Home Again

Today I drove home after a long and tiring day, but it wasn't the home I was used to driving home to. This is a new house with new rooms and doors and light switches, some of which I haven't even tried yet. And new grocery stores nearby which will become my 'regular stores' and new routes to take, and new routines to establish.
At my old house, my routines were so imbedded that I knew the number of steps it took to get up from my office chair or bedroom and walk to the kitchen or bathroom, I could even do it with my eyes closed. Now I'll need to re-learn the steps. But that's okay, I've lived in a lot of places and they were all 'home' to me...a sanctuary, a comfortable lair....and now there's this one.
After months of stressing over my old house, as to whether or not I could keep it, not to mention the unenviable task of the actual physical move itself, it is nearly done. Like a worker ant who's only task is to move forward from one task to the next, picking up a chunk of twig and moving it from this point to that, with a complete abandonment of all the things around it, a certain automoton state kicks in and then finally...wow, I've moved!
Thanks mainly to three things....the help of one dear friend, without her help I don't how I could have done it, thank God for friends. The second is my trusty little truck, which I've owned off-and-on for over twenty years, and the third is a simple hand cart-dolly that came in so damn handy, why I never got one before I'll never know, the Wheel is truly one of the greatest inventions.
Now that the move is nearly done, I'll rest for a bit and maybe even take a vacation! I miss that life....
But for now, I'm home again.

My Trip to the Dump

As my moving process begins, there is the inevitable need to throw things away, so today I loaded the truck with junk and went to the dump. An old toilet, broken shelves, broken chairs, and numerous items that have been sitting around here for years, like an old vacuum sweeper that I've had for 20 years and hasn't worked for 8.
I remember going to the dump with my dad when I was a kid, it was always a fun outing for me. It's where I first learned to drive! At the dump in San Jose, there was a long gravel road, nearly a mile, that led to the dumping area. It was wide, so my dad would let me drive. I was about 12 or 13 at the time. I didn't go fast, but it was where I first learned the 'feel' of driving, accelerating, braking, etc.....I also had fun climbing in the back of the truck, and throwing things onto a gigantic pile of garbage. Back then, before the age of recycling, everything was thrown away onto the same pile.
Nowadays, dumps have evolved into thoroghly modern recycling centers. As I drove to the one today, I had to stop at specific stations along the way, where aluminum, iron, cardboard, glass, and wood had their own seperate bins. As I stopped at each station, I began to notice the items in the huge bins. Bicycle parts, old tv antennas, you name it. Then it dawned on me that at one time, all of these things were new, and now here they were, in the dustbin of history.
As I proceeded to the main recycling area, I noticed an area full of old refrigerators and other appliances, and another area designated for television sets. I noticed a couple of them were nice console sets with wooden cabinets, the kind I remember as a kid in the 60's. I realized again that at one time, these TV's and refrigerators were once brand spanking new, and I wondered what that day was like when they were delivered for the first time. What was the family like? Were they excited with their new purchase?
How many years did these things sit in people's homes as part of their daily life?
I've recently sold some of my personal items to make the move lighter, like my large TV, couch, redwood picnic table, and other items. I think about my TV, like where is it sitting right now? What are they watching on it?
And now here these were, discarded and probably forgotten, and I actually felt sorry for them, even though they're inanimate objects, They gave years of entertainment, convenience and comfort, and now, there they sat. Well at least they have each other now for awhile, I thought. And in this age of recycling....which is a good thing....sometime, somewhere, they will live again in a new incarnation in a new home.
I thought of this as I unloaded the truck, with even a hint of sadness as I tossed the vacuum sweeper. Then I drove away and waved goodbye to my junk.
I

