Where’s Abby Hoffman When You Need Him?

I was talking with someone close to me recently who requested that he remain anonymous, about how right now would be the perfect time for a revolution in the United States. Maybe I think that way because there seems to be one going on inside of me. But really I think it’s much bigger than that. I think that this country needs an over haul in so many ways. Well, corporate America especially because frankly it seems an evil place.

I never realized that so much before I got laid off in 2001. The lay off itself was really just the last straw, it wasn’t even the worst of it. I am not sure if I would have survived it much longer anyway, having the creativity sucked right out of me. .I did that for two and a half years, and it only got worse and worse. It got to the point where I didn’t even care about any of the words that I wrote because I knew they were merely going to get slashed and burned like so much forest. When I started working on the Internet, it was just the beginning of the hot phase. It was like a roller coaster ride, I thought I was doing pretty good, I hopped from job to job like some kind of crazed trainhopper, making more money every time.

That’s the thing about corporate America, the things that happen, the squashing of creativity, the lay-offs, the parking passes, none of it is given or taken away for personal reasons. It’s all about money. Money, money, money. As a writer working on the edge of a corporate job as an underpaid contractor, I struggle. I understand the need and craving for money, but what blows my mind is the lying and crazy schemed these big corporations create in order to make gobs and gobs of money. More money than anyone could possibly spend surely in a lifetime. So, at any rate, this is why I feel like we need a revolution because things are going to hell in a hand basket, and since it appears that everything is based on the stock market and the stock market is about as stable as my uncle’s boat and I might add here that the motor has fallen off of my uncle’s boat several times. Everyone freaks out when the stock market crashes and everyone gets scared and stops spending money, it leaves a vacuum. When there is a vacuum there is an imbalance of power, and that, my friends is the perfect time for a revolution.

I don’t know much about history because of the way it was taught in school bored me to tears. The only thing that was interesting to me was the part about revolutions. There have been so many in Russia, though that seems to have slowed down for now. The ones in France involved a lot of beheadings. I am not really talking about that kind of revolution, I am talking about the old fashioned kind from the sixties that were also before my time. Once in my life have I have been exposed to people at least claiming to start a revolution. It was a rough time in my life when I lived on the street for a time in California. At one point, I drifted up to Santa Cruz with some other people, where we set up a tent in a place called Davenport and I lived there at the campground for 6 weeks. During the day my friends and I would hang out on the mall in Santa Cruz. There were these weird people with shaved heads who stood out on the mall all day also, handing out flyers about revolution and how there was one starting underground, who was going to work its way up to the government. I wonder what ever happened to those people? Maybe they are on Facebook, who knows.

Uncomfortably numb

Lately, there has just been way too much coming at me, I feel like I am just dodging bullets every day, and so when I become overwhelmed, its like I shut down, which I think is what's happened. Trying to turn stuff around, but sometimes it seems like trying to turn around a gigantic ship, like the Titanic, which is headed for a course of disaster, and can't turn the big thing fast enough, you know? Maybe its a wasted effort. Of course before when I thought, well I will just let things go, let the chips fall where they may and just try to keep my side of the street clean, and that was kind of refreshing, like how much control do I really have over anything? Other than my own actions and how I choose to be in the world? People are going to do what they are going to do, and its frustrating, especially when other people's decisions directly effect my life and well being. But, like I said, I don't have any control really about what other people do or don't do, or how they act, only my own. So there you go, I know I am being vague, I don't feel like getting into the details right here. I feel like planting flowers. Sometimes just digging my hands into dirt helps me reground myself, which is probably sorely needed at some point. Ok, that's all I got right now..

I heart my kiln

I love my kiln, it sounds wierd to love a big, object like that, but I really do. Sometimes when I think about running away, I get this picture in my head of myself walking up the street pulling my big kiln with a rope..ha. Yes, that's right its the bizarro world I see in my head. Crazytown USA, my husband calls it.

But really, my glass is like my baby that I tend to and nurture and hope it turns out ok. Just like my own children, whom I love both with a fierceness I cannot really put into words, but let's just say I would jump in front of a train for them if I had to, I really would.

