Heaven's Coffee Shop

I had a dream last night that my mom was in.  I went into a cafe for a pastry and coffee and there she was, looking like she did in her last days except that she was walking and not in a wheelchair.  She was a trainee at the shop, and she didn't recognise me due to her dementia.  I placed my order, and she got several things wrong, so I walked her through it again.  She was doing her best.  The other staff there were very kind to her and helped her too. 

I very much wanted to take her out of the shop and take her home.  She had been essentially helpless for a decade, relying on my dad and me for her every need.  What was she doing working in this place?  But I looked harder: she seemed happy.  She was slow, but doing the job with a smile on her face, really connecting with me as a customer.

She walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen, out of my sight.  She was functioning and she was productive.  I should stay out of it.  She wasn't really my mother anymore, she was her own person on her own path. I felt both profoundly sad but also glad for her.  She wasn't on death's door anymore.  I knew I had to let go.  Let her go.

I woke up feeling as if I were on the brink of death myself.  A bit of a panic in my chest.  I felt pulled to join her in the afterlife.  I miss her so much.  I love her still, I always will.  I do, in most cases, enjoy when she comes to me in dreams.  Often as a young healthy woman, sometimes in middle age and still vigorous.  Rarely as her old self, suffering from Parkinson's disease and dementia.  It's been three years now and I still get the notion to call her on the phone and tell her about my grandchildren, her great grandchildren, or the new couch I bought for the living room.

Instead, I speak to her from this side of the veil, and invite her in to see me whenever she wishes.  

Oh What a Night

No, not like that Night by the Dells.  I only wish.

No, my night was full of tossing and turning, fitful non-sleep interrupted by one of my dogs have poopy runs on my bedroom rug.  I decamped to another bedroom and ordered a rug shampooer on Amazon.  The smell.  Oh, Lord.  I've been contemplating a shampooer, as I have three dogs and these things are bound to happen.  But I've been putting it off.  No more.  This was the final straw, so to speak.

It was supposed to be here early afternoon.  Crickets.  

I took a break in my housework today to call a good friend in North Carolina. She's well out of the way of Helene.  A California transplant, she moved to Mt. Airy a decade ago, tired of the floods and mudslides of Big Sur and Carmel Valley.  This woman is prepared. Her neighbours, shocked by Helene, are asking her advice for emergency supplies.  She has a well stocked pantry, plenty of bottled water, and a Coleman propane camp stove.  This was an essential in California where we lived through earthquakes, fires, floods and mudslides.  As western NC is showing us, it can happen anywhere.

Our conversation was a balm to my horribilis noctis. We attended high school together, and though we go years between visits, we always pick up where we left off.  The very best kind of friendship.

Thanks, friend.

Hiding Out

I've been ensconced in my house for a couple of days, after a long day of travel and friendship that was great but really wore me out!  I start thinking about the negatives of hiding out, and do beat myself up a bit about it.  However, as I am seeing the devastation across the east from hurricane Helene, I snap out of my funk and feel pretty danged grateful.

Insomnia and a heavy lethargy are bearable.  Surviving the flooding and wind damage from this storm - not so much.  I have a nephew who attended Warren Wilson college in Asheville, NC, so I was curious as to how the campus faired.  They are doing better than areas around them, but they are cut off by mudslides and have no electricity.  No electricity means NO WATER.  No wifi and spotty cell service so frantic parents are having a difficult time finding out the status of their children.  It reminds me of the Loma Prieta earthquake in California when I was working at the university in Santa Cruz.  

One of the things I've been doing these past 2 days is looking back at family history.  This handsome fellow is my great grandfather Oscar Tilley in 1907.  I knew him as an old man; he died when I was six years old.  He was still strong, and tall, and tolerated us little ones invading his house. His wife, my great grandmother, was a tiny woman (like Nancy Reagan).  She was his physical opposite - delicate and small. I had the pleasure of knowing her as well.  Her sister, my great great Aunt Lou, lived in a studio across the breezeway.  I count myself lucky indeed to have known these ancestors.

The maternal line in my family boasts early California settlers.  My grandparents were a part of my childhood, but not as much as my paternal grandmother.  They owned land in the Sierra foothills and operated a Christmas tree farm that was wildly popular with people as far away as the San Francisco Bay Area.  Upon my grandparents deaths, the farm was sold and two of their children used that money to buy their own farms, closer to town.  

The earliest ancestors I know of were operator/owners of a stage coach inn in Siskiyou County, California.  They gave it the family name, and Cole's Station was born.  I remember meeting my great grandmother Cole once, as she lay in a hospital bed in a nursing home.  I was quite young, and her visage was a little scary to my young mind.  She was a great friend to my parents, however, and helped them purchase their first home.  My mother's parents were not keen on her marrying my father, but grandmother Cole was, and helped out the young couple.

