Life Renewing Itself

Over at “Women On” last month, I pondered what spiritual gift had been conferred upon me by the Universe. I wondered if maybe I wasn’t a prophet, given my propensity for concocting political admonitions… It may be so.

But who says a person can have only one gift? Because, prophet or no, I do know that there has been only one time in my life when I felt I had received communication directly from the Almighty. I was driving home from work one evening—must be thirty years ago, now—and a vee of geese flew low over my car, barking and honking, silhouetted against the autumn sunset. I was enchanted; and, as this was during my “born again” period, I bubbled up with a little prayer of praise and thanks for the geese and their wild beauty.

And a thought came to me, clearly, not really in words, but definitely a directive: “This is what you are here to love.” I knew it was somehow my purpose to see and appreciate the wonder of the world and the other creatures the Universe has put here to share it with us. My gift. My duty.

I can and do talk to animals all the time. It feels perfectly natural to me. And though I can’t say they talk back, I know, I just know, there is an understanding, a connection that transcends language.

From time to time over the years, I’ve felt a particular connection to one kind of animal—usually birds. I called 2005 my “year of the eagle,” because it just seemed I encountered them at every turn. Eventually, I chose to believe that the eagle was my “spirit guide.” I continued to see eagles during a time of great progress and emotional rebirth for me. I came to count on their appearance as affirmations of the paths I was choosing to follow.

Oddly, since last fall, eagles have nearly ceased crossing my path. I started to believe that my spirit guide had abandoned me. Honestly, it freaked me out a little.

But then I noticed that birds had not disappeared from my life. In fact, they have still figured prominently in my journey, even since last fall when the eagles seemed to withdraw. The eagles simply gave way to…different birds. LOTS of birds. And, particularly, lots of birds making lots of little birds.

My backyard has been an avian nursery this spring and summer. Just last week, I counted at least half a dozen different groups of fledglings enjoying the ambience of our al fresco dining facilities. We’ve had baby jays, baby “French fry birds” (house sparrows—the ones that often hang around McDonald’s parking lots filching crumbs from soft-hearted patrons), baby house finches, gold-finches, starlings, song sparrows and siskins. Earlier this spring, we had families of two kinds of grosbeaks. A pair of tree swallows is raising a brood in the rafters of my shed, and they should be out and about in a few more days.

But by far the most entertaining has been a little brood of fledgling hummingbirds. They’ve consumed gallons (or so it seems) of sugar water, and take turns chasing each other away from the hummingbird feeder with great displays of future territorial behavior—chittering and dive-bombing and fanning out their little tails to make themselves look big and fierce. They seem to have little or no fear of the giant beings sitting in lawn chairs beneath their snack station; they think nothing of zooming through airspace largely occupied by human heads, which then duck and cover to avoid the unpleasant prospect of becoming hummingbird dart-boards.

I’ve been feeling so old lately. When I get out of bed, it takes me several steps before I can actually walk like a human being. I look in the mirror, and I look more and more like my mother every day. Technology has left me behind, teen-agers talk in a language I barely comprehend, and the pop culture of the 21st century leaves me cold. I SO feel like that brontosaurus trudging those last few hundred yards to the tar pits…

So, if eagles were my guides to adventure and growth, what does this newest manifestation of bird guides mean? Thinking about all the little ones flying around in my yard, I recalled a line from “Gone With the Wind”: “Babies are life renewing itself.” Maybe this is the Universe’s way of reminding me that there is still so much of life remaining.

And it never gets old.

One of the little guys resting in my Japanese maple...

The Case of the On Again, Off Again Blog

Looks like my little corner of the blogging world truly has spread itself to the four winds and disappeared. A couple of months ago, when I "closed" this blog, I felt like I had been abandoned. Like everything else that happens in my life, I interpreted the dissipation of the blogging community as a little too much "about me." The reality is, like any technological fad, blogging communities had their day, and they have given way to the next fad. Facebook. Twitter. And god knows where it will go from there.

Yeah, I'm sad. And though I feel left behind, I don't want to go on with the crowd, either. I love this virtual place—it is still my home. "Coming To Terms…" is still my story, which has not come to a close by any means. I don't know why I thought I could close it up and walk away from it.

