No Place Like Home

After a thousand trips up and down my new apartment's stairs, I'm finally moved in and mostly unpacked. A few pieces of borrowed furniture and some extremely groovy thrift store lamps later, things are looking ready to be lived in. This has been a tough one for me due to the fact that it's the first time since my first year of marriage that I've lived in a place that has absolutely no elegance or even shabby-chic charm to lend a hand. It's taken all of my decorating X-Men power to transform this 1970's cheap architectural tribute into an environment with a little dignity fueled by self-deprecating humor.

Four months have passed like a blinding flash of sun in the rear-view mirror. A suitcase, Spain, and the hospitality of friends have provided me with everything I needed to spin me around and point me in the direction of the donkey whose tail I expectantly hold aloft. The same amount of certainty those hapless party game participants possess in search of their target guides me in my pursuit of renewed life in Chico. What job will provide me with the income and inspiration I need? Are creative musical co-conspirators waiting in the wings for me to discover? Can my ego survive the downsizing and disappointment I face in the attempt to live within my means both monetarily and emotionally?

These questions are by no means unique I discovered over coffee with a friend on a break from moving mayhem. She too feels lost in between the nostalgia of an irretrievable past and an inconceivable future. "What's the point of settling in here if I don't know I'm going to stay?", she mused in a melancholy expression of doubt. A worthy rhetorical question, isn't it? Why do any of us dare to nail up pictures, get close to a friend or lover, get involved in community if we're bound to move or break up eventually?

As soon as the question is framed, the answer hits me with the simplicity and force that are the hallmarks of truth: quality of life. We do those things because life is short, and we can drift helplessly and hopelessly, or we can have a tea party while the grim reaper sharpens his scythe. That kind of attitude is what puts a secret smile on my face. It's the satisfaction I felt as I followed a creative urge to adorn my kitchen with geometric patterns of Mexican Loteria cards, to bring my guitar to a friend's chemo treatments, to make music out of sadness. So as I build my new life, all be it a house of cards, I’ll light some candles, place each Bicycle with style, and enjoy the structure in it’s precarious elegance as long as it lasts. It’s home for now.

I found one of my favorite poems written on a rock on top of the Cruz de hierro which says basically, "Traveler, there is no path, the path is made as you walk..... and looking back you see the way that you will never pass again." Looking over these pictures to post, I certainly get that feeling. Towns, people, and scenery I may never see again seem very dear to me as I sit in a familiar coffee shop back in my adopted home town.

Here I am, back at the scene of the crime sounding like a broken record as I explain, "Yes, I thought I might be gone for a year, but I decided to come back." One of the reasons I wanted to go to Spain was that I had a hunch that once I got there, I might never return. It was a strange sensation to look around me and think how wonderful everything was, but at the same time, to have no desire to stay.

If this post seems disoriented, jumbled, melancholy, or sentimental in any way, welcome to the current landscape of my mind. For the most part, everything feels remarkably normal. On the other hand, I'm continually overtaken with a lump in my throat and an ache in my chest that I can't place. Do I want to be back in Spain? No. Do I want to be here? Yes. I've just never been here before.

There's a character in one of my favorite Paulo Coelho books, The Alchemist, who is a Muslim glass shop owner who has always dreamed of going to Mecca, but has no plans to ever actually do it. He fears that if he goes, his life will have no purpose once he has completed his journey. With that fear also in my mind, I decided to go on my journey anyway and confront that possibility with a brave face. I think anytime we choose to explore things we really want, we are signing up for the next question which goes something like, "What now?"

Let's be honest. Here's the answer to my question in a nutshell.

1. I'm living in my newly married best friend's guest room.
2. Um, employment anyone?
3. To quote the ever wise boyfriend, Dave, "Music for music's sake."
4. Did I mention boyfriend?

