It’s a marvel that moving companies don’t apply a steep surcharge for inter-techtonic plate moves. I’d have exploited that angle in my prior sales life. Instead, a friend orchestrated a flawless move that was surcharge free, reasonably priced and made so comfortable with his presence. We left behind the North American Plate, truck packed to the ceiling and unloaded my life into a cottage that sits on a hill, on the eastern edge of the Pacific Plate.
Oh, the low hanging metaphors with that one.
Nobody needs to hear another moving story. Nothing broke, and most everything is still packed. But a little progress is made each day. Which is to be lauded given the highly social nature of life on Bolinas. I have gone from living behind a fence, seeing no one unless they knocked on my door to living at the end of a small lane, in a courtyard of what could pass as an arboretum, populated with 8 people I would have hand-selected to be neighbors.
While hauling in laundry I pause to discuss Japanese documentaries. While walking the dog I pause to discuss the potential for inner turmoil when hosting weddings while not believing in the institution of marriage. (The rolling lawn that leads south has cradled more than a few couples as they give it one hell of a go.) A boy runs to the door to call out the dudes to play. The sun sets and the coyotes come to the hill like Hounds of the Baskervilles, The Plural Edition, under a fat moon.
It was the fattest and fullest on the night of my birthday. The dudes and I threw caloric caution to the wind and indulged heartily at the Sand Dollar. My mom dutifully ordered up people that would stop by and compliment the boys on their manners and remark on our playful nature with each other. Of course, they didn’t see me on the way home when one of those little morsels screamed so loud my rock & roll ravaged right ear nearly bled. I think I said something like,
If you ever do that again I will take your bicycle and carve it up into tiny pieces with a jackhammer. Then I’ll make you eat them.
But I think it came out like,
If you ever want to see your bike again you’ll never hit that decibel in this vehicle while I am in it. Certainly not while I am driving around s-curves alongside a lagoon on a stretch of Highway 1 left dark by the still-rising moon.
Got it?
Yes, Mommy.
With the dudes tucked into bed, I leashed up the dog (during the day she can run free without fear of a safari-like encounter) and walked out into still sea air. The waves rose to meet the moon, then crashed on the not-so-distant shores of Stinson, banked by a black hillside dotted with lights. On my previous visits to the cottage before moving in I didn’t hear the ocean. On this night I heard cars and trucks speeding at intervals along an interstate, but then the crack of water on water and the rush up the sand emerged from the white noise. It was arguable who beamed more, the moon or me.
I can hear the ocean.
A forest rings the lawn, it’s edge just on the other side of a paved running track that measures one-third of a mile. Tucked in amongst the trees are sculptures, some serving as benches from which to take in the views of the hills and shoreline, and a beautiful meditation garden. Hiding behind those are apparently a thousand coyotes.
Allow me to exaggerate to a degree that matches the startling nature of their screams.
For a girl who used to sprint a hundred feet under a spotlight to get from my car to my front door when I was young, I felt completely at ease strolling in the middle of a field with no idea what had me in its sights.
That is until an image emerged, 50 feet away. The moon was overhead, but the light fell in a distorted haze thinned by fog. The top of the silhouette was hip height. The perfect size for a dog sitting, its back straight, fully alert. That’s all I could make out. My eyes strained to see if it was moving closer. I looked to my faithful canine for a sign of concern, immediately interpreting her lack of care to actually be a state of shock. So, of course, I said,
Shoo!
I have a lot to learn.
My first lesson came the next day when I discovered the blood thirsty coyote was really just a former fire hydrant, now an exposed pipe that rises from the ground.
Perception is reality. And that night I thought for sure I was being welcomed by the leader of the pack.
Welcomed we have been. In some cases welcomed like any other new arrival with warm smiles and insider information. In others, welcomed like they’ve been waiting at the gate since we last left, looking for a glimpse of our car kicking up dust as we bump along the gravel drive.
In the span of a week I have met a ginger-haired girl that hails from near my hometown, set three play dates – one for me with a wetsuit clad surfer, had our dinner table crashed by one of my favorite locals who turned the evening into a party for the boys and me, and bonded with my landlords in high-speed fashion, landing in their shower by night two.
Not with them.
We didn’t have hot water or heat for the first week. The heat is no big deal. It’s temperate here, and the cottage is well-insulated. Not having hot water and having two boys who’ve just been set free on open land becomes a problem pretty quickly. Not only did we not have hot water, the cold water is offensively cold (otherwise known as well water) unless you’re drinking it.
They offered cleanliness. We accepted, running up to the back door, towels in hand.