The other day ,my eldest, Lily, said Mirabel, her sister, loved me more than she did. This made my heart hurt for her for a second, because I think she was saying she felt I loved Mirabel more than her, because you know, we make such a big deal when she stands or whatever, or takes steps..but I told her, I love you both the same. But I can recall needing to know the same thing from my Mom at times growing up, and she would tell me the same thing, that she loved us all the same. And then she would tell a story about her Mother, my Bunna, who died when I was 13.

She would say that Bunna would tell her something about love whenever she asked her about it and it went something like this. Love is like a cup, and when some pours out, it just refills automatically, so the cup is always full and there is plenty of love for everyone. Or actually that isn't what she said at all, but I can't remember the story exactly. Lily heard the proverb once too,and she thought my Mom told her something about a hair cut..ha.so who knows.

Before I forget..but how could I forget..

Ok, I have to get this down before I start buzzing too fast with my corporate job work. This is ancient history 101 for me folks, but I just found out about it yesterday. Facebook is a strange and wonderous thing, as I was in this group on FB that I belong to that discusses old deadhead stuff, one thread is all about people who died, of which it seems there were a great many casualties in the late 80's early 90's (and before and beyond) I am sure. Anyway, I was touched to discover this guy, Pablo, who I acquired my old dog from, had passed away, years ago, about the same time I was coming back into mainstream life from a life on the road.

It just seemed strange, to think about. Pablo was a sweetheart with a bad stutter, and a heroine addiction.Apparently he killed himself back in the early 90's. When he was alive though, he had a big beautiful half german shepard and half wolf, her name was Sweet Thing. At the time I was out there, in Bolinas, she had a litter of 11 puppies, one of whom was the best dog in the whole world to me, my girl Sheba. Sheba initially was adopted by my old friend Joe. But he and his girlfriend were moving somewhere away from Bolinas and he couldn't take her, and she had all ready adopted me anyway. At the time I was staying in my van which was my home for a while. I was 18 and pretty much care free. That was before the darkness came completely. I parked my little green van, I called it Quinn the Eskimo, on a cliff overlooking the Pacific ocean. Sheba lived down the road with Joe and November in the basement of a house that belonged to this crazy rich guy, whose name I can't recall. Anyway, Sheba used to come and visit me every morning and after Joe left and said I could keep her, she stayed with me for 17 years. She died 5 years ago when I was pg with my eldest daughter. Anyway, all the strange and sad news got me to thinking.

How wierd is it that people can have such a profound impact on your life, and be gone? Or, isn't it strange that people can be in your life, and influencing your life even, and you not even be aware that they are there, and they might not be either?

I am not sure why all this stuff from the late 80's is rearing back up, maybe because that's when I first started struggling with hope, during all those crazy times, that started out so awesome and free, and turned to a life of deprivation and longing for a while. I had to go through quite a few rings of fire to get through that one. I don't really feel like getting into the details, but let's just say, it got pretty rough, but the good news is I survived, and it lead me to who I am today I suppose and I am stronger person. But I am still not sure why all that old stuff is coming up. I even had a wierd sense memory about a turkey sandwich from the little shop that was there in that crazy hippie town.

After most all my friends left, I used to scrounge up money for sandwiches by selling jewelry with this old guy who was teaching me how to wire wrap way back then.I would share the sandwich with my dog.Those were the best sandwiches ever, especially after not eating for a couple of days at a time.I guess that's why I still remember what they taste like.

I remember I wanted to make and sell jewelry even then, but I had no start up money. I tried to get money from my family, but I had burned too many bridges with my family for them to give me anything but a plane ticket which is all they would offer me anymore, so it goes. I guess they wanted me home, although when I came home, they changed there mind again for a while. I can't really blame them. It wasn't me so much as this person who had attached myself to me, along with the dog. But that's another story for a different time. I have to do some worker bee work now ,but I just felt compelled to touch on that story about Pablo and Sheba back in the day. If it weren't for Sheba, I might not have made it as far as I did, and that to me is kind of strange an poignant I guess like why did I make it and he, and so many others didn't? Who knows..I will probably never know..so be it. And I am finally back to the art and jewelry making, 20 years later, how strange. Thanks Pablo for the dog who saved my life over and over, and rip..