Intent

Ever since beginning this blog it was my intent to blog far more often than I do. So much happens every day at work, with the children, with their families, with the ever changing rules and regulations, with the budget, with life in West Contra Costa County, and my intent was, and is, to keep up with this.

My intent, when I agreed to blog for the Albany Patch, was to blog a couple of times a month, nothing grandiose or overly ambitious. And so far, I have posted one, ONE, measly little entry.

My intent is to write on a daily basis so that I can submit a manuscript  while I am still alive.

All these, are my intent.

I read about other writers' work habits, and I am in awe. Somehow they finish a chapter  a day even though they are raising six children, living on farms, growing their own organic produce from seeds, and tending to their livestock. How on earth do they do this?  One thing I know about myself is that I will never be an early riser. My brain does not function early in the morning, and so I won't be one of those writers who is up before dawn to get in a few hours of writing before the demands of the day.

When I first began working in the healthcare 'industry' I fantasized about being free to write in the evenings. Little did I know that I would be writing all day long, At the end of every session I write a summary of what I did for the parents. Then every six months I have to complete a comprehensive evaluation for every child. My days are spent driving from home to home, crawling on the floor, 'playing' with the children. Listening to their parents, communicating with other workers. I come home from work and usually the most energy I can muster is to turn on the TV, lie on the sofa, and breathe.

Now it is July and at last we are enjoying a few days without rain, cold, and fog, I come home from work and sit outside and enjoy the evening breeze and watch the colors change overhead. These long evenings of summer are a blessed event and it is pity to come back inside to write

Mendocino

It is Memorial Day weekend and I came up to Mendocino on Saturday. It is here that I blogged my very first entry. Something about sitting in this cabin looking out at redwood trees, pine trees, manzanita trees and evergreens, and enjoying all the shades of green inspires me. The air outside is clean and it lightly scented, as if a master perfumier came by to add intoxicating aromas - hints of pennyroyal and bergamot, something else elusive - a spicy scent, as well as wafts of sweet geranium. Outside the window the fairies float by on drafts of air. This morning a female deer came elegantly into the garden and nibbled the grass. Later I opened a back door and startled the deer and her new little one. They turned around and leaped into the woods, vanishing instantly.  Last night a blue heron swooped into the pond.

Today is still and calm, yesterday the wind whipped through causing the trees to sway alarmingly over the cabins, creaking and groaning. It rained so abundantly this year that the wildflowers are still out and shades of purple, yellow, orange, cloak the hills and appear out of the grass. In fact, on the drive up it began raining after Cloverdale, all along W 128, as it winds and curves and ascends and descends. It rained steadily through the Anderson Valley and Boonville. When the road entered the sacred redwood groves I turned off the book I was listening to, opened my windows to let in the heady air, and accompanied by the steady swish of the windshield wipers and the steady patter of rain I drove.

This is a much needed break from the exhausting stresses of work. It seems like all the workers are running on nerves and adrenaline. This is not a good recipe for allowing the creative muse in. Here is my chance to exhale and allow nature to do her healing work.

A Recipe

It seems like everyone and their mother are bringing out recipe books. Actors, singers, dancers, all seem to think everyone wants to entertain guests like they do, and feed their children healthy organic meals from vegetables raised in their gardens.

When I was in New Orleans a while ago, I stood in the long line of people waiting to buy their beignets from Cafe Du Monde. The weather was pleasant, the line was long, and people were friendly. The woman in front of me spoke to her daughter, Deja, and son Jovan, who took off every now and then to chase each other up and down a wall, and into the crowds around Jackson Square. When they disappeared she watched out for them, visibly relieved when they returned to check back with her in the line. She told them not to go too far, and asked them whether they remembered the movie they had seen the night before, in which a slasher kidnapped kids. "There's crazy people out there" she said to them, as she reasoned with them to remain close enough that she could keep her eye on them.

I told her daughter that I had worked with a girl called Deja. She told me she is 10 - soon to be 11, in July. Her brother Jovan, told me he'd be eight in July. Funny, I said, I also have a birthday in July. Jovan told me his is on July 7th, then Deja told me her's is July 22nd, same as mine. Mom said she is waiting to see the price of an order of beignets now. When she was little her parents brought her here and it was only one dollar. She is from New Orleans, but they don't come around here that often. She knows prices must have gone up a lot.

"When we was little," she told me, "we made beignets ourselves. I tell you how to make them," she said to me, "it's easy."

"Go to a store and get yourself a packet of biscuit mix. (That is what I think she said.) Then buy a packet of sugar - that white fine sugar. Roll the mix into balls. Take a coke bottle and put it into the middle of the balls, to make holes in them. Throw some handfuls of lard or grease into a pan. It should get nice and hot, then fry them up. When they be nice and crisp put them in a brown paper bag with that white sugar, and shake 'em up real good. There, you got yourself beignets."

Another Update

I was away again - this time in Seattle. "Freezing in Seattle" can sum up my time. Despite the weather, it was fun. Ran around in the rain and cold seeing sights, going to museums, to the theatre, here, there and everywhere. I returned to a vastly improved Max. He is back to his normal active self, and attacks his food like he did before.

