The Whole Day Through....

What about those days we don't want to write anything? Or say anything? Maybe one day it would be nice just to set a spell, in my little concrete yard. Especially lately, with the freesias overflowing their pots, their scent enveloping the atmosphere. Sweet but not too sweet. The sun warming my cheeks and the breeze carrying a hint of cool. Wouldn't it be nice to just sit? No responsibilities. No mouths to feed, no dog poop to pick up, no one calling on the phones....

This morning as soon as I opened my bedroom shade, the City glowed yellow in the rising morning sun. I took it in-- the tall buildings yellow and black and emerging -- and maybe that was my moment today of quiet....Or maybe I'll steal another one later, when the sun is on its way down and the clouds that I don't even know are there -- those gauze-like bits of connected moisture -- begin to show themselves, to light up, their own special pink-yellow color that is reserved for clouds at sunset....Yeah, maybe that's it...I'll look forward to sitting quiet in my backyard chair in about twelve hours...and until then, lots of other moments in the spaces....

empathy, judgment, morning...dogs....

Early this morning I took BZ to BART when the sun had not even begun to think of rising and the dark night air lingered cold and still. As we turned into the parking lot, (a turn I have made countless times, dropping boys off, picking boys up), a black and brown dog made its unsure way in front of us. A cross between a basset hound and a German Shepard, low to the ground like a basset but with a triangular face, colored like a shepard.

"It's been hit," I blurted out. It wavered across the parking lot, dragging its back end. "Oh shit!" and it hit me harder than it might have had I been more awake. It hit me hard because although I'd already been up for thirty minutes, it was the sight of this dog, in need of help, that was actually the first stimulus to cross my brain. "Do you want to help it?" BZ asked me, (though I think we both knew the answer). "Yes," I more moaned than spoke. (Really I wanted to go back to my warm bed....) He got his suitcase and walked toward the station.

I parked my car and followed. I went up to the BART kiosk where the station agent was reading her morning paper; I explained about the dog. "Well, there's nothing I can do," she said and BZ disappeared without another word into the station. I returned to the parking lot. There came the dog, lumbering along, dragging its back legs. I spoke to a woman arriving for her train; I complained that the station agent didn't care. I approached the dog. I turned around and the BART agent was there -- I knew I had been wrong about her, too quick to judge....Then we were a team. "Look, it has a collar but no tags."

The dog had a friendly and sad face, like a hound. I thought for a moment of reaching in to make sure there were no id tags. But then I had to remember that last year a neighbor's dog bit me. And it was only after being on kibbutz in December, with all those marvelous, wandering, friendly dogs, that I finally lost my fear of being bitten again. The agent and I mulled over what to do. We agreed tacitly that if she called animal control, the dog might not make it out. Anywhere. She thought she recalled seeing the dog, walking with its owner, from north of the station, where it seemed to be headed now. I asked the agent if it would be stupid for me to help the dog cross the street. The night still surrounded us darkly. A few cars were rushing past, starting their morning commute.

I took some dog biscuits from my car (left over from some outing with my own dog) and walked to catch up with the dog, to become a doggy crossing guard. We got half way across the street. A car approached, then stopped. For a moment I thought that I might be stupid, kidnapped and stuffed into some bad man's car. It turned out he was kind. Rolled down his window to hear the story. Stopped to tell me to be careful.

The dog wandered down the middle of the street, next to the median. And then it stopped. In the middle. I tried to coax it across. It looked at me and its eyes said, "No way. I can't lift my butt over that median." And it just stopped, on the dark pavement. I thought of picking it up and carrying it across but I knew my back couldn't do it. And besides, it might actually bite me.

So I gave him some biscuits and left him there. Almost contemplating tears. Hoping for the best.

I walked back across the dark and empty parking lot. The station agent came out, animated. "I found the owner. It's some drunk who is using the bathroom." She was angry and disdain dripped from her voice. Just then, the man stumbled out, "Hey, where's my dog?" We told him, we directed him, we implored him to hurry. But he was either unaware or didn't care and he made his way slowly, meandering in the right direction.

I had to give it up at that point. A man and a dog in need overwhelmed my resources and all I could do was hope for the best....

The station agent and I thanked each other and went on our way in the dark morning....

All is so good in my world....