Basically, the honeymoon's over and this is my life. For quite some time that reality has been mitigated by legitimate excuses like being recently divorced, getting ready to go to Spain, moving out of my apartment, and the like. I feel equally daunted as I did when I first injured my knee coming down from the Alto de perdon and realized that I still had about 700 kilometers until Santiago and I had better figure out how I was going to get there in my sorry state. The idyllic picture I had of spiritual encounters with a backdrop of gorgeous scenery was going to be more like, "Shit, shit, shit!" with every step peppered with moments of, "Isn't that a beautiful sunrise!"

But the truth is, I did it. I figured it out, and I'm here relatively safe and sound. If nothing else, what I'll take from my camino experience is the belief that no matter what, I can do it even if it doesn't look like I thought it might, and like the poem says, I make my path as I go.

On the Third Day

The Lord rose on the third day, and God willing, so will I. Thursday morning will be the last walking day, finishing up with a mild 20k as the gates of Santiago de Compostela open and I sink my palm into the handprint on the column at the entrance of the cathedral. It´s been literally up and down for the past few days as the path and my attitude rises and falls.

I´ve fallen in and out of some remarkable groups of people and shared meals and war stories with people in a pidgeon dialect of whatever language is best understood between Italians, Eastern Block, Spanish, and you-name-it. This afternoon was barrel of laughs with a suprisingly homogenious group of Spaniards(minus moi) over pulpo(octopus) and Ribadeira, a local wine. It´s been a nice balance of conversation and intense isolation over whatever book I´ve been able to scavenge along the way.

My injured knee has been cooperating nicely for the last five days, although it hurts like hell various moments/hours of the day. I need three more days out of it, and I hope it holds out. We have little conversations that go something like this:

ME "Well, how are you doing this morning as we start off our 25k day?"
KNEE "I fucking hurt, if you haven´t noticed, but you still keep making me walk ridiculous distances."
ME "I hear you, love, but we have to keep going until we reach the next cowshit town in Galicia where I promise I´ll get you a nice cafe con leche and let you rest for at least 15 minutes."
KNEE "Ooh. I do like those, but, hey, wait a minute! Then you´re going to make me go again! But maybe if you get me a beer the next time I´ll do my best. Maybe."

I won´t bore you with the rest, but it goes on and on in endless bargaining sessions that have ended in bus rides to the next town in the past. So I´m a little edgy because you´re supposed to walk the last 100k if you want the real experience. (I´m down to 65k if you must know.)

Anyway, thanks for the wonderful comments to my last blog-on-the-run entry. I laughed out loud as read your responses, and you better believe I´m calling your bluff when it comes to the chow. The spiciest thing I´ve eaten so far is the dish called Pimientos al Padrino that consists of roasted green peppers and some of them are hot, but not all! It´s like a little game to play while having tapas. I got a "hot" one that almost made me blink. Really hard core, Spaniards.

Here´s a poem that came to me while walking one morning.

Where Old Men Meet

It is always early morning where old men meet.
Absent words with wives
appear from thin air,
and suddenly there is time
and pretty young women
who find them
irresistible.

Coffee, bitter as the waitress who pours
flows eternally into the stained mug,
and if we are smart we all know
soon
we will sit on the stool
next to the cane
that rests precariously
on the counter´s
edge.

On the Road

Joder= An important Spanish swear word that I have aquired, and appropriate for my state of mind.

After almost two weeks on the road, I have finally come across some accesible internet here in the historic town of Astorgas. I arrived via bus from Leon after giving myself the luxury/necessesity of a couple of days involving a hotel room where I can use the bathroom when I want, as well as some errands that needed to get taken care of during the blessed hours between siesta and evening. This has been a, well, interesting trip. So far I have:

1. Seen some beautiful scenery.
2. Walked about 200 k.
3. Injured my left knee during the descent of the Alto de Perdon.
4. Met a fascinating/fun assortment of Spanish, American, Italian, Australian, and French people.
5. Slept in more crowded, smelly albergues than I ever thought I could stand though I have 12 more days.