It’s like living next door to your parents, and your parents are content, positive, centered, smart, funny, thoughtful, engaging, well-read, well-traveled and well-schooled in life. And she bakes pies.
They met 6 months after she divorced her husband. She had never believed in marriage, so to prove to herself exactly why, she married a man who had been divorced three times, which then became four.
She never married again. But has loved and lived with the same man for forty years. They broke up three times but, as she said, since they never had to get divorced they could find their way back to each other.
Divorce does have a knack for incinerating relationships.
This land is their North American labor of love – they have others in another land. Daily, they are dressed for site work, tending gardens, dropping off firewood, framing out an addition to our bathroom. The cottage and every other structure here was built by them. Over time they’ve constructed a tiny town within a tiny town.
I found a commune without all that wacky commune baggage that can keep you up at night.
Which wouldn’t have mattered those first few nights with the coyotes proving their connection to the moon. At 4AM one screamed so loud I rolled over and smacked its head. Then I realized it was outside. I peered out the small attic window that serves as my headboard in time to see a light sweep the lawn.
Aliens, too. My goodness this place is busy.
The next morning we gathered on the lane to swap stories of how we were ripped back from dream time, startled by a howl that must have come from a belly too big for a coyote. In the time it took to grab a flashlight from his office to illuminate the lawn the howler had moved on.
Ahhh, a flashlight. It was him. No aliens. Yet.
It’s only week one. I’m down with close encounters. I’d just like to be unpacked enough to properly entertain them.
In this one week I have come to believe that I will never leave Bolinas. Her beach town meets western outpost has swept me off my feet.
I’m home.
She makes me feel safe, despite being able to drive a golf ball into the San Andreas Fault from outside my door. No one is trying to fit in here. They’re far too in love with what makes them unique. Being vulnerable is natural, just ask one of the hundred surfers that bobbed off shore this past weekend. Being vulnerable is a state that is respected.
Like the 24 hour honor system farmer’s market. Glossy lettuces, stark white leeks capped in St. Patty’s Day green, and never-before-seen varieties of winter squash are tucked into baskets, set on risers along the side of the road. A metal box sits under a light. Next to it a scale hangs. A small calculator and pen lay on a notebook. The day’s purchases are tallied in the handwriting of many, each ending with a dollar amount that is undoubtedly placed into the metal box.
Vulnerable. And trusting. And 24-hour fresh as in picked that morning produce.
I am seriously not leaving.
It’s going to take some time to get into a rhythm and settle in as far as the day-to-day 3D life of being in a new town is concerned. But my spirit has shot roots deep, spread her arms wide and celebrated finally getting me here. To a place she knew I needed to be, surrounded by the people I need to be with at this time in my life.
I’ve never felt more joyful. But what is most exciting to me is the sense of freedom I feel. Free to create. Free to live my life without being told what to do or how to do it. Free to express my needs without apologies. Free to be open without fear. Free to choose how I respond to circumstances and events.
Like when I looked at my phone and saw a FB message from the husband of the Happy Dance Chick on my first night in the cottage. He thanked me for sending him a heads up on the affair back in November of 2011 and said we’re better off without them. He said we should talk sometime. In response, I agreed that we are most certainly living a better life now that we’re not being duped and that he may call whenever the time is right.
It’s the only time he contacted me, and I had not contacted him but for the one FB message sent to let him know about all the dancing going on behind his back.
Somehow, receiving an unsolicited message from him turned me into the Bolinas Devil Momma. I crossed the line. Spewing forth my anger. I could have let him go to move on but I chose to bring him pain. Bring him anger from my life and make him angry about it, too.
Okay, I know this is Bolinas and all, but it’s not an alternate universe, right? Different tectonic plate but the same definition of anger, right?
Call me coastal, but any anger or pain he feels is not because of me.
And last I checked, anger doesn’t live here anymore. Moved on right after forgiveness and long before universal love. I have too much to be grateful for to be angry in any legitimate way. And too much respect for the fleeting magic of life to spend time being angry about something that is unchangeable. Anger accomplishes a lot. None of it good.
I’m way more enticed by creating magic than brooding in anger.
This curve of land that hugs an estuary and leans into an an ocean has much in store for me and the dudes. The move is complete. And so is this shift. Bolinas has peeled me naked so that nothing gets between me and fully experiencing this most magical place.
It freeing to be naked.