I don't have anything overly profound to write today. In terms of the café, today is pretty auspicious. My first official "chef" starts work today. I can hardly quantify what this means, in terms of potential success if this works out; or potential disaster if it doesn't. I'm investing more money in this young man than I have ventured to do for any employee so far, and I am expecting great things from him. We shall see what we shall see. A month from now, I'll either be cracking open the bubbly or crying in my beer.

I have also hired a pastry chef, who will be starting work in July. I expect her to take our bakery case to stunning new heights, and to enhance (I hope) our sales in that direction.

I don't want to say that these two employees are either going to make or break the business. Obviously, I plan to monitor the results of my adventuresome hiring, and pull the plug on this plan if it looks like the business will start circling the drain. To tell the truth, it's kind of scaring the crap out of me to make this leap of faith…but I don't see us getting where I want us to go without some serious help in the kitchen. Part-time, fast-food trained cooks have got us as far as they can take us. It's time to really get serious with this thing, and that means bringing on board some people who are serious—and knowledgeable—about food.

If there's anyone out there in the ether still tuned in…cross your fingers for me. The next couple of months could be quite a ride.

Good Things

For whatever reason, I've been feeling pretty sorry for myself, lately.

I went through a period, late last year and the first months of this year, where I slashed the hell out of my labor budget at the café, and basically filled the holes in the schedule with myself. The plan was effective…with the money we saved on payroll, we replenished the reserves in the checkbook to the tune of over ten thousand dollars in four months. Unfortunately, the negative outcome of this brilliant business move is that I am toast.

Even though I know the business is doing well, in view of the current economic situation, I can't help feeling that I've worked really hard for…not a whole lot. I've spent so many hours focusing on the restaurant that I hardly recognize my own home and yard anymore. It strikes me that this drastic lack of balance in my life is not doing any part of my sphere of influence any good. I do not want to turn into the whiney, bitchy, nit-picking malcontent I feel myself becoming.

To that end, I have decided to resurrect (once again) a blog vehicle that I have used with some success in the past.

GOOD THINGS (Maybe not ten this time, but honoring even one good thing is better than bitching…)

1.) Flowers. I'm too tired and too busy to pursue my gardening with the passion and abandon I would like, but thirty years of pottering in the yard have stood me in good stead. I had only to shell out a couple of (hundred) dollars on plants and containers to be able to banish the last memories of the hideous winter of 2008-09. Begonias, impatiens, fuchsias and my ever-expanding collection of fancy-leaf and scented geraniums, with the added punch of grasses and other leafy growing things, have turned my outdoor spaces into the best of secret retreats.

2.) Orangie. Or "OG" as we have taken to calling him. I'm sure he'll acquire more names as we get to know him better. He sleeps on the Adirondack chair just outside my dining room door. He eats his meals and then comes to me to be petted and made much of. This morning, he sat still while I cut the mats out of his fur. Our relationship is…progressing.

3.) Birds. Despite the presence of neighborhood cats, my yard feels like an aviary. The grosbeaks have moved on, but I have goldfinches, hummingbirds, swallows and sparrows to keep me company. Monday afternoon, I was sitting on the deck with my computer in my lap, and a hummer stopped and hovered about eighteen inches from my face. Just looking me over…wondering if she should perch on top of the monitor. Satisfied that I was a benevolent presence, she turned and buzzed up to the feeder. And this evening, I witnessed our resident sparrow being shadowed by a smaller version of herself; from time to time, she would backtrack and poke something into the mini-me's beak. I'd wondered if she had a nest somewhere close by, watching the way she would scold and fuss whenever one of the cats was in the yard. (Luckily, Orangie seems to prefer kibbles to fresh bird meat…)

4.) Lonicera periclymenum . Honeysuckle. Beaten and broken by our ghastly winter, the tattered old vines are nevertheless blooming profusely and broadcasting their indescribable scent all over my yard. I'm not much one for really strong-smelling flowers. I hate star-gazer lilies—too overpowering, and I'm not too keen on jasmine—too sweet. But there's something just right about the scent of honeysuckle. Mmmmmmmm!

5.) Husbands. Yes, I know there are times I feel like I would sell him for a plug nickel. But, in the end…I have no idea what I would do without him.