Pack Up the Plantation

I am now packing up, packing up my 'plantation' which was once my house, this home I once owned. Maybe a golden age when I held parties here, it was a no-brainer...once you're a homeowner, you've 'got it made' right?....Well, that's as long as you can keep it going...
In the the 90's I was very industrious, I held great jobs in the computer game industry, but then it stopped. Then it became an industry to find a new job, a new place to belong, and still somehow keep the Plantation. But it was hard to find.
Then it became a personal industry of my own survival, where it became my job to even wake up each morning with at least a sense of enthusiasm or hope, without succumbing to the certain kinds of despair that might lead others over the edge. I could see that, but that kind of despair I don't think I could ever go there, no way....there's too much to do....But all during this time I found it unusual and astounding that I was even in this place.
Keeping your chin up, and just having good friends and family has saved me from that kind of abyss. And they know who they are.
The fact that I have found a new place to live in a very unusual circumstance leads me to believe there is still much to be done, it has always happened that way, right at the last minute something happens that keeps me going...so there is so MUCH to be done... There were some hard times there emotionally, yes, but I always thought of the Patience of Job, or more appropriately the Lilies of the Field.
So I will pack up my plantation and move on, with a renewed kind of strength I think.

Ritual

I have always had small personal rituals, sometimes grand, but mostly trivial, which would not make sense to anyone but myself.
I'm moving out of my house, and the last thing I will eat here will be macaroni and cheese with green beans.
I think most humans like some sort of ritual, it is deep rooted in us, when you consider 'rituals' being held all the time...weddings, religious services, graduations, inaugurations, the list is endless. My personal rituals consist of small things. When I went to Disneyland, I hid a penny behind a coke machine at the Disneyland Hotel, right by the Monorail station. I went back many years later and sure enough, there it was! This became a sort of ritual for me, I would hide pennies in faraway places and would vow to return, sometimes I wouldn't find the pennies, and some places I haven't returned to yet.
Other rituals consist of really day-to-day esoteric things, daily rituals like I think we all have, which are basically routines, but they're still rituals.
When I moved out of my Parents house for the first time, the last dinner at home we had was round steak, macaroni and cheese, and green beans. Then I lived in the dorms at Chico State, the cafeteria was one of those buffet arrangements where you slide your tray down the line and ask for this or that....I had a heaping helping of macaroni and cheese and green beans. I didn't even think about it, that's what I was having. Then comes the ritual....the last night of any home I've lived in, that's what I ate...and that's what I'll have on Sunday night.

Landfall

A long time ago, back in the days of sailing ships, captains and crews would set out onto the ocean. Explorers in search of new worlds. When the ships reached the horizon they would disappear. Some folks back then believed the world was flat, and the ships had fallen over the edge of the world. But to the sailors on board, all they could see around them was endless ocean, especially when the land disappeared from sight. They would spend months, sometimes even years at sea. If you read the logbooks of some of these captains, they would always write of a melancholy crew, homesick, seasick, sometimes even mutinous. Some captains made sure to bring musicians on board who could play the fiddle or pump organ, insisting that the crew dance and sing, so as to relieve their melancholy. But nothing ever cheered up the crew more than the sight of land.
Land Ho! a place to land, where you can put your feet down on Terra Firma.
I thought of this when I was looking for a place to live, where I could put my own feet on terra firma....and I found one. And the sense of joy and relief that those sailors must have felt (not that my situation could come even CLOSE to the hardship that they must have experienced, once again I just liked the metaphor).
After wondering where I would ever end up after selling the house, I found a place where I can hang my hat, for a while anyway.
But it's a new world, and a new beginning.
In 1519, when explorer Hernan Cortez reached the New World, he burned his ships, which sent a message to his crew that there was no going back.

Hey, you want go to the Ballgame?

What an ironic shift in the life of someone who has always been a baseball fan. I love baseball. I remember my first baseball memory, when I was three, my mom would listen to the radio, the San Francisco Giants with Russ Hodges and Lon Simmons on the radio. I remember how she would cheer when Willy Mays hit a homer, or when Juan Marachal struck somebody out.
To this day, my mom is still a Giants fan. When the A's moved to Oakland in 1968, we started going to A's games. It was then I became an A's fan. At one point I lived ten minutes from the Coliseum, and I got A's season tickets...and in 2000, I had Giants season tickets, I'm one of those fans that likes them both (though I like the A's a little more)...Sitting there before each game was like being on vacation, sitting in the sun with the ballgame about to start...if anyone ever called and said, "you wanna go to the game?" I would be there in an instant.
My love the of game of baseball carries on to this day. I played little league ball, and pony league, and JV baseball in high school, but I didn't make the varsity team, lots of guys were just better than I was. But it's okay, I enjoyed playing softball for companies I worked at. I haven't played in awhile, and I miss playing.
But since then, being a fan, I have travelled to many cities, and many ballparks around the nation, soaking in the ambiance of each park, each local culture, though it is still an American culture, it's still baseball...
Anyway, back to my current situation....I'm at the point where I need to move out of my house in a number of days, and many crucial things must happen, very crucial.....and then out of the blue a buddy calls and says "hey, you wanna go to the game?"
And for the first time...I'm not sure if I can go...I mean I could...but I never remembered a time when going to a game seemed to be a chore.