Well...I just had my run. Two weeks to the day since the last knee-crushing run. Did it today. To hell with those expensive pool fees....Today it was just me and my running shoes and the warm, early spring air caressing my wrists and shoulders and neck. And spring trees and flowers scenting the air, ready to welcome spring in two days.

I ran past the large, old fashioned side yard that I often admire. Vegetables and daffodils and trees, always looking like they've come directly out of the 1950s. And never a person to show me who tends this garden. But this morning, this fine spring morning, a woman entered the side of the yard as I sprinted by. She stood tentatively with a large, bright green bucket. To water the crops, no doubt. A woman with gray hair, veined legs visible from the knees down under her bright pink robe. She started a smile and I waved without reservation. She waved back, smiling and happy.
I'm still smiling from my run -- the scented spring air, my neighbors, the endorphins coursing merrily through my body...but now I'd better go stretch my legs to preserve my ability to run again soon....

the daily grind....

I’ve hardly written my unemployment thoughts over the last few weeks. I haven’t had time. I’ve been busy trying to create new ways for me to earn money. I’ve been working very hard. Every day. I still haven’t earned anything…but I haven’t given up yet and every day I get up and ‘go to work.’

I have thought a lot about my unemployment. And now, everyone else’s. Months ago, I sent an email to several friends and family members, trying to get them to acknowledge that we were in hard economic times. That it wasn’t ‘just me’ – being lazy, stupid, not trying hard enough. My brother had sent me a brief article about the shrinking legal market in California. I sent my loved ones the article with my own message noting that these were difficult economic times, just as I’d been trying to tell them for months. Since I lost my job, most people acted like I had done something wrong to have gotten laid off. That I was continuing to do something wrong by not finding a replacement job lickety split. I knew it wasn’t me – I make enough errors, which I generally freely admit. But this wasn’t one of them. Still, I had to swallow the condemnation that came my way. So I sent that article, hoping for some acknowledgement and empathy. I didn’t hear from my friends or my parents or aunts or uncles or boyfriend. The only one who emailed me was my disabled sister, who gave me a pep talk….

And now, now times have changed. Everyone knows we’re in a bad economic state. It has become almost hip to know someone who has been brutally affected by the economy. (Still most people I know have managed to retain their jobs and their empathy is something like the empathy they feel for orphaned children in Darfur…better than nothing, but in the end, rather hollow.) Yesterday I called the Berkeley City Club to see if there might be some way I could use their pool. My knees have totally gone bad and I’m trying not to run. As I was working, (diligently trying to find ways of earning that elusive dollar), I could see people running by out my window and I ached to join them. It was then I called the pool. The young man who answered the phone was very sweet but also emphatic, “No. The only way you can swim here is if you are a member or if you know someone who is.” (I seriously contemplated sending a mass email to my local address book to see if anyone has a membership….) “Okay,” I told him, “I’m unemployed and have three kids, so this isn’t really an option, but if it were, how much does it cost to join?” The answer was way above any budget that I might have with my non-existent salary. “Oh well,” I said, “maybe one day I’ll earn enough to come swim there….” This receptionist at the Berkeley City Club responded, “I’m sorry about your unemployment,” (and his voice sounded like he was sorry), “but did you see the news earlier this week? Maybe some of that will help you.” I thanked him, sincerely, and hung up. Last year, that conversation would not have happened, but now, now people are hip to the fact that good, hardworking people are unemployed and it might not be their fault….

Even Amid the Concrete....

Ah...a new and beautiful morning. I start my day (though I've already been up for hours) when I step into my little concrete yard to put on my socks in the glow of morning sun. Its warmth feels good on my body (which is still aching a bit from yesterday's run, which I probably shouldn't have taken because my body was hurting before the run...oh...aging...). I don't remain seated long, drawn with unconscious desire to my growing things.

First, to my lemon tree, another lemon almost ready to be picked. To fall gently into my hand. And almost thirty others in various stages of hard green growth. Then I admire the mint surrounding my prodigious little tree. All of this growing in a barrel...amazing....Next I check the lettuces, growing in several pots, happy from the week of rain and from this morning's sun.

It is then I notice the sweet peas, unstoppable, like Jack's bean stock, growing and tangling on the old baker's rack. For now, their only color comes from the violas which they encompass -- purple and yellow and white. Vibrant in their joy.

All of this life flows into me and suddenly I feel ready to jump into my work...though I now notice I've been distracted, again, by all those growing things....