6.) Silence. Every now and then, there are a few moments when Disneyland is closed down for the day and the Mexican karaoke is on hiatus (I refer, of course, to my lovely(?) neighbors)…and I can sit in my back yard and just…be. Actually, it is anything but silent. But the sounds are sweet and soothing and natural. And without human clamor I can hear and be lulled by them.

7.) Pedicures. What an indulgence! Need I say more?

Okay, seven. Seven good things. And the number seven is said to have mystical, cosmic qualities. So seven is…a good thing.

 

 

Cats Update

I know...I said I was closing down this journal...

But someone, awhile ago, wondered what had become of the stray cats I had written about.

Mila...Miraculously recovered after being run over by a car in the parking lot of the cafe, she showed up a month or so after the accident, seeming not too much the worse for wear.

But then, no long after her miraculous reappearance, she just...disappeared. We suspect she was spirited away by one of the new tenants of the building next door. That is my fervent hope, anyway...

Orangie...has a bit more complicated story...

Searching the archives for my original story about Orangie, I was surprised to see that it was almost a year ago that I wrote about him. Since then, I'd seen him only rarely, and briefly. And when he saw me, he'd run away. There was a stretch of several months when I saw him not at all. I wondered if he had become the "coyote lunch" I had so feared, or if our horrific winter had been too much for him.

Then...

About three weeks ago, he reappeared. Once again, he began spending a great deal of time in my yard. Sleeping on the fence, creeping out from under the bushes. Looking in the windows. Still, when I talked to him or tried to get near him, he'd run away.

But I knew I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't at least put out some food for him. Though my past efforts in that direction had met with no success.

I put a bowl of kibbles out on the shed deck (my shed is about ten yards from the house, and it has its own little "deck" in front of it.) To my delight, I caught him eating from the bowl. And it seemed as if he had actually been waiting for it. In the next couple of days, he came to the bowl several times.

One evening, I decided to kick his dinner up a notch...I added a scoop of canned food to the kibbles and mixed it around. Then I sat on the deck outside my back door to see what would happen.

He ate. He bathed. He laid down next to the bowl and took a little cat nap. I talked quietly to him. Told him how pretty he was. Asked if he had enjoyed his meal.

Then he did something extraordinary.

He looked me in the eye. Started meowing.

And walked right up to me. Meowing all the way.

With a minimum of coaxing, he sat down next to me. Leaned on me. And rubbed his head on my back.

As if to say, "Thank you, lady. That was really good."

I petted him and made much of him for about fifteen minutes. Then he wandered back to the bowl, finished off his dinner, and went off on his "rounds."

Leaving me astounded. And grateful.

With a tear in my eye for the sweet cat who has had a hard go of it for the past year. But hasn't completely forgotten how to trust. And love.

His name may not ever be "William." But if I have anything to say about it, he will not always be homeless.

Okay...I Didn't Have to Write This...

You Are 4: The Individualist

You are sensitive and intuitive, with others and yourself. You are creative and dreamy... plus dramatic and unpredictable. You're emotionally honest, real, and easily hurt. Totally expressive, others always know exactly how you feel. At Your Best: You are inspired, artistic, and introspective. You know what you're thinking, and you can communicate it well. At Your Worst: You are melancholy, alienated, and withdrawn. Your Fixation: Envy Your Primary Fear: To have no identity Your Primary Desire: To find yourself Other Number 4's: Alanis Morisette, Johnny Depp, J.D. Salinger, Jim Morrison, and Anne Rice.

What Number Are You?

I don't know about the "envy" thing, but the rest of this is pretty spot on...

Resignation

I finally have things arranged so that I don’t have to tote a computer back and forth to work. The old faithful (and slowly dying) HP laptop has been installed permanently at the café, so there’s one less giant briefcase I have to pack with me every morning.

The main goal of that accomplishment was to allow me to walk or ride my bike to work. We only live 1.2 miles away from the café, and it seemed silly to keep revving up Great White every morning to get to work. Now, all I need is my keys, and maybe some junk that is in my purse. Thus unencumbered, I am free to walk to work.

And so I did this morning, a chilly morning with the rising sun sending blinding rays between the morning clouds. Walking gives me time to think, time to get centered.