Love yourself,
Cleo
I was kind of wondering when Ms. Happy’s husband would return. I know you know this, but both of you were different people in different places back then. I hope he got (or is getting) the help he needs to get through all of his anger and pain, though I doubt he has the awesome group of kittens that you do. Bolinas sounds wonderful
S,
Thank you for taking the time to comment. And for honoring the kittens as they SO deserve it!
The transformation in the last 1.5 years…well, I’m just grateful it’s written down so I can go back (and soon I will) and read it through. It’s like going through puberty all over again – the changes are that dramatic. Life feels so different. So complex in an exciting way, not intimidating at all, and so magical.
My sense is that the HDC spouse is taking care of himself, and he knows that we dodged the bullet of getting to our twilight years only to find that we’d been used for decades. That’s something to celebrate! I celebrate the kittens, too. The love, support, nudges, pushes, tough love and endless kind words I’ve read, written by the coolest gaggle of furballs ever…I have no words. It’s been the single greatest experience of my life. I would need to go on a retreat in the deep woods alone for days to create prose worthy of the feelings I have for those who are here.
So grateful. Thank you.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Just perfect, Cleo. I’m so happy that you found your ideal spot. It sounds so magical I have to admit that I’m a bit jealous! But no one deserves it more than you. And no, you did not bring your anger to the HDC’s husband. She did that with her actions…you were just making him aware so that he can be free of it if he chose to. One can only hope that your FB message to him was the start of his own journey towards a happier life. A life without deceit and heartache. A life without an empty void that a partner was supposed to occupy. Angels take many forms.
M,
Angels…third time today I’ve been called an angel, if that last line was intended for me. I hesitated to mention the message from the HDC spouse, but I felt it important to share because of the way it was turned against me. I can handle it now. But back a year, I would have been upended. I hope that those who are bearing the brunt of anger that is not theirs to own can see how it’s common for those who betray to place blame and anger where it is least deserved.
Boundaries. Self-respect. Self-love. Essential tools for weathering the emotional upheaval of betrayal and divorce. The HDC spouse’s message was so calm and quiet and centered. The response from others so amped and angry and full of fear.
‘Nuff said.
Thank you for being here. So good to be back and to read your words. Those hugs and kisses? Cloned and shared the world over.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Makes me wonder, should I have told my husband’s HDC (who I call FW – I’m not as nice as you, so you can guess the acronym) that he was still sleeping with me while they were together, until I smartened up last July. Oh wait, she found out (reading his phone), then he denied it, then she took him back. Guess that’s her karma. I think I answered my own question.
Congratulations on your new home!!
H,
I have come up with quite a few guesses! None appropriate for writing here. Denial. It’s so exhausting. Why do it?
Thank you, m’lady. Even littered with unpacked boxes, it feels like home. It is home. Soon, it will look like a home.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Bolinas sounds like heaven, so it’s appropriate that an angel like you is now living there! Maybe that’s the message in being called an angel three times in one day. You found your slice of heaven. I was the HDC’s husband in my debacle. Her husband was the one who informed me of my husband’s treachery. We talked a few times when it first went down, then right after Christmas this year I reached out to thank him once again for having the courage that no one else had. He apologized, saying he felt bad for doing this to me. I told him that I will be forever grateful to him for thinking I had the right to know what was going on in my own life. You did the right thing where the HDC’s husband is concerned. Don’t ever think otherwise. Here’s hoping that you and the dudes find a bit of magic everyday in your new home!
S,
Thank you so much for taking the time to comment and for your words of support regarding my decision to tell the HDC spouse. It was the right thing to do. Not the easy thing, but the right thing. Although at the time it wasn’t hard. I was operating on adrenaline. It’s interesting to note that he actually didn’t find out because I sent that note to him via FB, but found out on Christmas Eve when he went outside and overheard the HDC talking to The Genius. That’s nearly a full two months after I found out. Even once the jig was up here, she kept it alive there. As my Mom says, The truth will always out.
I’m going to feel much more angelic this week when I tend to my needs by creating a proper schedule that supports me. I need to get my rhythm. Part of what’s kept me on the move is being an angel (his word, not mine) to Mr. Viking. An unprecedented experience is underway. I am really excited to write it out and unravel the messages. But in order to do it right I’ve got to ground myself. This week will be a test, for sure.
Stay close…
Love yourself,
Cleo
Sometimes our “happy place” is a location and sometimes it is the people we surround ourselves with. Seems like you have found the best of both. I’m glad for you.
M,
So right. On both accounts. And both are rooted in energy. People and places. When I lived in the wrong place and with the wrong people, I needed to build walls, not boundaries. I closed myself off; being vulnerable was not an option. In the last 1.5 years my entire way of life has changed on so many levels. The most profound being the encounters I’ve had with people and places and nature since the Pocket Call.