I hit the ground running on my return. Many new referrals at work - in fact, I cannot handle them all. So, deep breath, and do what I can.Also, I have many evaluations to complete. Somehow the energy has revved up all around, I am sure everyone feels this. I think our practice is to remain open and grounded in the midst of all of this.

Update

Today I went to the Tropical Fish Store where I bought Maxie. I told a young lady about Maxie's conditions, and described his behavior and appearance. She questioned me for a quite a long while - an interview on my care of Maxie.

Is the water heated? How often do I change it? What do I clean the bowl with? How much water do I leave in the bowl? Do I have gravel in the bowl? Do I check the acid content? I answered, as they say, to the best of my knowledge, but with each question I began feeling more and more guilty of neglect, mishandling, abuse.She also asked about Max's age so I told her two years, and, trying to make her feel a bit guilty also, informed her that I bought Maxie from their store, but he hadn't come with a birth certificate, so his real age is unknown. She shrugged that off and said two years is a good age. Betta fish, she informed me, are inbred and so suffer from genetic mutations! Without seeing Max she can't say exactly what he has.

Eventually I left the store having spent $24.11 for mineral salts, some kind of drops which apparently may help, and a thermometer. I had a heater I had never used for fear of boiling Max. I promised I would heat his little home. She said he may improve within three days - on the other hand,he may not. Whatever, I should return in three days to report on his condition.

I have scrupulously followed her instructions, and will let her and you all know in three days how little Max is faring.

Maxie

I returned from a glorious time friendwise, weatherwise, and otherwise in New Orleans very very late Monday night. As soon as I entered I greeted Max, my little Piscean companion, who normally greets me by coming to the side of the bowl,undulating happily (or so I imagine - the happy part, that is.) This time I had to look for him amongst the artificial fronds and leaves. He seemed to be resting amongst the plants. I tapped the bowl, called his name, but there was no response. Of course I was alarmed. I did notice slight movement in his fins, so I knew the worst had not happened. After quite a while I observed him trying to come to the surface, then sinking down. He attempted to come to the surface several times, then eventually I saw him inhale some air and then, shockingly, he sank down, belly up! He remained like this, not moving at all. I tried praying, still no life. Then I wondered how to dispose of him, in a dignified fashion. I even said Kaddish for him. I was exhausted after a long day of airport 'hopping' and flight delays. I thought he could remain in the water until the following morning, besides, I couldn't deal with removing him.

The next morning I saw he had moved, and was no longer belly up. He had almost propped himself on one of the plant leaves. I gave him his food, but he ignored it. I called my neighbour who cared for Max in my absence. She immediately said that he hadn't eaten the whole weekend, and said that he does not look well. This pattern has continued until today. I thought that either he is too cold and is hibernating, so to speak, or that he is getting old. He has been with me for two years, and I don't know how old he was when I bought him. One of my patient's moms gave me two books on bettas today when I told her of my concerns. I looked at The Guide to Owning Siamese Fighting Fish, subheading, care, breeding, combat raising, varieties, diseases - that is what I needed, diseases. After careful observation of Maxie he appears to still have good coloring, and there are no signs of fungal infections, fin rotting, swelling, or popped eyes. All signs point to Maxie as having swim-bladder trouble, and there is no cure! Infrequently, apparently, a fish can come out of this condition spontaneously, so I am praying for Maxie's recovery, and ask all of you to keep little Maxie in your thoughts.

Friends

Without hesitation I would say that my friendships are the most important aspect of my life.

I grew up with a group of girls (The Great Girls Gang). Our friendship began for some of us, in kindergarten. We were carpooled to Temple Shalom. The others from the Gang we met in Grade 1. We remained friends from then on. There was a core group of us - we would meet at school, and play in each others' homes after school and on weekends. We formed the Great Girls Gang and we met in the shed in Sandy's garden. We painted the shed and made curtains, and gave each other exotic names like Njanga. We took minutes of our meetings. What exactly we met about I forget now. We remained together throughout our school years. When we began having boyfriends we always had a cardinal rule - never to go out with another's boyfriend after a break up. Our friendship was always paramount, and so we remained friends ... forever.

After Matric we went our separate ways, to University, traveling. We married, had children, went to live in far away countries, but always kept in touch. The moment I heard my husband was killed my friends were there for me, they reached over continents sending telegrams, and phoning. They were always my backbone, my support. We meet over the years, and as soon as we are together the years we have been apart slip away and immediately we carry on just like we did all our lives.

And of course over the years and the countries, new friendships and bonds were formed, but the old ties are forever there. We meet ... in South Africa, in London, in Israel, and now ... on Skype.

Why this entry? Because this weekend I am going to meet one of these friends, and her husband and son, in New Orleans. And I am so excited. She is a professor of English literature at Wits University in Johannesburg and will be presenting at a conference in New Orleans. Her husband survived a horrendous accident in South Africa last year, and he will accompany her. Their son lives in LA and he will be meeting us all. The last time I saw them was five years ago, in South Africa.

So ---- here is to friends, and to reunions, to love that abides and sustains.