I was waiting for some real spiritual awakening, but instead I´ve discovered the following things:

1. I am SO done traveling alone in Spain.
2. I want to eat spicy food so badly that I would kill someone without batting an eye in exchange for some Thai yellow curry.
3. I can handle about a week of nasty living conditions and then I start becoming an animal.
4. I want to actually have a relationship with Dave instead of talk on the phone. (I won´t mention the other things I´m thinking about regarding Dave, but I´ve been gone since June 1st, so you do the math.)
5. I want to play MUSIC.

The Camino de Santiago has proven so far to be somewhere between a masochistic tourist trap and a cheap way to travel Spain and meet alot of cool people you would otherwise pass by if it weren´t for your joint suffering. I´m doing my girl scout best to try to have a good attitude, but it´s hard, god damn it. I´ve had some nice suprises along the way in the little things, like the fact that the bus station cafe was open this Sunday morning and I drank a kick-ass cafe con leche, and smoked two cigarettes before 8AM to the grooviest assortment of 80´s tunes. The guy behind the counter and I were equally enjoying the "Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey, oooooo, whoooa" of "Don´t You Forget About Me", and when you´re in my state of mind that means alot.

I can´t count on this miraculous internet time again, but if I do, I´ll tell you the rest of the story. Until then, say a little prayer for me while I´m "en camino."

Turn Towards the Sun

Life changes in an instant, and I went from summer camp English teacher to a preparing pilgrim in a flash. My "month in a monastery" came to a delightful culmination Thursday evening when, Forenex, the company that runs the camp took all 20 of the teachers out for dinner at the unexpectedly chic restaurant here in population 500 Ulces. The food here has been -there's no other way to say it, bad, so the contrast of a tower of grilled vegetables topped with a round of toasted golden goat cheese made the girls at my end of the table groan in a decidedly sensual manner. It's hard to believe that I won't be seeing this great bunch of people together like this again this lifetime. Certainly lasting friendships were formed and there is the anticipation of reunions in New York City, San Francisco, and maybe even Madrid or Barcelona.
It was no easy task grabbing and holding the interest of 10-13 year old Spanish kids for five hours a day as they missed home, got sick, got frustrated, and generally bothered me to death. They did end up charming me in the end, and I think I made alot of new fans after both sets of clases sang one of my songs for their end of term talent show performance.
What I will really miss are the incredible acoustics in every room and hallway inside this beautiful building. I have become completley spoiled by pulling out my guitar and lightly strumming and singing in a wash of natural reverb whenever I want. I can see why monks would like it.
Now I've got one day to sort through my luggage and prepare a backpack that will supply me with what I need for twenty five days, but not break my shoulders. After living out of a suitcase for the last two and a half months I'll be happy to put on the one pair of pants and the same tank top without digging through a pile of clothes.
After talking to the Ever Patient Boyfriend on Skype, I realized that it would be wise to note my pre-camino state of mind. I feel a little less green as far as foreign travel goes, satisfied with the experience of getting TEFL certificated and having taught for a month, both delighted and tired from meeting and saying goodbye to so many wonderful people and kids, ready to kiss Dave and see friends, and am slightly excited about the last phase of the trip. A month in Ucles has certainly quieted my mind, but I simply don't know what to expect as I sail off to hours walking, looking, and thinking. As I look out on the fields of sunflowers you see in the photo above, I'm reminded of the simple, but lovley idea of a multitude of similar yet individual flowers slowly stretching to catch every ray of light offered to them. As I become a pilgrim along with so many who are walking the path, I will seek to do the same and become a breathtaking scene to whatever divine audience is watching.

Quincena 2

#1 My class!
#2 View from my window(no joke)
#3 Entrance to the monastery

I'm finally taking a breath after two weeks of teaching and figuring out how things work out in the middle of nowhere. As I mentioned before, Ucles is the home of a monastery of the Order of Santiago(yes, it's related to the Camino de Santiago that I'll be doing in August) and it's beautiful. The view from my window stuns me every time I look out as the light changes on the ancient walls and birds constantly circle the towers. There is a tiny store, two bars, and a church in the plaza. The town people are very friendly as they are used to a lot of newcomers every summer because of the summer camp. I've already taught my first class, gone running past the old ruins, drank from the town fountain that everyone stops by to fill up jugs of water, and had a late night song sharing session with the locals-one gypsy/flamenco tune per KJB. Internet access here is quite limited, and I normally work about ten hours a day. It's a lot of work figuring the maze of schedules and preparing five hours of instruction a day.

