house of paper lanterns and the sea…

This morning is a turning point after several weeks of the sea.

I have a plan and I hope it will work.  I found a house where I could be happy.

I came back to this one and my dog Blue is going of old age this morning.  Very hard.

I cannot stand the amount of losses I have gone through.  Since the year 2000 and perhaps even before.  Anyway, this little house is like a Victorian doll house in a way in a tiny beach town to the south.  I love it.  It has space for a garden and I can get one of those fat tire bikes with a basket.  The town is small and happy.  I can get a puppy.  Two puppies.  I’m going to get labs — one chocolate and one white lab.  Maybe a golden too.

It has an old double garage I can use for a studio –

The man who lived there passed away and all his things are still there.  It’s so strange to see that.  I have lost so many people in my life since 2000.  Everyone.  I feel that the sea is the answer for me.  Walking that beach.  Making life even simpler.  I’m working on a pretty tough memoir right now — I want to document a lot of things that happened to women in my generation and I need a clear space to write it.  We can live separately.  We have before.

Also.  I have a very powerful love story that I want to help turn into a screenplay.  It could be shot at this house on location very easily.  It’s a true story.  I have all the letters.  It’s like the movie Ask the Dust but from the female POV.  I think that with the country going into this huge Depression a love story is important to see.

The Writer’s Conference is on for 2010, I’m happy to say.

Both of us need space to deal with the grief of the loss of our parents.

He can have their house, and I will have mine — the others can go.

Anyway, the house is a white Victorian — tiny.  In the back yard it rambles up the hill just wildly.  The shrubs are all overgrown — and vines have gone wild.

I just feel that little house is very safe.

And, I know I can write in there, easily.

I spent a lot of time last week doing pastels of the sunsets.

A friend loaned me some books by Marquez.  These two:

The reason I want to ask Walter to help me write that screenplay is because I know he can do it objectively.  He could read the letters and he would know just what to do.  When I was learning about screenplays they are pretty much 98 pages or so long.  It makes me cry to look at the letters.  Very hard.  but, very beautiful…

When I saw the title “Living to tell the tale” — it made sense.

Somehow I have survived.

The losses.

I’m not sure how.

But I have.

When I look at my husband I can see the memories.  I need a clear space because it is too painful right now.

Last week, I felt alive.  I was totally alone and I was fine.  I only feel atttached to this new little house, not the one I am in this morning.  This one is drenched with too many memories.  I want to leave it behind.

I don’t know where we are going.

I got Blue when our old dogs were going.  My dogs Buff and Zoey.  Losing them was so painful — as losing any animal is.  I knew how sad it was going to be for him and so I rescued her for us.  She ended up being his.

He’s like that.  He absorbs things.  Maybe even me?

But alone, I felt alive and like making art again.

Even tackling the garden at that little place didn’t seem daunting.  I was in a bunch of galleries too, looking at shows.  There is just a lot I could do in the arts in that garage.

You know what is sad?

To be in a garage after someone passes.

All of the life a man led — his tools…

It reminded me of my grandfather.  I kept journals but didn’t really write anything last week.  I stayed away from politics and news and just lived.  This little house is two stories high and it has cup hooks all along the porch where paper lanterns could be hung.  And twinkly little lights.  Everything about it reminds me of myself, or myself earlier.

It’s what I would have liked to have lived in, and in the town where I wanted to live, anyway.

That man might have been a writer?

I can tell from the books he had.

It’s as if that little house is waiting for me.

I love it.

7 comments

  1. I understood everything you wrote to me when you were in that elevated place Bonnaire…even terms you might not have thought. I want you to know this. You wrote things to me that I could not, and would not answer in a public format..

    But when you go flying, you soar, and touch places that I whisper only to myself…and Life…and I stand transfixed at what you say…

    why? I wonder. “All of this from her…tells me who SHE is…”

    Since you were gone, I have thought a thousand thoughts I would have said to you. And when you called me accidently, I was relieved, knowing now, that you had no idea how troubled I was….and I appreciated the “accidental mercy” of your inadvertant hand dialing my name…

    It was life’s generosity that came my way..

    I personally long for you to have your room, your dogs, your bicycle, your ocean. I am so sorry about Blue.
    But I know you will be fine now…

    and if that is my only karmic bond to you ….so be it….

    I hope not…to be honest with you Bonnaire?

    I need a friend myself….though you might never think it…

    still

    What matters and mattered most to me from the beginning…

    is that you ought to be happy Bonnaire.

    and now I am certain dear one…

    you will.

  2. It’s terrible about Blue, Song.

    I hope you are feeling better. I am sitting here with her all day. She is going.
    My husband went to find a spot for her on their favorite mountain. I know it might be tonight. We gave her a beautiful life. We did. He took her up into the snow which was her favorite thing. She is a big dog, and 10 years old can be the limit for her size.

    I’m sad.

    Really sad.

  3. I am so sorry Bonnaire….

    People who do not love dogs do not know how hard it is to lose their dog…….

    I am looking at an old one myself

    dreading the day, you are having today…

    I am so glad you gave her a beautiful life. Blue knows it…

    no doubt, in my mind Bonnaire…

    PS

    you need to take care of yourself too…even though you tend to forget…

    promise?

  4. I think I could in that house.

    I have an appointment tomorrow with a trusted friend/contractor at 10 am.
    He will know, and he knows me inside and out.

    He redid my kitchen a few years ago.
    He won’t lie if stuff isn’t okay.

    I guess we are in that era Song, and our parents also had an era like this in a way.

    It’s just that we were kids? When it happened to them.

    Oh Blue. The most wonderful dog.
    Her eyes, and everyone could pet her — she loved everyone, equally.

  5. I think you can too, Bonnaire…

    from all you have shared with me about it…

    I am glad you are proceeding in your own behalf…..

    Your Blue sounds so sweet…Beautiful eyes…I know those eyes…

    My dog, Charles? A smooth Collie, Shetland Sheepdog mix….Incredibly intellilgent..

    He bit me two nights ago? Hello? Thought It was a bone. Rough play…I guess.

    I had to get a tetanus shot…and my hand? Sore. Just began playing guitar again…

    better now…

    I get the feeling Blue wouldn’t hurt a fly.

  6. Blue’s eyes are why I named her Blue. Ice Blue, unusual. Her name at the Shelter was Betsy.

    We never really knew what she was except half Bernese Mountain Dog…
    a deux mixture, but, like them.

    She loved the snow in winter and wouldn’t go near water, ever.

    Very different from Buff and Zoe, in her ways. She saved us in 2000.
    She did.

    A few years ago, after the melamine scare, the vet said she had diabetes and so we had to proceed with that and give her shots.

    Hell.

    Little kids were unafraid to pet her. Bernese are known for hauling little cheese carts in Switzerland so they resemble Clydsdale horses in a way. Loping along, and happy. Smiling.

    To lose her like this today?

    Hell.

    But, I’m with her. All day

  7. A blue eyed Bernese Mt dog. Oh I know these dogs! They are wonderful dogs Bonnaire. But with Blue eyes…

    my! how unusual. She is ten years old?

    These are wonderful dogs Bonnaire. BIG dogs..

    I am glad you are near…

    had you been far away…?

    no..

    but you aren’t…Be strong Bonnaire…

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