  “….You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief, but rather when these things girdle your life and yet your rise above them naked and unbound....” - Kahlil Gibran Starting up the car, pulling out into the unusually warm spring air. The smell of the water hits me right away. Honeysuckle fills the air. Something else too…Jasmine? Maybe Orange Blossom? I always get it mixed up, but it is a fragrance that I always associate with spring and summer here.
It’s a sense of liberation, just me and my car. No automatic for me. I need to be more of a participant in my driving experience. I don’t care if it’s a Honda or a Diablo (I’ll confirm or deny this the first time I drive a Lamborghini). I just need for it to really drive. I pull out of the garage and out over the bridge. I can see to my left, the city. My city. The tall sparkly buildings…the little Spanish houses decorated in little lights all year round…the blue and white lights around the harbor and the bay.
The deep blue water filled in with sail boats. I get through a few turns, and it’s on to the freeway. There are so many in San Diego that pretty much anywhere you go you can take the freeway. My last obstacle to the freeway is this three lane one-way street that I have to cross.
People drive it like it’s the autobahn. I don’t care though, because at the end of it, is the on ramp…and if I get a green light down there I can punch it all the way through. This night, I am lucky. I am going way too fast up the on ramp and around the curve to hit the 5 North. It’s good to see that my sensibilities and practicalities haven’t completely taken me over, and that the wild girl comes out for moments to play.
Her nickname, by the way, is Cherry. I didn’t give it to myself. Remind me, and I will tell you the little story sometime. It’s cool enough now that no air conditioning is needed, which I don’t use a lot of the time anyway (this is good since it just broke! ), and the windows are down. I can’t believe I lived without this sensation for two years. Driving is my outlet, my place to vent. Fortunately for me, the flow of traffic in California is usually about 15 miles over the speed limit, so I am a little more safe speeding around with expired tags. Such is the price of freedom right now, and it is what it is. Freeway near empty, people whizzing by me at 80, radio blaring.
Shortly after my accident, since I couldn’t work, I had to move and sell my car. It wasn’t the best decision, but I had a whole new education in poverty and the human condition in those two years that has proved itself invaluable. Back in December, I was finally able to buy another car. I did good. The only really important thing to me was that it not break down and leave me without a car on the way here or once I got here.
The second most important thing is that the stereo kick ass…or as beedle says….kick ASS. It takes me away, those moments in my car with the radio providing the soundtrack to whatever is going on in my head. I bought my car, my little white Honda, and my Mom said, “What’s her name?” I’m not in the practice of naming my cars, but at that moment it seemed perfect. “Freedom,” I said. I was now saying, Freedom, baby, I promise you will have gas soon….just please please get me to the beach. She complied. Once there I could return something my Dad bought me while here, that didn’t fit, and get CASH.
The funny thing? If I had asked him for the cash instead of what he bought while he was here, which I didn’t really need, he would have said no. I return the stuff, savor that feeling of having money for 42 seconds, and I beg Freedom to get me across the street to the store, and back up the street to the gas station.
We did it. Driving home, with no worries for once in a little while, of running out of gas, I watched the city on my right go by. I smiled. Ran my hand through my hair. Took a deep breath. Song comes on…”….walking down this rocky road…wondering where my life is leading...rolling on, to the bitter end…” The universe often provides the soundtrack, doesn’t it? This particular part of the song just strikes me as being too perfect for this moment. I smile. I turn it up. I drive faster. You know, the rest of this song doesn’t not fit either. It’s Bad Company, “Ready for Love.” This morning found me restless. Couldn’t sleep. Sun was too bright too early, and it was HOT. 90 degrees today, which is unusual for any time of the year here on the coast (inland is desert, so it gets really hot in the summer).
I found that there were a few chinks in my armor. Rent is due soon…no word about the job…my driver’s license expires in 2 weeks…my car insurance is probably cancelled…no tags on the car…and soon, everything (phone, power, internet, etc.
) will be shut off. Going through the morning ritual of opening windows and blinds for the kids…not too much this day as the a/c is on…putting books or journals or magazines away that are inevitably all over my room….turning on the news and the computer…I tried to focus on something else. My dad, Jay, a southern boy, says, “If I got paid a dollar for every minute I worried, I’d be a rich man. It doesn’t solve anything.” I walked into my closet and stripped down, pulling a t-shirt off the top shelf.
I unfolded it. It says “One Team, One Goal.” I smile. It’s from the Stanley Cup playoffs in 2001, the last year we won the cup. Man, what a great season that was. I was lucky enough to go to games in every round of the playoffs, including the final. I had my friends so obsessed with hockey that year. I am so superstitious, it’s nuts. The girls were all wearing certain colors of blue nail polish that we renamed after the Avalanche in some way. I even had a greeting on my voice mail saying that you MUST watch all playoff games, at home or at the rink, commando. I had hockey game parties where it was confirmed no one was wearing underwear! What can I say?
