QUAIL MUTTERINGS #54. Goodbye, Aloha, and Hello Again (March 2019)

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Not that Southern California ever gets that cold, really, but it does to me. I’m always wandering around wearing a flannel shirt as a second layer and often multiple others as well. After much deliberation over cost, time away, and pre-tax-time preparation I convinced Kent to escape to Hawaii with me. We prefer visiting less touristy areas and like to stay in out-of-the-way, funky places. Fortunately, for me, he enjoys the challenge of slogging through endless details on the internet. I do not. I’d rather pull weeds or repair water lines than spend hours in front of a computer screen. Anything to avoid the inevitable neck and shoulder pain that comes with that unpleasant activity, and, of course, the resulting headache from the unnatural glare.

Alright, enough whining. Jump ahead to descending the steps from the airplane, walking across the tarmac, and catching a shuttle for the rental car office.

The jovial bald man behind the counter looked up our information. “Well, we don’t have any of the compacts in right now, like the one you reserved. But you’re in luck.” He flashed us one of those car salesman type smiles. “You get a free upgrade to one of our sporty Mustangs! You’re gonna love it!” And another salesmanship grin.

Kent looked over at me and replied, “Well, we’re not really car people. It doesn’t matter that much to us.”

The poor guy didn’t quite know how to respond so he pushed the paperwork toward us with a little gadget. “And it doesn’t even need a key.”

I stared at the little flat object and asked, “What do we do with this?”

“Oh, it’s easy-peasy. You just step on the accelerator and it goes.”

Kent and I exchanged looks. “How do you turn it off? Or lock it?”

“Oh, you’ll figure it out,” he assured us. “I just know you’re gonna love it.”

“Do you think you could perhaps give us a lesson on how to operate it?”

“Let me help these next folks while you guys go out and play around with it and then if you still have questions then I’ll come on out.”

Kent and I dragged our suitcases and backpacks out to the white convertible and after finally figuring out how to open the trunk we loaded our luggage. We would have liked to be able to put some things on the back seat, but there were no back doors. I realized how labor intensive getting our stuff in and out of the back would be when we’d have to adjust and readjust the front seats every time we needed something. Also, not a feel good option for our old, tired spines either. I played with the windows and soon discovered that the front and back windows didn’t quite line up, no matter what order you opened and closed them. Hello – it’s rainy, very rainy, on the east side of the island and I didn’t want to get dinged for a water damaged rental car.

So, Kent went back in to tell the man that we didn’t actually love the car after all. And what do you know, but a small, four-door compact (like we’d originally requested) miraculously became available. Fancy that. It even had a real key! We finally drove out of the lot, sure that they were all laughing at us old duffers for turning down a Mustang convertible for a little tin can. But we were just happy as punch.

Hawaii is a beautiful place, especially where it hasn’t been built up yet. We stayed in a couple rustic tiny houses with no indoor toilets. Going out to the outhouse was fine for us. I grew up with that and we still have one up the hill for when we’re out doing chores. There’s certainly a whole lot less water waste with those. Hiking the rugged trails, lolling around the beaches (black, white, grey, and green sand varieties), and buying food at the local farmers markets provided a fun getaway for us. Wouldn’t it be nice to visit some tropical island every January?

Light rains began here in Ramona as more precipitation fell there. But once home, we got hammered by the biggest rainstorm in years. Welcome to trenching and soggy boots! But honestly, it is always nice to get back home. I love seeing the creek run, and listening to the frogs at night, and watching the birds prepare for spring. If nothing else, traveling makes me appreciate home more, seeing it through renewed eyes. Isn’t that called freshness of appreciation? I remember that term from a college psychology course and think of it often. It’s such a wonderful way to look at things. We don’t always have to get away to experience this. Sometimes all it takes is the little things. Like unexpectedly connecting with some stranger and reaffirming that you’re not alone. Or walking out your door and witnessing a spectacular sunrise. Perhaps reading a passage in a book or magazine that resonates with you. Anyway, enough of my rambling for now – awaken to your own freshness of appreciation, wherever or whenever it arrives.

Chi Varnado is working on a new MG/YA series about a dance studio. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com. You can follow us on www.Facebook.com/gnomewoodcanyon.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #53. A Look at Time (December 2018)

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     When I wax nostalgic for what was, I sometimes shuffle through the files in my head to see what might present itself. These, of course, are arranged in a completely non-linear, disorganized sort of fashion which can make retrieval a little tricky. The code for what I may be searching for, in that deep dark place, often gets scrambled and I pull out a completely unrelated scene than the one I went in there for in the first place. It’s not all that uncommon. But the thing is, my card catalogue is also probably not as organized as it could be. It seems as though childhood memories are sometimes partnered with business ideas; or thoughts about music and dance may be overshadowed by math problems, conflicting images of happy and sad, or some trip I took in the sixties (No, not that kind of trip). So, sometimes the pairing of concepts can take on new twists and allow me to look at things in a fresh way, which I probably would never have come up with had I set out to do this originally. The mind is a fascinating thing.

As a young adult, and even as a child, I often pondered about the notion of time itself. But the way we’re taught to think about things is by organizing them onto a timeline. When we are very young, we’re able to perceive events in a way that isn’t always confined in such a linear mode, but that somehow gets lost in our growing up. At some point in our training, this more holistic way of seeing the world around us gets re-shaped in a fashion to more easily categorize or evaluate in a logical manner. There are pros and cons to this – like everything else. It’s all relative. But language is like that, I guess. Anytime we talk, the idea has to be boiled down to something much simpler than it actually is, in order to get our message across. I feel like it’s a very limiting way to communicate, but what’s the alternative? We’re just not there yet. And instead of our species moving in that direction, our blabbering keeps increasing, and in my opinion, it’s about mundane things or endless and repetitive details about things that completely miss the point. I know, ranting.