More to come, but I have to go down to the cafeteria for lunch(that's a story in and of itself), and we'll see if I can fit in a few more moments of computer time before the next set of students arrives this fine Sunday evening at 5pm......

Sensory Overload

#2 Caves outside Leon-Creepy, huh?
#1 Gigantes(giants) at Leon's festival

More pictures to come when my connection's not running out.....

No! It isn't true! I didn't get hit buy any of the crazy drivers in Madrid, run off with gypsies, or drown in a plaza fountain during the mayhem following Spain's victorious claiming of the Eurocup. I was quite simply carried off on a proverbial wave of events, some business, some pleasure, some mundane.

Having finished the TEFL course last Friday, I got down to some serious celebrating, shopping, site seeing, and errand running. The fair friendships that blossomed have been mercilessly plucked as buses, trains, and planes take each of us now certified TEFL teachers to the four corners of Spain. It also makes for continuous reasons to stay out late seeing each one off along the merry way.

EUROCUP. That's all that needs to be said for anyone who knows anything about soccer, but since so many don't in the states(really, including me), I'll add a little more. To say Spain is obsessed with soccer is a serious understatement. With that in mind, imagine a whole nation, not to mention the rest of the world, poised in front of television sets in bars, apartments, and even big screens projected on the side of a building in Plaza Colon. The chanting, cheering, and general mayhem started with the game at 8:45pm, and continued well into the next morning because Spain WON. They haven't won since 1964, so people were a little excited. I watched in a small family bar and drank beer, smoked, and cheered, "A por ellos" or "ES-PA-NA" along with the best of them. Then I took a stroll with a couple of classmates and watched guys with huge Spanish flags stand in the streets making cars pass through like a bull and torero. Every fountain in every plaza was filled with people splashing about like escaped lunatics. An experience not to be soon forgotten.

I'm feeling melancholy as I'm about to leave this fair city Sunday morning to make my way to camp where I'll be teaching five hours a day as well as acting as assistant camp director, i.e. the person they get to do anything they don't feel like doing. As I've mentioned, it's in a small town called Ucles in Cuenca. More specifically, in a monastery on a hill that looks like the setting of Hogwort's in Harry Potter. True to my Jekell and Hyde self, I'm reluctant to leave my hostal where I can walk out the door and within five minutes eat incredible food, see magnificent architecture, and shop like I'm in New York City. However, I've also started to feel the jitters that hit me when I don't go running or hiking in lonely places, and where it is actually quiet enough to allow a person to think.

I'm also happy to report that my writers block as far as poetry and song goes has started to dissipate. I've written two complete poems the last two days, and if I don't loose my courage, and my classmates/volunteer managers, Jaime and Eric, don't back out, I'm planning on playing in the commercial area on the street to see if I can't make a few extra euros. I'll let you know how it goes, and hopefully, continue to update the blog if the internet connection proves better than the vicious rumors have stated about camp.

Day to Day

#1 The Moon Over Camp
#2 View at the Top of My Run in the Mountains
#3 Bad Picture in the Only Bar with Good Beer in Leon(and possibly all of Spain)
#4 Groovy Train Ride into Leon from Camp
#5 Where I Sit at the Entrance to Kitchen With Best WiFi Connection for Blog/Skype Calls
#6 Part of the Walk to "Town" From Camp w/ TEFL Course Friends
#7 Cabins Full of Dust Where We Try to Sleep After Late Nights Drinking
#8 Something I Ordered Without Having Any Idea What I Was Going to Get

This post is dedicated to the day to day experiences of the last couple of weeks. As I prepare to go back to Madrid on Sunday, I realize that there are a thousand little things that make life here quite interesting. I still haven't taken a picture of the storks that populate this area and make huge nests on top of poles and ruined churches. I can't explain the strange mechanical sound they make that comprises an integral part of this camp experience. You haven't seen the comical array of computers that scatter the cafeteria as we fight for bandwidth to skype call our friends and family back home. It's difficult to believe how much beer and wine just 16 students can throw back on a nightly basis.