As a grandmother (Bubbie) myself now, I think a lot about the generational knowledge we are able to pass on.  Keeping the stories alive and honouring the past seem very important to me now.  I am a fan of the PBS show "Finding Your Roots" and how astounded people are to discover their ancestors' past.  People's stories are forgotten along the way, until we are older and more reflective.

I feel my ancestors around me from time to time.  Even the one who caused a family scandal and absconded with family money and left his pregnant wife with his parents.  He was found decades later by my grandmother, living in a sleepy mountain town in Northern California, having formed an entirely new family.  My grandmother felt the call of her long lost uncle, who was never mentioned after his abandonment.  His name never appeared in any writings by my great grandfather. It was as if he never existed.

So, this is what I've been up to. Lost in the past and dreaming about the enormity of life.

Steve

 

A friend is grieving the loss of her long time love and life partner.  It is wrenching, but she is remembering the good times, their travels, and the love they shared.

It brings back to me the grief I experienced at the loss of my husband, Steve, almost five years ago now.  We were together a short amount of time but we packed a lot of living into those six years.  We didn't know our time would be so short but we had a real 'carpe diem' attitude about our meeting, falling in love, and marrying.

The ending was complicated by the dementia that took over his brain.  So much bitterness, anger and confusion.  Truly harrowing.  Only healed in the last week of his life in the nursing care wing of our retirement community. He had moments of clarity where deep connection was allowed between us.  His daughter said he was calm when I was around.  

My friend is writing about her amazing travels with her partner, and that brings up very fond memories I have of my travels with Steve. This photo was taken in Paris, with two friends of ours who happened to be in Paris at the same time!  What a nice surprise.

Our travels were always an adventure.  I had never been to Europe, nor Cuba, and we went several times over the years.  Steve was fluent in French, and my Spanish was passable, so together we worked it out.  I will be forever grateful for his enthusiasm and willingness to share an adventure with me. 

What I've discovered, anew, about grief is that the sting of loss never goes away.  Not a day goes by where I do not think of Steve.  The good and the bad. As time moves on, however, I find most of my memories are good ones and my gratitude around finding him continues.  An accomplished man, intelligent and creative.  He adored me and I felt that.  The sharp pain of loss softens while the sweet memories bloom easily.  For that, I can be entirely at peace.

Yellow Cottage, Part 2

I have a dear friend who I met in my Creative Writing class my freshman year in college.  I sent the poem to her for her comments and edits because I knew she would make it better, and she did! Most of her adult life after college, she was an editor.  Not that it matters, but she knows this cottage that I write about, and the man who lived with me in it.

The Yellow Cottage

Nestled between two imposing stories,

Squat, hunkered down,

Protected by a white picket fence,

Two blocks from the deep blue bay,

Where sea lions bark and gulls squawk,

And the foghorn sounds.

I stood outside the fence,

Camera raised and clicking,

Trying to capture a time 

When I entered, with groceries and textbooks,

To find comfort on the couch.

My love and I lived within these cottage walls --

    one bedroom,

    a serviceable kitchen,

    no laundry.

The years to come, just a dream --

Two hapless youths on our way.

Hope lived within us.

I stand before the cottage, decades on,

And he is gone, far too young.

I wonder at the life within those walls,

And yearn, once more, to enter that space

and absorb whatever energy and insight

The yellow cottage has to give.

Țară Crowley, 2024

The Yellow Cottage

The Yellow Cottage

Nestled between imposing two stories

A miniature home bathed in yellow

Squat, hunkered down

protected by a white picket fence

two blocks from the deep blue bay 

 barking sea lions and squawking gulls

the lighthouse fog horn calling out 

I stood outside the fence

camera raised and clicking

trying to capture a time

when I entered carrying groceries and text books,

to find my comfy spot on the couch

My love and I lived in those four walls

a single bedroom

a serviceable kitchen

no garage

no laundry

spare

the years to come, just a dream

two hapless youths on our way

hope lived within us

I now stand before it, decades away

and he is gone too young

I wonder at the life within those walls

and yearn to enter that space once more

absorbing any residual energy and insights 

the yellow cottage has to give

5/25/24

You Can Go Home Again

 I took a vacation in the first week of May.  I went back to my high school and college stomping grounds, still populated by many friends of the time.  I needed to get away to refresh my spirit, and I wanted to go somewhere fairly close and manageable.  My physical energy has been low for a long while, so this was also a bit of test to see how I could do with travel.  Lucky me, United flys direct from Denver to Monterey.  Monterey airport is a teeny tiny place that hasn't changed in decades.  They welcome you at the door when you enter from the tarmac.

