Smoke Signals

Thunderheads and lightning on a hot day in Southern California. We drive to the post office and pass three fire trucks going the other way.
"I wonder where the fire is," my mom wonders.
An hour later, back at the house, I go outside and see smoke is billowing over the near mountains. I run through the house to find my mom. She's not there. Planes flying around carrying water. I find her outside directing the arrival of a new manufactured home (she works in the community where she lives, selling manufactured homes). I point at the sky, and hope she doesn't get too nervous. A few years ago, her entire community was evacuated. I'm a Wilderness First Responder and I know how to stay calm in emergencies.
"I know, I've been watching it" she calmly informs me.
We come back inside. I urge my mom to start packing now in case we are evacuated. My mom is much less worried than I am, "oh, the fire trucks haven't even come in from this side to fight the fire. Last year, they were driving up the street to fight it. Take this one," I carry the box of family photos she points out to the pile of papers and boxes. I go outside to check the smoke. Looks bigger to me. I pack my things. My mom calmly goes through papers. She tells me there's a phone tree in the community in case they need to evacuate. I pace. I go outside to check the smoke. There's more white in it this time. My mom tells me that means they are pouring water on it. I can smell the skunks that are nesting under the house. Another water plane drones by. My mom is still sorting papers, putting birth certificates and other things in a cardboard box. I pace. Earlier there was a single column of smoke that started billowing white from the water. It split in to two columns orange and black and spread out in either direction. The fire itself is a couple hills away, I can't see it, only try to read it's signals in the smoke. The phone rings. It's the call. I stand up. My mom answers. I hold my breath. She frowns. She hangs up.
"Is it the phone tree?" I ask, because she hasn't told me.
"No, it's a sales call," she laughs. I resume breathing and notice I have my hands over my heart.
"Oh." I sit down.
We check the smoke together. It's more spread out now, covering more of the horizon. But it's also thinner, more orange. My mom calls a coworker who's son-in-law works for the fire department and finds out that the fire is in Chihuahua Valley. We look at a map. I estimate it's four miles away at most. Another plane flies over the house.
"Well, this was a good little drill," my mom says good naturedly.
"Were you even worried?" I ask.
"Well, not really. We went through this last year and I was nervous. Now if it had been really windy, that makes the fires travel fast. But it wasn't particularly windy."
The sick feeling in my stomach is starting to go away.

Hope

Hope is a funny thing. It's rope that burns your hand and also holds you, keeps you from falling.

Clay!!

There is a lot of stress in my life these days. Work, family, car almost getting towed because I forgot to move it on the day they were painting stripes on the street, you know, the usual. There was a time when my guitar was my journal and my therapist at once, I'd sing everything I felt. That doesn't seem to be happening for me now. 

But you know what is happening for me now? Clay! It had been about 8 years since I had touched clay, but I found out about Ruby's Clay Studio in San Francisco and started going to their drop in hours. Just to remember how to work the clay, I made a couple of dinosaurkangarooalligator creatures.  They are sitting on my dresser top now. 

Different people see them as different things, and I'm fine with that. I see them as full and happy of whatever I want to fill them with. Especially the fatso one with her arms around her belly. She's so full! Uhhhhh!

Now that they are done, the obvious next move is big slugs. 

There's something about moving clay around with my hands, all the mooshing, smoothing, cutting, forming, that is so good for getting my mind off what worries me. I don't think about whether the group in the field has enough water carrying capacity for their dry camp tonight. I don't think about my sister and her choices. I don't think about missing my partner and being lonely in this city.

When I come home from the ceramics studio I feel like I'm doing good work with my life, and am filling the rest of my time with worthwhile things. I feel like I am the person I want to be when I grow up. I feel whole and complete.

Lo mejor de hoy:

Pitayas en venta al lado de la carretera.
Melón, piña, papaya y granola en la Comer.
Los mismos cuento de siempre con mi papá.
Muñeca Fea, la perrita nueva, linda, quisiera llevármela a San Francisco.
El caballito recién nacido que esta a la vuelta de la calle.
El alboroto de vida en el jardín.
Vainilla, suficiente para regalar.
Chacuacos en la mañana.
Que siempre pienso en regresar a Rosarito a vivir, aunque ya ni me la creo yo misma, pero no paro de pensarlo.

Favorite Parts of Today 5.21.12

My cello lesson, even though my vibrato still sucks. The notes are ringing more beautifully and my fingers know where to go sometimes without me having to tell them.
Harmonizing foghorns.
Sticking my bare hands in to a pot of hot sticky rice in a failed attempt to make onigiri. It all stuck to my palms and fingers, which is what made the rice balls not work, but was also the best part.
Standing outside my apartment looking at trees.
Setting up my tent in the living room.
Eating so many longan berries.

What were yours?

Favorite parts of today

Favorite parts of today:

My roommate making me strawberry peanut butter nuttela toast to thank me for cleaning the fridge.
Waking up to birds singing.
The part of Sweet Potato Bug that I play with my index finger walking up the D chord.
Finding the salsa I wanted at the grocery store.
Drinking water out of a big jar.
Sitting on my bed and reading.
Finding out a childhood friend is engaged and seeing her cute family photos.
Vacuuming my toenail clippings off my bedroom floor, finally.
Thinking about my sister and how despite everything, I love her so much.

What were yours?

Update from a little later:
Hearing that coyote outside my apartment.  My San Francisco apartment.

Drunken Beetle

Sweet Potato Bug
Sleeping in late again
You never ask for anything but to be loved
And the world offers itself to you.

Sweet Potato Bug
Staying up late again
Smiling you dance when you're drunk on the light of the moon
Like a beetle in a Hafiz poem

Finally, the beginning of a new song. It's been a while. This song may never get finished. I may scrap it by next week. But it's good to have a song happening. And thanks to Serra Sewitch who first introduced me to the Hafiz poem "What Should We Do About That Moon?"