All this is about to end as we wind down the Leon/camp section of our TEFL training. Many of us will be staying at the same hostal back in the city, but I'm guessing the party schedule will slow down a bit as we slam out the last assignments and study for the dreaded grammar portion of the final exams. It's true that I am amphibious in that when I'm in the city I long for the open skies and green of the country, but am equally excited to return to the city where I can have my delicious cafe con leche on demand and soak up the beautiful architecture and unique style of Madrid.

I've got wifi where I'm staying for at least the next week, and then I'm off to a remote town about an hour and a half south east of Madrid called Ucles where I'll be teaching four weeks of summer camp in what looks like a monastery straight out of Harry Potter. I'll be thankfully very busy planning lessons and dealing with spoiled Spanish children so that I won't miss home so dreadfully much(I'm aware that this is a lie, but shhhhhhh, I'm trying to trick myself). I really appreciate the great comments I've been getting on my posts. It helps me feel less lonely as I try to sort through the complication that involves living in two worlds: home and here. Keep up the communication so I'll be motivated to snap more pictures and share what's going on.

Bright Ideas

#1 Cathedral in Leon at Night

#2 My New Home Girls at the Country Bar in Matallanas

#3 Top of the Mountain Overlooking Quaint Villages/Drunken BBQ Night

As an enthusiastic sort of person my life has been peppered with some bright ideas. From marriage at a young age to the more recent event of trapsing off to Spain for an indefinate period of time, I've been afforded a great deal of adventure as well as awareness of my faults. I seem to thrive on finding out for myself what people mean when they say something is difficult, but worth it. This trip is proving no exception to that rule.

When you set off to lead a nomadic lifestyle for a while you become, well, nomadic except that you lack the experience that beduoin tribes have been accumulating over the centuries. So far I've spent maybe 3 1/2 weeks of homless wandering and I find it taxing. I've been enjoying the ridiculous American luxury of living alone for the past year, and it's been a shock to find myself secuestered for two weeks in a small mountain town outside Leon, Spain in a cabin with three other women. If the hot water is even working I have to deal with schedules. Can you believe it?

Of course, along with the delicate dance of coordination, I get beautiful mountian views, runs along the river Torio past the abandoned monastery, and two incredible Spanish cooks to make me some delicious down home tortilla espanola with ensalada mixta for dinner(at 9pm, mind you). Poor me.

Part of my brilliant plan includes a TEFL certification course that has been compressed to fit into four weeks of June. This means five hours of class everyday by some extremely compentent teachers from what is called the Canterbury Institute based in Madrid. I was concered it might be below my level since I already have a teaching degree, but at the same time hoping that it would be the perfect refresher and intensive English grammar boot camp I need to teach at the summer camp in July, and possibly classes back in Madrid, or even some junior college ESL when I get back to Chico. Besides some confusion and frustration inherent in traveling and life overseas, it's proven the latter, and I'm not exactly getting perfect scores on class quizes. Who the hell knew a subordinate clause could function as an adjective? I'm actually a grammar geek in Spanish, so while most of my classmates are groaning, I'm secretly fascinated with such questions. Yes, I'll never exactly be one of the cool kids.

I'm reminded that the very reason I love travel is the same reason I hate it. GROWTH. Keeping yourself in a place where you are safe from all challenge and change means you'll be comfortable, but complacent. I wasn't aware of how that had creeped in many areas of my life, both personal and professional, until this week. Even though I am certainly a perfectionist, I have deliberately chosen situations in which there is no one of authority that I respect who could possibly contribute to my progress. Granted some of that was due to being surrounded(surrounding myself?) with authority figures I could malign rather than those who could mentor. At the ripe old age of 36, it's time to seek situations that will help me move from surviving to thriving in the areas of teaching, music, and even love.

