QUAIL MUTTERINGS #56. Family Dirt (August 2019)

 

                    QUAIL MUTTERINGS #56.  Family Dirt (August 2019)

 

When I was a kid, during the 50’s and 60’s, there were a lot of things that people didn’t talk about. Or was that just my family? Such as the reason why I had to get on and off the school bus at a stop where we didn’t live, or my mom’s childhood traumas – which she never shared with my sister and me, or our severely dysfunctional home life… This guarded mode of communication was simply our way. I remember hearing, and believing, the grownups talking about so-and-so having to get counseling because they couldn’t buck up and cope. It just meant that they were weak in the head. This talk mostly came from my relatives in the deep south – rural Mississippi, where we “vis’ted” every summer.

Things finally came to a head for me in 2003. My mother died too young from a brain tumor; the Cedar Fire burned all of our houses and possessions to the ground; and a teenage daughter rebelled tumultuously, ripping my already ravaged heart out of my chest and shattering it into a million pieces. Guess who was weak in the head then.

At this point, it wasn’t a choice. Words poured out onto pages and pages which eventually became a memoir. I’d had idle thoughts about perhaps someday writing a book about dance, when I was too old and feeble to do anything else. But this force welled up inside me and took over. It blew everything right out of the water: the secrets, the discrepancies and the half-truths. Evidently, sweeping things under the rug only lasts so long.

 

Since that time I’ve learned, and practiced, some other coping skills which allow the dirt to filter and move on through. Dance, of course, is great therapy. Between the pulse in the music and the exhausting physical demands the dirt begins to shake loose and sometimes, if you move fast enough, you can escape the majority of it landing back on you and finding its way into your pores again. I love hiking out in nature and breathing that fresh air and mindfully taking those steps required to rise above the toxic haze.

Family dirt seems to require more than what exercise and meditation can provide. It gets embedded under your fingernails. This is true for both the literal and figurative kinds. It needs cleaning out from time-to-time – regular maintenance stuff. And that includes cutting into the quick sometimes, even if it hurts. Hopefully, before we have to dig too deeply, we can attempt to utilize loving speech and carefully chosen words to help loosen the firmly packed darkness, in order to continue to get along. And no, it’s not perfect, nothing really is. We’re all just muddling through the best we can – each with our own set of strengths and weaknesses.

Our own families see the worst of us, but we need them as our safety net, to be ourselves. This also means that we must also provide this for them.  Hopefully, we don’t blow it too badly and those around us will be somewhat forgiving. As parents, our job is never really done. Damn, do I always have to be the grownup here? Sometimes we have to lift up the carpet and see what dirt is there, and actually do something about it. Talk, walk, meditate, dance, journal…

But please don’t slam the door on me simply because I was the one to rip off the bandade. It was barely hanging on anyway, and the dried blood was crumbling all over. I’m sorry, but someone had to do it. And, of course, this is only my point of view. I can only hope that sooner or later you will tell me yours.

 

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 #55. Ode To Mirage (April 2019)

QUAIL MUTTERINGS #55. Ode to Mirage (April 2019)

I want to extend my deepest thanks to you, Mirage, for expanding your being into our hearts. And for profoundly touching so many souls on a multitude of levels, sometimes beyond our comprehension. And for being the best horse possible for Kali during those eventing years – voted “Best Couple” at the Pony Club awards ceremony. I loved watching you run across the meadows – free in the canyon, silvery tail lifted, neck arched gracefully… I could say so much more about you: how much I loved you, the good times and the bad, the way you’d come up to me – wherever I was – and bring me more present into the moment – you had an unerring gift for that. But for now, may this suffice.

Here’s to you, Mirage:

The shining light of the canyon
A compact form of compassion
Silver mane glittering in the sunshine
Radiating magic in the moonshine

An inquisitive nature
And persistent attention taker
Always an interest in interaction
Even over green grass’s attraction

Your flapping of lips
A comical twist
Adding character and wit
To your endearing spirit

The sly, sideways hint of a nose that’d been bit
By a serpent which lay in a pit
Gave an off-kilter profile
Most endearing after a while
To we who were drawn to your field

The greeter of guests
Nudging them in their chests
Touching our hearts
With yours – off the charts

Your full-bodied whinny
Still echoing your wild roots
One final call from your stable mate
And your answer – one last time

So full of life
While ours – not so rife
We’re left adrift now that you have moved on
But we’ll somehow continue
Even though we so miss you
And remember our light of the canyon.

 

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

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.