Sometimes, silence is much better than voice.

Silence, it seems, has its purpose.

I woke up full of blinding anger, hate and rage today. A good way to start off my parent's visit for the weekend, I think.

All this was made worse by a person driving in front of me earlier this morning. They had a huge sticker of an American flag and "U.S.A." stuck on their back window. This was enough to make me want to kill them. Justifiable manslaughter, I'm sure.

I love PMS.

I've been doing sneaky little strafing missions into junk food lately. Chocolate calls my name like a siren from the sea.

What I've learned is this: Rocky Road candy bars are actually much better if they are stale. The marshmallow has a bit more chew with age. Otherwise, they are rather useless fluff.

And...

One Ding Dong is never enough.

Drove up to SF today, to get my plants (which did not fit in the moving truck) and to do a little visit with the pals. Much melancholia tears at me, as it is wont to do lately. I soaked in the sunshine coming in the window up the 5 fwy and wondered about this state I've been in.

Today is my child's birthday. He turned 20. How the hell all those years have passed, I just don't know. He lives in Modesto, and it's always strange to drive past the exit going north to south or vice versa. "He's just over there," I always think. Funny, Nathan's recently been hit up by a head hunter who wants him to consider a job in Modesto. Ironic, methinks.

Tired and erk after the drive, staying with Carrie, who is consummed with a whirlwind romance and job stuff. The life of this little bundle of Scorpio ever changes, and ever stays the same. Part of me pays attention and responds to her self-described mania, the other part of me mourns...I'm not sure what. Deep, protected parts of me that need some TLC. It wasn't the time, nor the place to get that, so, I tucked it away just a little further, to examine another day.

It's all fine, just fine.

Today, Nathan and I had a date with death. A close friend of the family shuffled off this mortal coil, and left a large empty space behind. Her daughter, one of the kindest, loveliest people I know, (whom my bestest cousin is married to) is beyond bereft, and I wish I could give her anything to make it better. It makes me feel empty to not have that *thing* that would cause ease, to make her life go back to what it once was, with her mom at her side. But I know this is not about *my emptiness, but her's and her family's.

So we got up before the crack of dawn, that blue light time, to drive to Fresno, and honor their loss.

The drive was spectacular, just to counter-balance the bereftness of the day. The hillsides on Hwy 126 through Santa Paula and Fillmore, which had been devastated in last year's fires, were exploding with green, in crazy contrast to the blackened remains of trees and charred grasses. Life and death, entangled.

The Grapevine shone softly with a rising sun. These mountains always stun me, no matter the time of the year, and leave me feeling so insignificant in my tiny, tin, moving machine at the base of their majesty. There was snow still on some of the mountains.

Then we hit the valley, which Spring had attacked with vengeance. Row upon row of trees in full bloom, white and pink frilly panties sweeping past our windows at 85 mph. Made me think of the lines from "Aqualung"...

Sitting on a park bench
eyeing little girls with bad intent.
Snot running down his nose
greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.
Drying in the cold sun
Watching as the frilly panties run...

Brains are weird sometimes.

The funeral was unspeakably sad, with the interrment in a beautiful park first. Mariachis playing through the sunshine and into all the people in black. What grace this woman passed on to her family, and what resolve and strength. Too much to really relate, and so much overflowing from each heart present.

The wake was afterwards...begun with a video of photos of Olivia's life. I hope to conquer the world in the way she did--backpacking trips for 14 days, out in nature for weeks at a time, raising a family who stood up and read all the things their mother/wife meant to them. Then the friends spoke. She was one that left an impression--steel strength and warm kindness wrapped in a small Guatemalan immigrant body. Their words left the room breathless; you could feel everyone suck in air at the end of each speech. I hope she was listening, somewhere.

On the way home, the same trees changed for me--became so many pink ballerinas en pointe, row upon row. The largest ballet ever, crossing all of the SoCal heartland.

And as the sun set, we came up through the Grapevine, into Santa Clarita. I looked back toward the hillside, to drink in the colors and almost gasped out loud. A huge cloud, shaped like a white dove, hovered over the hills. Centered perfectly in its chest was a hand, opened, as if waving. A sign, if I ever saw one. I looked back about 10 minutes later, and I swear to god, I was stunned again. The dove had metamorphosized into a woman's face, with pristine wings behing her. As I watched, her face became clearer, ears tightening into shape, smudges beneath her eyes made her look like she had been crying. Her hair was swept across her brow, very reminiscent of Olivia's style. What could I say?

"Goodbye, Olivia. Goodbye."

Interesting site for the moon-minded... http://www.astrowisdom.com/thisfullmoon.htm

Now for something completely different.

I'm new to this town, Ventura. Beautiful beaches, little neighborhoods, good thrift stores, groovy mixed downtown. Too much shopping, in the "here's another stripmall" sense, for my taste, but there ya go. So, I drive around, and try to pick up the...vibe, I guess, and learn my way around etc.

The thing that keeps rattling around in my brain is: "You've landed in a David Lynch film. It looks so very "normal." Just wait. It isn't."

It's intangible, but real. This town is off in some way, but I cannot define it exactly. I'm working on it.

Thus far, I've spotted no dwarves, speaking backwards. But the fact that there is a liquor store within spitting distance of yet another liquor store and another, on each and every block of every main drag speaks to something. That, coupled with the fact almost everyone I've met brings up "the Lord" in casual conversation, right off the bat, also adds to the "somethin's not right he'ah" suspicion.

I miss San Francisco. I miss the crazy hair and overt piercings and tats and urban attitude. I miss the green trees and hills of Marin, and the trails and everyone in REI gear or bike gear, ready to head out early in the morning. I miss the eclecticism of the East Bay. I'm sad I missed all the marriages at City Hall in SF. I miss the fog and the Golden Gate Bridge and the sailboats and the clean, cold wind coming off a stormy ocean. I miss the deer in the garden, the racoons on the roof, the golden finches at my bird feeder. I miss my friends, available to go to some new art opening or excellent musical event at the drop of a hat. I miss the culture, the diversity, the availability...of the world at your fingertips. Everything seemed possible there, the magic was so lush and apparent.

I miss every single second and micro-moment of home.

And I'm not sure when this will feel like home, if ever.

Maybe I'll learn to surf. Maybe I'll start beach-walking. Maybe the heat of the Ventura sun will soak into my bones, melt me, remold me, and claim me as So-Cal.

I don't know. I just don't know.