Speaking of which, brings me to another crazy scheme: finding an unexpected love, and carting off to another continent without him. It sounds counterintuitive, but I swear to God it makes some sense. At least that's what I try to tell myself when the mere thought of him makes me choke back a sob at midnight. Logically, I understand that I've got an adventure I need to attempt, and he's got his own life to attend to as well, but damn it, it's difficult.

All in all, I'm enjoying the experience when I take it day by day, and when I believe in the many good things my bright ideas have brought me in the past.

Madrid me mata

"Madrid kills me" is the basic translation for the title of today's blog, and I find it quite relevant. After spending a week in that picturesque, poetic city I really get the gist of that expression. I was assaulted by beauty on a daily basis on every side. Look up and see the blue sky and clouds between the brightly colored facades and balconies with geraniums. Have a delicious cafe con leche in a bustling cafeteria/bar decorated with moorish tilework. Walk down the Calle de Preciados and pop in to a tiny shoe store stocked with stuff I could only find online.

Yipe, time for lunch(2pm)....more later!

Whirlwind

n
Is it possible that less than three days ago I was in California tearing it up on the dancefloor with my sweetheart at my best friend's wedding? Doesn't seem like it. Right now I'm on the seventh floor of a funky old building on the Gran Via in Madrid trying to publish this blog on a really slow internet connection. I'm really tired from a late night at an underground gay bar where I was up until 3am with some fellow classmates screaming out the lyrics of 80's music mixed with Spanish pop along with the bouncing crowd.

So far I can say it is a beautiful city, but I can hardly notice that fact as I try to find my way to class, to the cell phone store, and and back to the hostal. It feels like insult to injury to be in the center of so much coolness and not be able to sit back and take it all in. I'm alternately thrilled and horrified to discover how much and how little Spanish I know. I can go anywhere and talk to anyone, but in the midst of a conversation, even intelligent banter, there will be an important phrase, joke, or question that is impossible for me to understand even after several questions. Kind of like a Dali painting nightmare scene. Which reminds me I'm less than a kilometer away from the Prado museum but I haven't been able to visit it yet! Rayos.

In case you're wondering, people aren't blue here, it was just something that happened while my classmates and I were enjoying some canas(tilde on the 'n' like in canyon-a glass of beer) and paella. That's what happened before the bar.

Not the most elegant post, but not bad for five hours of sleep and two days in new country.

Such Things as Thieves

The irony of the injury from our preferred swords
Strikes me as sad.

My need for words made me weak
And your will would not bend
low for compliments and kindness.

Actions are All
I was too dull to perceive
The love you hammered and lifted,
twisted and restored for our subsistence.

My hands reached out
And I lifted my lips to kiss
As you retreated.

My tenderness seeped though songs
And verses that watered wilderness
I could not visit and will never see
In this life.

Even so,
It was effort that betrayed you,
And my wasted words withered, wounded
sealing our fate.

Store up sweetness!

Lavishly gift the garden that drinks and blooms!

Stop the sun cold
In its race across the sky
When you look in a lover’s face
Even though,
even though there are such
Things as thieves.

Embarrassment of Riches

I've been too busy to write much lately although normally I'm scratching mysterious lyrics and meter into my little black book. Writing facilitates consciousness for me, and I often discover my true thoughts and feelings when reading what I've written after the fact.

An ironic idea has been flitting through the background of my mind recently, and I thought I would try to capture it like a hapless butterfly in a net. It goes something like this: I'm either very "lucky", or this thing that appears to be a blessing is really evidence of how twisted my thinking is and it's only a matter of time until I wake up from this deceptively pleasant reverie. All to often I approach life in the spirit of the latter perhaps creating that very scenario. I glance about guiltily and qualify like crazy with, "Oh it's just," and, "We'll see how long," bracketing everything I say.

What if I were to simply state the facts and let that sink in? What is so frightening about facing my incredibly good fortune? In Pearl Buck's, "The Good Earth," the main characters hide the face of their beautiful new baby and loudly decry how sickly and sad it is so as to distract the gods' attention lest they catch wind of this blessing and snatch it from them. Ding dong little bell inside my head.