It’s worth the risk to get to a place that’s been longing for your arrival. A place that is perfectly suited for being open, vulnerable and full of love. Thank you for being here, M. And for taking the time to comment.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Congrats on the move, Cleo. Sounds like you found a gem and I hope it brings you and the dudes lots of happiness!
Also anxious to hear more about Mr. Viking and HDC’s ex-husband.
C,
Thank you! I’ve named the property. The Calmmune. Like Commune without the nuttiness. My recent time with Mr. Viking has been fascinating. I’ll be writing about it tonight. Pondering why those I meet are in such massive states of transition.
Thanks for hanging with me as I juggle my own massive transition. I underestimated a few things!
Love yourself,
Cleo
Just stopping by to say hello and I’m looking forward to hearing more about transitions — nothing is as constant as change, right? A fact of which you must be reminded of on a daily basis, living so close to the ocean and the ever-changing beach, sky, and water. I imagine it’s simply blissful, Cleo!
Nic
N!,
I know you know that I am thinking of you, and all that you do, often! Like a mile marker, you and all your hard work are just up ahead, along with that lovely east coast based and pork roll loving darling. You will be out here in the land of bliss and fog very soon, your schedule permitting. And all our grand plans are waiting to be executed. But the time is nigh, as Brad Pitt would say. (Okay, even A Jolie to the Nth degree couldn’t keep a straight face when he uttered that one.)
Change is constant. And in the midst of change are transitions. Facilitating transitions are transmissions. I know it’s murky, but do you see where I’m going?
I only wish I had gotten as far as I dared hoped when I set out upon my day. Alamere Falls called and I came running. And then lingered, seduced by the daylight, only to return home to find that day had segued into night without the warning of a sunset. So I now finally sit at the keys, buoyed by your message, and trust that the words will flow in a timely pace.
As blissful as The Calmmune is, the transition – still ongoing – is brutal! So, humorously I roll along. Thank you for being here, N, and for all that you have done. You rock.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Hi Cleo,
I know this is an old post, but I’ve been reading through from the beginning. I’m just a little confused by this quote.
“I crossed the line. Spewing forth my anger. I could have let him go to move on but I chose to bring him pain. Bring him anger from my life and make him angry about it, too.”
Who said this? Was it the husband of the other woman? Because you said he only contacted you once. Or did you mean once before?
Sorry, but just as a little constructive criticism, I do sometimes find your writing hard to follow and a bit unclear. But I enjoy reading the story and the evolution of your life after divorce.
A,
Ah, I can understand the confusion! The Genius said that to me. I was confused as well when he said it, because it made zero sense. The HDC’s husband replied to my original and only FB message letting him in on their double life. When TG found out about it, through the HDC, he went ballistic. On me. Cuz that makes sense. Saying that I crossed the line by contacting him (when it was he that contacted me) and that I should have let him move on, but I chose to bring him pain and anger. Actually, he was pretty matter-of-fact when he contacted me. Like me, he was relieved to not be with someone who was capable of that level of deceit.
It was a typical deflection move – I brought him pain and anger when it was actually his own wife and TG that brought him pain and anger.
I’m not sure if this is exclusively the challenge with my writing, but I made a decision early on to eliminate many quotation marks for reasons you can likely surmise based on the nature of my writings. Sometimes I have the exact wording and sometimes I don’t, but I sure remember the intention of words spoken.
Grateful you are here and don’t be shy if something doesn’t make sense. That’s a wonderful aspect of blogging – asking the author to explain. her words. Love that!
Love yourself,
Cleo
Thanks so much for explaining, the post makes so much more sense knowing that. I kind of think that other readers might have been confused by that too, based on some of the other responses.
You totally did the right thing, letting him know. I only hope that if I were ever in that position, someone would tell me what was going on, rather than stumbling around in the dark, being made a fool of behind my back. Knowledge is power!
I do love how responsive you are to the commenters here. Especially with how personal your story is, it really creates an even closer connection to your writing. Thanks for that.
A,
The sharing of wisdom, laughs and proventing (positive venting) in the comments has brought us all close to each other. I haven’t felt alone since HGM first started drawing readers. I’m like the ‘Can you hear me now’ guy. I walk on my path surrounded by the most fantastic group of people. Each drawn here by design. I am so very grateful.
And glad you responded because I forgot one thing as it pertains to the occasional confusion. I meant to also say, And I have been very confused at times over the past several months.
Thank you for being here, A. Stay close…
Love yourself,
Cleo