Where You Hang Your Hat is Home

So I'm looking for a new place to hang my hat. It can't be just any place, not like twenty years ago when any old place would do. It has to be a place that I can call Home, a place where I can walk in the front door and feel, "I'm home"...but I haven't found it yet.
But first, I'm busy saying goodby to this home....I owned this house, it is my friend and due to circumstances beyond my control I had to sell it. It's like giving away a beloved pet, or abandoning a friend. After saying my daily and nightly goodbyes, I wonder what the last phone call will be before I cancel phone service, or what the last television show I'll watch before I unplug the cable, or what the last personal item I'll move out of here. And then I wonder what the last goodbye will be like, one last walk thru, one last glance back and then I drive away.
So then, where to hang my hat? I've seen places that I could never live in, as the owner stands there like a proud parent on her daughter's first prom date, and as I look around and pretend to be interested, so as not to offend the owner, I can't help but wonder if they know exactly what I'm thinking. And then there are those who seem to think I'm not good enough for their 'daughter'...like today for example, I looked at a place, and the ex-marine like guy with folded arms and gruff disposition who's attitude seemed to be, "why don't we stop wasting each other's time?"
And there are those places who seem to have a personality of their own, mainly due to the people that own them, or live there...their eccentricities seem to spill over and permeate the place, thus saturating the environment to a point that it would be suffocating.
But sometimes, there's places that I have seen and yes, this is where I can hang my hat....but then many others feel the same way too, and it becomes a dance, a competition...so, for the next few days, I'm going to be dancing hard.

She Likes Apple Pie

So I'm selling my house...the escrow is supposed to close on June 27. So far so good, except for two things; One, I haven't found a place to move to yet, and Two, the prospective buyers now want a new roof, and new paint job, new windows, and a new stove.
The new roof, okay fine, it does need a new roof. But the other things? That is for them to buy. It feels a bit insulting, this is still my house, my sanctuary, my friend. I didn't want this, I had hoped to stay here many more years, but as plans go, they don't always work out the way you want them to.
I was reminded of a movie I saw many years ago, perhaps it was "Roots" but I'm not sure. It took place in the South, during the days of slavery. In a flashback scene, there was a little slave girl who was always playing with a little white boy, the plantation owner's son.
They were shown riding together, climbing trees together, playing games together, even having their baths taken together, always laughing and having fun.
Flash forward to hard times on the plantation...the owner had to sell some of his slaves, so an auction was held. A beautiful young woman in her twenties was put up there on the block. An unscrupulous looking man won the bidding, and took the girl with a sadistic and lustful look in his eyes. As he led her away, he was approached by a tearful young man, it was the owner's son. "If you please, sir," he said, "She likes apple pie."