My first stop in town was to the cemetery where my parents are buried.  It was my first visit since we buried their ashes.  The flat headstone was littered with new mown lawn and dirt.  It looked so insignificant there.  Sigh.

I headed off to visit with my college friend in the condo where she has lived for thirty years.  In the evening we went to dinner on the wharf.  Delicious sand dabs, cooked perfectly, with sautéed peppers and a nice crisp sauv blanc.  We wandered around afterward.

This pink gem is located at the top of the wharf.

As a teen, the wharf was someplace I avoided because of the tourists, but this trip it was a fun place to visit.  Not only did I have dinner there with my old chum, I had lunch a few days later with my ex-wife.  It's been thirteen years and the ending was ugly back then.  Time and tragedy, however, have softened us both and we spent a couple of hours catching each other up on our lives and our children. It was healing and left me feeling peaceful.  Never say never.  People do change.  Not radically, but in meaningful ways.

The great thing about this trip was the connections with my friends that I've known for 45 years.  My dance card was full with them.  It was like a farewell tour, but I hope it's not!

Remember that little house I mentioned a few posts ago?  I went by and took some photos.  I think I could live there again.  If somebody laid 800k on me.

So many memories walking down that street, standing at the gate.  That's where I lived when I married in 1978.  I could listen to the sea lines on the rocks two blocks away as I fell asleep.  The fog horn and the seagulls.  A lovely existence.  I was too young to really appreciate it and now these decades later I wish I could have it back.  It's nothing special, and yet it is.

I stayed at my favorite hotel in downtown Monterey for three nights, then moved out to Carmel Valley to stay at The Lodge.  The valley is a completely different ecosystem - arid, sunny, vineyards and sprawling oak trees.  Very much like the south of France.  Everywhere, even at the coast, the Mediterranean plants: cactus, the spiky Pride of Madera, artichokes, lavender and citrus trees.  The scent from all of these darlings is heady.

More on my wonderful valley stay later.

Short But Sweet

I took a very short getaway with my daughter and grandkids.  We flew to our old stomping grounds in Santa Cruz, CA.  It was supposed to be three nights but it turned into two when a huge storm was forecast for Denver, our return destination.  So we bugged out of our lovely vacation rental early.  Good thing, too, for the storm has arrived and it is not pretty. Here are my old friends whom I have not seen in 15 years.  We enjoyed tacos and margaritas at a restaurant on the SC Wharf.  It was one of those get togethers where no time at all seems to have gone by.  They are warm and gracious as ever.

The vacation rental has a hot tub, which we all enjoyed, including some friends of the grandkids.  The house was quite near the yatch harbor, and I fell asleep to the sound of sea lions barking.  An old familiar sound for me.  I haven't been in the area in a decade, and I forgot how much I love the local flora: palm trees, evergreens, succulents, honeysuckle bushes spilling over the fence, Peruvian lilies in abundance.  Oh, and the Acacia trees with their bright yellow flowers filled with pollen populating all the mountain roadways.

Nothing ever stays the same, and Santa Cruz is quite changed.  High rises downtown, houses on the ocean front threatened by erosion and high waves and also huge buildings on Mission Street.  Of course I drove by some of my old houses there, including the one where I lived with my wife before our divorce.  I drove by that one, too, and lo and behold, she was out front unloading groceries from her car.  I didn't stop because I wasn't sure I'd be welcome.  Subsequent texting informed me that I would be most welcome.  We were trying to put something together when the news came that we had to change our flight and leave a day early. So, there you go.  But it was comforting to know that she wouldn't be waiting for me at her front door with a shotgun.  I supposed enough time (twelve. years) has gone by to soften and make fuzzy all the very bad things that happened.

It was fun spending time with the grandkids.  They were lil' champions on this trip!  Upbeat and cooperative.  They had a great time going to the amusement park and the local aquarium.  They loved seeing their cousins and friends.

Despite having to cut short an already short trip, it was indeed a sweet time with everyone.

Obituary, Draft #1

I want to write my own.  Because, you know, I know my life best.  And because I don't want my daughter to have to summarise it all. I'm not near dying, which is the best time to think about these things.

Born in 1957, the heyday of post war America, Tara was born to young and industrious parents, who would go on to provide a good life for their three daughters.  Ann and Patrick Crowley did a pretty good job.

Tara lived throughout California, from San Diego to Sacramento.  Her most memorable years were on the Monterey Peninsula and north in Santa Cruz.  Here she gave birth to her daughter at age 30, a long awaited and most joyous birth.

Tara was a young go-getter, going to college at Monterey Peninsula College while working various part time jobs and volunteering as a DJ at a local Community Radio station, KAZU.  This is where she met her first husband, and father of her child, Kevin Sean Cashen.  They both moved to Santa Cruz for Tara to pursue a degree in Fine Art.