It worked, right? If you are not a hockey fan, you may not understand how superstitious we are. It’s all part of the fun. This, is a good memory. I finished getting dressed, and put the kettle on. Raspberry green tea with honey. The room is alive with raspberry and I bring it to my face and breathe in. I don’t want to face the day. Dealing with the movers, bills, money in general. I start to flip through a book called The Cherokee Feast of Days, by Joyce Sequichie Hifler.
This is a favorite of mine. It has little daily inspirations. I’m on the third volume now. I don’t always stay with the date I’m on, I flip around until something strikes me. I begin to read about handling all the difficult and unpleasant things early in the day…then to walk away, knowing you have done your best, then you can enjoy the day. Instead of dreading what needs to be done and putting it off until later or tomorrow (this is my specialty), just tackle it. Today is a day for a new approach. I pull up my calendar, get a lot of stuff done, and realized it was not as bad as the anticipation of it was.
I know this is common sense. But, we all need reminding. As I was moving to what was next, I realized I haven’t checked my email. You know how hearing from certain people can always lift you up? I got the best email last night. Sweet and thoughtful. I forgot all about it until I opened my email again. I read it again, and touched the words on the screen with my fingertips. I started to write. I saw Danny’s comments on my post. The kitties were now on the balcony enjoying the humid, hot weather.
Petie had fallen asleep, on his back, paws in the air. He was in this position like in his dream he was running really fast around a corner. I laughed and remembered that progress, in and of itself, is progress. The anxiety is still there, as my jaw can testify from my few hours of sleep that I did get. As I’m feeling some chinks coming out of the armor, the phone rings. I pick it up and look at the caller I.D.
The cable (and internet) company. The one phone call I had yet to make. Terry, from the UK, listens as I tell him that I have no money right now and that I’m waiting to hear about a job. He says, “Fingers crossed.” Then he tells me here’s what we’ll do….and suddenly, I’m okay and there are no worries about losing my cable and internet.
For a little while anyway. If life’s beauty is in the details, life’s salvation comes in small reprieves. I realized I forgot to eat, I do this all the time, and begin to make some more tea and eat something. I was watching Petie play with a bug that apparently only he could see, and I remembered something last night that was really cool and made me wonder. When I decided to move cross country, I decided to get rid of my furniture. I had had it for a long time and I wanted a new start. Not to mention I would have had to sell my kidneys to pay for the move. I needed something to sleep on, so I got an air mattress…the kind that you pump up with just a button (thank the goddess).
It seems to be defective and I have not dealt with the company yet, although I think I can return it. One of the reasons I get migraines right now is because of the way everything got jacked up in the accident, and when the bed has a hole in it (of which it has many), it messes with my neck. I had to go on hole patrol. I strip the bed and crawl around with my butt in the air listening to my bed.
It’s very pretty. Petie thinks this is a game I made up for him. He comes and walks around and rubs on me and gets all happy and purr-y. The really loud kind that sounds like a muscle car at a stop light. This night, I go through the routine, and I cannot find the bloody leak. (I’d rather be cussing, but for you, I will refrain ;) ) Petie comes in, walks around, and sits down on one corner after a while of watching me look.
I look at him and say, “Petie, where’s the leak buddy? Help me out papa.” He’s sitting on the upper right corner, looks at me, looks at the bed, and does a little pounce (no nails). He walks over to where he pounced, and taps on one spot three or four times. I giggled, and petted his little feet and said, “You big sweetie. Thanks for trying.” Right then, my hand was resting by his paw, and guess what I felt? AIR. Coming out of the bed.
He found the bloody leak. It was little bitty, and probably not the only one since we have deflation problems still (look away boys), but I can sleep on it fine and it’s comfortable. All that and the Av’s are playing the Kings tonight on a channel out here so I can see the game. Now, I ask you, how’s that for divine intervention? I can’t help but feel anything but lucky. The price of freedom can be steep indeed. True happiness, peace, serenity and salvation cannot be found when your spirit is bound in chains. The chains may be the “shoulds”…concern for money…concerns for “what ifs”…other people…or our own lack of faith in our abilities and worth. On the wrong path, even the things that should be blessings seem like burdens. On your path, burdens bring hidden blessings. The questions to ask are this: If not now, then when? What has to happen for your life to begin?
If the price of freedom is high, what price then of the sacrifices you make to live without it? 