Life Raft

A long time ago, about twenty years, I worked at a computer company. When I got hired, everyone would say "welcome aboard!".
Ever since then, I've always considered working at companies like being on board a ship. Depending on the size of the company, it could be a small power boat, or a ship the size of an aircraft carrier.
Sometimes the company would get into financial trouble, like a ship taking on water and listing, sometimes even sinking. During those times, the company would have to 'downsize' or lay people off. This would be akin to tossing people overboard. I remember many times watching my friends get tossed overboard and flail about in the water. Then I'd feel bad for them, sometimes despondent if they were good friends, and then have what they call 'survivors guilt' ....and things are never quite the same on board, but I also felt relieved that at least I still had a job.
When it became my turn to be shoved overboard, at first I flailed about in the water, then swam to a piece of flotsam and clung to it. (we're talking metaphorically here, of course)...
that 'flotsam' can be described as a temporary job from an ex-boss of mine who was a tech writer, and she needed illustrations, that's what I did, and still do in various mediums.
This old boss was working as a freelancer, so in effect, she had built her own boat...and soon after, I had built mine, though more like a raft.
This was back in the 80's...I drifted from ship to ship, sending up flares all the time, sometimes the ships would signal back. A red flare would mean 'no jobs here' and a green one would be 'yes, we have work, pull along side!'
After awhile, I was invited aboard another ship full time, so then I could get out of my dinky raft. I was a good shipmate, though sometimes it felt like the HMS Bounty, with a genuine Captain Bligh at the helm. Eventually I was thrown overboard again, but this time there was no need to assemble a raft, there was a ship nearby with old crewmates aboard who signaled me to swim over and climb aboard! So I did, and that was the best ship I had ever been on, with a happy crew.
But as time goes on, ships may lose course, and crews change. A few crewmates decided to set off on their own and build their own boat. About a year later they had upgraded their boat to the size of a 20-foot power boat, and were ready for new crewmates. They asked me if I'd like to hop on their boat. And, given the recent condition and course of the good ship I was on, I decided to jump.
So there we were, a jolly crew of four....then other old crewmates began to jump on board, soon we were 8, then 12, then up to 15...we upgraded to the size of a 30-foot yacht, and sailed smoothly with lots of plans and ambition.
Until one day when waters got rough, supply ships sunk, and we were running out of fuel and taking on water....so, once again I was overboard. But this time, I had enough provisions to quickly assemble my own life raft, which I would compare to an inflatable dinghy with a vinyl cover to keep out the elements. This was four years ago, and since then I have paddled, motored, and drifted from ship to ship, sending out flares every day. Most of the return flares have been red. But once in awhile I'd get green ones, "yes, tie up for a few weeks, but make sure your raft is always ready." Then I would be re-provisioned for awhile. All this time I wanted to climb aboard another ship, but they would always be far on the horizon, and their flares were always red. At one point, I joined a crew assembling their own ship, only to find that it was essentially a slave ship.
When you're on a small raft, you're more vulnerable to sharks. The sharks being mortgage payments, credit card bills, utility bills, etc....which can only be placated by throwing them your provisions (money).......sometimes my raft would start to fill with water and the sharks would come to the surface and try to bite, so I would send up a different kind of flare that would procure me more provisions, but it let some air out of my raft, these would come from refinancing my house.
There comes a time when you realize that this life on a raft can't go on with continued red flares, or flares that were green but turned red, and when your raft is filling with water rapidly and the sharks are once again circling. So I had one special flare left, one that I never thought I could use, or have to use....a flare that sinks my raft, but lifts me into the air with a parachute, like an ejector seat.
So two weeks ago I launched that flare, I'm selling the house.....and once I'm in the air, who knows where I'll land.

17 days left

In 17 days, I will be living somewhere else. Where, I have no idea...
maybe a small house not far from here. But in 17 days this house
will belong to someone else. It's not what I would choose, but sometimes
we don't have a choice, and this is one of those times.
They came by yesterday for an inspection, I spied on them. Then later
I came back and sat at my desk and felt comfortable in a place
where I belonged. But in 17 days I won't belong here.
I went into the garage and imagined those people seeing my stuff in
there today, I'm sure they looked everywhere...I wonder if
they saw my dad's old toolbox and thought that it was mine, we have
the same name...I kind of hope that they thought it WAS mine,
because then it would carry a certain respect....The myriad of
tools in there would impress them, I think. But that's only because
in the garage I feel my dad's echo....I feel him everywhere really,
but especially when I'm near that toolbox (if that makes sense).
I know they must have seen that picture of me and Ron, and said,
"oh, so that's him...."
So then I wandered from room to room, imagining if I were those
buyers, and seeing what they had seen...like the picture of me and
Jason Giambi in the kitchen, and Catfish Hunter, and the old one of my
grandpa....and all the baseball park pictures here in this room...I
wonder if they think that I was a good guy, who was a good steward
to this house...I hope they do....
Well, all those pics in this room will have to come down soon, like
tomorrow I guess, and this will be the end of a certain era,
especially in this room. I would like to think that I was a good
steward to this house.
It is a good house...sometimes I apologize to it, like I should
have taken better care of it, or at least have stayed longer...and
it always seems to reply, "hey, it's okay"
17 days left.