After the birth of her daughter, she worked at UC Santa Cruz for 23 years in various positions within the Student Affairs division.  She survived the political tumult endemic to universities, until she'd had enough and took early retirement at 52 years of age.  She worked briefly as a home health aide before providing care for her mother, who lived with Parkinson's Disease.

In 2020, Tara was predeceased my her husband, Dr. Steve D. Barbour.  Upon his death she moved to northern Colorado to join her daughter and family.

Tara had many interests, including musicianship, writing, fine arts and photography.  She was inspired by her great great Aunt Lou Goodale Bigelow, a pioneering photographer in the early 1900s.  

Tara's life was graced with intimate, lifelong friendships, from a junior high school classmate to friends of her parents.  This was her passion: the friends she made in life who shared values, passions, and their hearts over the decades.

Tara is survived by her daughter, Laurel Cashen Harris (Josh) and two grandchildren, Eden and Dylan.

Garden Song

 Have you heard the song?  

Inch by inch, row by row
Gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground

Inch by inch, row by row
Someone bless these seeds I sow
Someone warm them from below
Till the rain comes tumblin' down

Pullin' weeds and pickin' stones
Man is made of dreams and bones
Feel the need to grow my own
'Cause the time is close at hand

I was surprised to hear it was written by John Denver.  I always thought it was Pete Seeger.  Nope.

It's a new year, 2024, and while I don't make resolutions (who needs to be disappointed?) I do like to reflect.  I'll be sixty seven this summer, which is an odd thing, and yet not.  Like most of us, I feel to be much younger in my mind if not my body.

It occurs to be that the years have been teaching me patience and self-love.  I have overcome huge obstacles and know that, no matter what, I am resilient as hell.

I am moving along, reaching out and making new friends; enjoying activities however small.  I don't venture too far from home these days.  Mostly because I have a newish dog and don't want to leave her.  Also because, although I do love people, paradoxically they annoy me no end.  The thought of air travel is daunting.  Have you seen the mess at the airports?  A sea of humanity.  No thanks for now.

I try to get friends from California to come to me.  A couple did, and they contracted Covid while visiting their son before coming north to my place.  Maybe caught it in the airport, we don't know.  It was a miserable "vacation" for them, stuck in a hotel room and not well enough to fly home immediately.  Though the peak of the pandemic is passed, I personally know many people who have been sick with it in the last few months.  It's a miracle I haven't had it (knock on wood).  Perhaps it's my religious adherence to booster shots and the fact that I don't hang out in large crowds of people.

In case you missed it, this is the two year anniversary of the attempted coup in Washington D.C.  45's treachery is well known even though a third of the country refuses to acknowledge it.  Liz Cheney's book, "Oath and Honour" is out but you know that die-hard MAGA folks are not going to read it.  And so it goes.

On a Zoom call this morning, I told my friends that I don't get too exercised over politics these days.  I've been engaged over the decades and I'm laying it aside.  Of course I observe, and talk with friends about it, but it is up to younger folks to step into the fray.  I'm tired and tired of it.

I hope your holidays were what you wished for.  Happy New Year, filled with peace and contentment, from me to you.

Goings On in Northern Colorado

Gosh, but it's been a minute since I posted.

I've been consumed with my move, and adopting a new dog!  The house is coming together - I moved in July 15 - and it's been exciting but exhausting.  Some days just throwing my legs over to get out of bed was a chore.  I'm getting a big return for all my efforts: a house that I love.  Of course I had help from family and friends, for which I am extremely and eternally grateful.  I know I said this when I moved to my condo four years ago, but THIS IS THE LAST TIME.  I'm too old for this shit.

My newest dog, Dori, is bringing great amounts of joy.  I'm also getting used to young energy (she's 1 yr 3 mos) and some potty training issues.  She's getting better, but sometimes I still find a turd (or two) tucked behind a chair or in the laundry room.  Working on that.

How could I possibly get mad at this little girl?  She's adorable.  Lucy is getting along with her, and just in the last couple of days they share the dog bed.  Lucy doesn't look thrilled being squished in there with Dori, but she's a good sport and tolerates it.

They are both sleeping with me, under the covers.  My main bedroom is in the basement, beautifully finished with a lux bathroom.  It's cool down there which is perfect for the summer heat.  I don't run the air conditioning much.  It's fabulously chilly and I crawl into bed and pull the covers over me.  No air required!

It's been fun decorating.  Orange curtains, new rugs, and a couple of pieces of furniture refurbished by a friend of mine.  This is her side business and I love her work.  So far I've purchased two dressers and an ornate antique side table.  

So that's how it has been going.  I don't read blogs much anymore.  I don't expect that people will read mine.  Gone are my days of excited posting that I kept up for over a decade.  I only have so much energy. Only so much space in my brain.

Thanks for stopping by.