About five years ago I made a decision to stop looking at the divine as a sadistic SOB who wanted to make me suffer in order to uphold pious, pitiless standards that disregard any human happiness. It was one of the scariest moments of my life, and continues to be a challenge to comprehend how kindness and commitment work together for the good. With an open-hearted, trusting, and courageous approach, I will type in black and white the nature of the wonderful gifts that have "fallen into my lap" after years of the arduous work of putting myself in a position to receive.

1) I have a kind, talented, intelligent, hilarious, affectionate, expressive, not to mention handsome boyfriend that has brought me more delight and healing over the past months than I could have reasonably or wildly hoped for.
2) I have true friends that share their love, time, and resources with me.
3) I have a family that has been supportive and kind in the face of difficult divorce.
4) I have the opportunity to travel to Spain and support myself through teaching English while broadening my musical horizons and creating the psychological space for some much needed soul-searching.

I could certainly go on, but let me leave it at that. I want to say that I don't know why I get to have all this when so many have none of it, but as I write I realize something. It's too far to say that I deserve it, but it's also untrue to say that I have nothing to do with it. Somewhere in between lies the audacity to shout at the sky saying, "I want more!", or to leave what seems tolerable in search of something transformative. I'd like to get used to having a lot of metaphysical money in the bank even though there are such things as thieves.

Hooked

I took a little trip to Santa Rosa the last couple of days with my boyfriend. Besides a brief get-away before I go to Spain in a week and a half(Gasp! Denial. Tears. Guarded excitement.....), the real point of the trip was a "meet the family" sort of affair. He humorously suggested that I was trying to "get my hooks" into the important people in his life as to make me indespensible. I met at least three old friends per day over the course of three days, and like any good job interview, it was a two way street. I think both sides were duly satisfied with the knowledge that we all have each other's best interests at heart, and more importantly, we are all down with Monday night karaoke at the Flamingo (see photo above).

Ups and Downs

In the Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, Teensy, one of the fab four gang of women pals can never resist taking off her clothes at their many social gatherings. Similarly, M. (to protect his innocence) and I are compelled to regale guests with our impassioned Neil Diamond lip sync presentations. Here you see us caught up in the emotion of "We're Coming to America" where the invisible masses shout, "Today!"

Certainly, it was one of the many highlights of the night including incredible performances by Christine La Pado and special (isn't he cute?!) guest, Dave Silva. My good girlfriends and I were overcome with emotion to be finally experiencing/witnessing one of my dearest dreams come true- playing with talented musicians I respect both professionally and personally. Check out this clip to see what I'm talking about:



As the saying goes, what comes up must come down, and I find myself facing the fact that I need to vacate the apartment that has been the silent witness and stage of this year's drama of separation, sadness, and rebirth. It's time to wrap dishes, stack books, and prepare for the upcoming season of wandering pilgrimage that I have come to see as necessary, exciting, and bittersweet. The writing of this morning's blog is both avoidance and acceptance as I probably should get my ass moving, but according to the laws of physics, all changes of direction require disruption of the inertia that holds us in patterns for better or worse, so raise your coffee mug, and toast with me to change.

Epic

I'm stealing the one word episode title idea from Denis Leary's TV series, "Rescue Me". I devoured the whole thing via rentals and iTunes downloads with my boyfriend in late night stupors and guilty afternoon viewings. I liked the idea of condensing the entire raison d'etre of each episode into one word. Very neat. Clean.

So my title for today's blog captures the essence of my Friday experience. Let's just say I spent a delightful morning with my boyfriend, and the following encounters/events also carried a weight far beyond their superficial appearances.

I left my apartment purring and proceeded to the last practice session before my "buen viaje" house concert with a local upright bass player extraordinaire. This is a woman I have known and admired almost my entire 18 year Chico experience and only in the last few years have had the pleasure of making more of her acquaintance. We've had a grand old time meeting once a week for the past month and a half working on a small set of my songs that we'll be performing tomorrow at my soiree. I've been playing mostly solo for the past five years and recently came the to conclusion that I need the energy and expertise of other musicians to create something a little more living with the songs that I've grown to know so well I forget what inspired me to write them in the first place. Our experience so far has only proven that it's exactly the medicine I've needed. We spent an hour running through the set in unexpected blissful enjoyment of the nuances we had discovered over the weeks. Acoustic guitar, vocals, and upright bass is a cocktail I want to get drunk on as often as possible.