Getting back to where I began, searching through the cobwebs of my semi-organized brain, I time travel in an ever present now to my childhood bedroom. One of my absolute favorite places to be on a chilly winter late afternoon is in my box, on a shelf, in the closet – which happens to be my little narrow bed. If I make sure to close the large square window before the air outside gets colder than the inside then I can experience complete luxury, like most people will never know. Glen Campbell’s smiling face is lit by the sinking sun’s spotlight as I lay back, soaking in the warm glow like a lizard, wiggling my toes to the rhythm beating from the record player on the rickety table next to my head. The amber marbles of the paper mâché raccoon I made stare down at me from his perch on top of the thin-shelled, make-shift wardrobe where my clothes hang behind the tattered green curtain.

I roll over onto my stomach to face west as the yellow orb continues its descent behind the bluish mountains in the distance, highlighting the growing eucalyptus that I’ve been measuring time against since I got my own room ten years ago. I have everything I need in this sanctuary: clothes folded in the large wooden box below me, the insulation provided by the bright orange shag carpet which covers the floor, the narrow set of drawers that Mom and I painted sunlight yellow – along with my particle board walls that Dad did. My space feels comfortable and cozy until the walls start closing in on me and I have to flee. Outside! My ultimate refuge is the canyon where I’ve called home for the last sixty years.

I drift out of the reverie and back into the present. Was that actually only then and this really now? Or is it all the same? Can past and present somehow be interchangeable? Is all time omnipresent? It’s all just perspective.

 

Chi Varnado is working on a new MG/YA series about a dance studio. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com. You can follow us on www.Facebook.com/gnomewoodcanyon.

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #52. Tag, You’re It! (October 2018)

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Is camaraderie important to you? Does it feel good to be part of a supportive community? Are you happier doing things with someone else sometimes, and not always doing them alone? I know I am – and I’m pretty sure that most of us feel that way.

Recently I was invited to a six-year-old’s birthday party. Nothing fancy – just good wholesome fun. All the kids got into playing with the multitude of toys. But what struck me most was that a group formed as a result of each one being totally present in the moment with an open and available attitude. Without any direction or planning from the adults, their excitement sparked into action. I watched them run barefoot in the dirt with wild abandon – like I used to do as a youngster. They raced around the old dirt road loop, part of it hidden behind brush. Around and around and around they went, stopping only to pant hard, wipe their sweaty foreheads or laugh about who ran the fastest on the last lap – or what happened at some point in between.

It got me thinking about how rare these simple activities are becoming in our society. Most children do not go outside every day to entertain themselves. I think it’s a healthy and necessary part of growing up. Besides being out in nature – and we all know that’s good for us – kids don’t get bored as often because they learn how to find things to do. It’s not rocket science, but it seems that a lot of children have lost this simple skill. If they are always on their device or constantly being shuttled from one supervised activity to the next, how can we expect them to be self-motivated? They don’t know how!

Okay, so how does this relate to what I said about community? I believe they are directly related. A lot of us feel lonelier and more disconnected now than ever before. But these days we are connected all the time through the web: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Text, Email… How many “friends” do you have? Really? That’s nice. We REALLY need those REAL connections with REAL people. It’s not just millennials and the younger set who have been consumed by social media. It’s us baby boomers as well. I feel like it’s the current connections that are eating up our time and leaving us severely socially deprived. I step back from connecting on a regular basis because it depresses me. We’re so alone – is there anybody really out there?

It’s no wonder that intentional communities are sprouting up all around the world. Each tends to focus on a desired way of life. Some have an environmental awareness, other’s a local food movement, or tiny houses… But they all form from our basic need of community. Working together through common interests fosters the feeling of being truly connected. But there’s a fine line between true communal living and passive communal presence. In my opinion, one of the reasons that the old hippie communes didn’t work was because one or two people got stuck with all the work. If you are the person who always has to initiate all the action and follow through on all the details, then of course you’ll burn out. With no one stepping up to the plate – the community fizzles.

I try to arrange gatherings on a semi-regular basis: hikes, farm to table garden potlucks, occasional wine Wednesdays for us crones, family picnics, drumming circles, outings… At our last family gathering, my son-in-law told me how good it felt to be together and to simply hang out; that it doesn’t take a big planned event – just chips and conversation can suffice. In this time when everyone is so falsely connected that we feel lonelier than ever, it’s essential that we wake up before it’s too late. Step up once in a while – please – and do your part to gather others into your sphere (whatever it might be) and welcome and encourage them into belonging. Even if you’re not the organizer, at least try to show up (physically and emotionally) and show your appreciation. Why not try to take on a part of it yourself? You might be glad you did.

Our family gathering Mt. Laguna, September 2018 – Photo by Sean McCormac

Chi Varnado is working on a new MG novel about a dance studio. Her memoir, A CANYON TRILOGY: Life Before, During and After the Cedar Fire and her children’s book, The Tale of Broken Tail are available on www.amazon.com. Her collection of essays, Quail Mutterings, can be found on www.chivarnado.com. You can follow us on www.Facebook.com/gnomewoodcanyon.