Illiterations: Laughing At My Own Expense

Annie, my mum, with Clara I've slowed down just lately, on these entries to the blog.  I am overwhelmed in my desire to express thoughts.  And, just because I have "feels" (to coin a current phrase) doesn't really mean that it's got to be written. I write because it's satisfying, most of the time, and cathartic, almost all the time.  I often sit down to write intending to write one thing, and then--as if my fingers on the keys had a mind of their own--my writing is off in a different direction than I'd even known it would be. So much is swirling around in my little world right now.  Some of it overlaps everybody's own experience, such as the emotions around the recent wildfires, being wrought from an already raw population of people in our state.  I am certainly one of those people, yet, the fires have not directly touched me and my family, blessedly.  But, all around me, people I love have been directly touched by, or impacted by, the fires. 

If most people are like me, then they must be feeling almost numb.  I do not live in Paradise, but, like all of us in the low Sierra mountains, I feel their loss in the people I know who lost homes or even family.  I feel it in the nearness of the tragedy.  I recognize the streets; the schools; the quirky landmarks and the parks. California is experiencing something new.  We are experiencing wildfires that take everything.  Everything--in horrifying magnitude.  Californians can't remember a time more than a decade or so past that we saw whole towns wiped off the map.  Now, in these past 13 months, and more sparsely spaced, events before that time, we are coping with wildfire losses that knock us out at the knees. The deadliest fire in California history is raging even as I write this.  Already, there are 6700+ structures burned, and 29 confirmed fatalities.  The acres ravaged stands at over 110,000, with only a small percentage of the fire contained, and heavy dry winds

How do you like to work on grounding yourself, when you really realize you've become adrift? For me, the things I always used to do seem unavailable to me.  I spent many years of my life as a single person.  I didn't even marry my husband until after I turned 50.  So, I have no kids.  Dogs are my kids, really.  Over time, I've enjoyed many relationships, and left as many.  But in between, I was always alone, and being alone allowed me the solitude to enjoy meditation, writing... Now, privacy is a thing of my dreamscape.  It's not that I can't enjoy meditation, or listen to Native American flute as it drifts through my house.  But, there is no space that is mine alone.  And, to ground myself, more than anything, I really need solitude.  I often walk long walks with the dogs, which presents so many gifts all rolled together anyway; I bond with these two pooches whom I adore; I get fresh air and exercise; and my mind can wander.  I love my walks! But, I