From there it was lunch with my now officially ex-husband at one of my favorite hole in the wall Mexican restaurants that make me feel like I'm in Tijuana, a dining genre you could call 'good nasty'. We wanted to spend at least a little time together when we weren't signing documents or discussing official divorce business before I leave for Spain.

Everyone has an experience at some point or another -if they're lucky, of passing through their worst fear and discovering that, shockingly, they are still alive! I've had the growing impression that I died when I decided to walk out the door, and this past year has been spent as a ghost floating around my old haunts. At first it was an uncomfortable and even tragic sensation, but now I'm starting to feel like less of an apparition and more of a resurrection. The difference is the union of body, mind, and spirit. I spent the last five years with my mind staggering about like a grieving mother trying to make sense of senseless loss, my spirit burning off layers and layers of legalism and fear, and my poor body desperately seeking comfort it had blindly begged for for years.

As I sat with my ex over some chips and salsa, I felt strangely solid. There I was with the man I was 100% certain that I would spend the rest of my life with and we were talking about our new relationships, plans for the year, and friendly gossip. It was a scene I only imagined with foundless faith during the moments I cried so hard it seemed like anesthesia-free heart surgery complete with band saw sternum cracking would be a welcome alternative. Fast forward a year and a couple of tacos al pastor later, and it seemed like he was going to be alright, and I knew I was committed to that and more. I was starting to get the hang of making choices that respected reality and dreams, uniting the needs, wants, and greater good of my true self, and so was he.

The crowning event of the day was the LONG awaited bridal shower of my best friend. When you move in Christian circles, 35 is a ripe old age for marriage, and she received more than her share of shit and unsolicited advice on relationships than you can shake a stick at over the years. Here was her victory, her "I told you so!", her holy grail. This is a woman who's been in more countries than items you can bring to the quick check aisle who came to peace with the fact that, yes, she did want to get married, but not at any cost. There had been a lot of potential suitors, each equipped with their own cheering section, but no one who seemed to cherish the independent, adventurous, and idealistic spirit that makes her who she is. No one who didn't have that "Taming of the Shrew" look in their eyes. She had finally found a man 'man' enough to get that she's a free-range chicken. More power to her.



Every day can't be the top of the mountain from whence you look down the sheer cliffs at the curving path through the valley and say to yourself, "The way here is so obvious! How could I not have seen it?" Most days are spent pacing the endless miles on the plain, wandering through the forest's thick underbrush, or scaling rocks you blindly grope in search of a hand grip before your legs give out. But on the days you take the last steps, turn around and face the great wide open through which you passed to this peak, survey it all slowly. Breath deeply, take a drink, and feel the words that swirl and whisper all around and through you-

All things,
all things,
all things, dear one, are possible.

Camino de Karen

A journey of a thousand miles starts with a first step, so I've entitled my first entry as "Camino de Karen", or "Karen's Path". Not super exciting, but it's borrowed from the name of the walking pilgrimage (view map) I plan to take this August across northern Spain called the "Camino de Santiago". Some of you who read my other blogs may wonder why I've started up a new one. Simple as this: this site gives me the power to combine pictures and text in a way not available on my music websites. So, Lord willing, when I get the digital camera my mother so kindly offered to buy for my trip, I'll start clicking and posting away.

I wanted to have a cool little title for my blogspot, but efficiency won out, and I went for good old karenjoybrown.blogspot.com so as to make contact with me as easy as possible. I feel a bit like I'm sailing off the edge of the earth, so I'm holding on to the hope that the easier it is to digitally find me, the more communication I'll receive.

So, comment away, pass my link on to anyone who might be marginally interested, and join me on my camino.