poke around near the abandoned mines to find treasures that not many people would recognize as treasure.

I have a new friend who came to me in a twisted, winding way but I got brave and mature and behaved more sturdily than I felt and that landed me this new friend. I knew within a couple of weeks why this person was put into my life. The way it happened was sparky and spiky and is not to be told. But the reason I was sent this person, and the effect on my life of having been paired up, is profound. Meeting one person affected my relationship with another. This new friend has given me the extraordinary gift of listening to me, paying attention. It happened that I had a birthday last week. Many e-mails were exchanged about "the birthday box". When it arrived, I was completely stunned with its many, many beautiful and carefully selected offerings. For it was clear to me that this friend understands what is meaningful to me, and selected gifts for me with that understanding. On Saturday came Birthday Box #2 and I continue to be amazed at how two people who are open, honest, willing to be good to others . . . can connect. Deeply. Even if "unusually".

Anyone who has read me knows how strong, how confident I am in my work. "I have the best seat in the house," I've been known to say a time or ten. But that has a new slant, as well. For David has another new enterprise that opened for business this morning. I have always been kept in a cocoon - dedicated to only the one business I manage for him. "Don't ask her where the pens are kept, ask somebody else!" he's been heard to snap at workers from his other ventures. "You don't see her. She's not there." But the new undertaking is large and more heavily populated and I'll be helping him in ways to manage it. Still in the comfortable cocoon. Still the best seat in the house. Doing new things. Change. David Bowie: "Ch-ch-ch-changes . . . "

I have a tremendous need, desire, longing to make some of the pretty, lovely, delicous things I know how to make. I have been so silent, so dead, so cold for so long. But I find myself in the closets and cupboards and storage bins, touching the materials, the supplies, the implements, the machines . . . I have set myself a loving challenge ~ one item by September 26th, another by October 14th, and the most important one by October 22nd. I believe I can do this and it will move my personal, human agenda forward. When I went into one closet to look at crafting materials, I spotted a favored sweater not worn for many months. I feel good when I wear that sweater, because it looks nice on me. Just a small part of the cobalt blue sleeve was peeping out from behind other things . . . it won't be very long before I wear that blue silk sweater again in another autumn in my life.

Some photo credits: J. D. Morehouse

In my ears right now: "In My Life", the Beatles. It was dedicated to me specially, by someone special.

Something that charmed me: That Harvest Festival was the best "woman spend money" I've attended in a long time. I got more wonderful and fun and funny things, both for myself and others. Reminder to self . . . .