Time to think. I got to thinking this morning. Got to thinking about why, even though I’m busy, even though I’m "successful," even though I have many of the things I thought I needed a few years ago, I am still not happy. I know part of the reason is that I am so chronically exhausted. Still. Though I no longer struggle with that constant feeling of trying to move underwater, or of my brain always being two steps behind my body, I’m still over-tired. I can function at that high-energy level I was used to in the old days, but I can’t do it for hours on end. A couple of hours of intense running my ass off, and I’ve had it. I have not yet built my reserves back up from the huge energy drain of the first two years of running the restaurant. Maybe I never will?

Clearly, I need to pull in my horns some. I don’t have time or energy to do all the things I need to do...run the business, keep the house, tend the marriage, keep up with the yard work…and write. Up until now, I’ve let myself believe that the writing is my hobby. My relaxation. My way to remain sane. But the truth of the matter is—and I realized this yesterday as I was trying to create the second half of a post at "Women On…"—that writing is work.

If 5 ½ years of blogging have done nothing else for me, they have spoiled me for shitty writing. I can’t just slap down any old thing and call it good enough. And I don’t seem to have enough energy left to feed my creative muse. I don’t have the hours and hours it used to take me to put together a decent essay. And even when I DO invest the time, my brain is so dull that what comes out isn’t really very good. Good writing is work. Work that I love, yes. But work, just the same. And I don’t need another job right now. So, I’m afraid that it wasn’t simply that "Coming to Terms" needed to be shut down. I think I need to stop writing. Because if I can’t do it well, it just becomes another source of stress and worry for me. Which is something I truly do not need right now.

So I think I will post that last essay at "Women On," and just…quit.

For awhile, anyway. And see how it goes.

Just Between Me and Me…

It's true…I stopped publicly adding to "Coming to Terms…" I felt like Charlie Brown, going for the mail, looking inside and calling "Hellooooo!" into an empty box. But I couldn't even muster Charlie Brown's sarcasm. I was just…sad. Left behind, once again. By everyone at once.

I decided it had to be about the writing, about the creativity. Obviously, it's no longer about the community or the friendships. And "…terms…" was my vehicle in the community. My lifeline to the friendships. The friendships that have dissolved into the ether.

So, of course, I had to start another blog. Had to go with the "theme" thing that seems to be where it's at these days. These online "diaries" of everything in one's life—like "Coming to Terms…"—are a dime a dozen. These days, if you hope to attract a readership, your blog has to be "about" something. And, truth to tell, I guess I was tired of putting my angst out there. I wasn't getting any kind of response from anyone anymore. Kind of like everyone was tired of hearing it.

But, here' s the thing. Though I started "Hot Flash Café" to be a real sort of record of my journey into and through the world of restaurant ownership, I haven't quite been able to reconcile myself to the "no readership-ness" of it all. I have, once again, as I did with "Brainsurfing," left a trail of breadcrumbs more the size of entire loaves of bread.

But no one has followed. And isn't that a kick in the head?

Oh well. I will continue writing there. Mostly because the café IS the place where my life happens, these days. Because I need a place to vent and plan and…tell the stories. And, there is only so far I will go to try to lead my old readers to my new blog. Truth to tell, I have traditionally had limited success with leading ANY readers to ANY blog.

I'm wondering how long I'll be able to go before I just start emailing everyone I know and inviting them to read.

As if that ever made a difference with anything else I've ever posted online…

Wrapping It Up

It has been a tough winter, and it promises to get nothing but tougher, from a business and a personal point of view. The economic outlook scares the bejeezus out of me; I can't even think too much about it, lest I throw my hands over my head, assume the fetal position and go catatonic.

At home, my oldest kitty—the one who has hung in there through eighteen years, four homes, and a "Mom" who has gone from workaholic restaurant manager to semi-retired stay-at-home and back to workaholic—looks like she is in her last days. There's something about the short days of midwinter that saps the life force away from the weakest flames…

And so it's become apparent to me that another ending is also in the cards. Actually, it has already happened…but it has taken me this long to acknowledge it. "Coming to Terms…" has run its course.

I said in my previous post that "I came here (to blogland) in desperation, to get the noise out of my head…with the small germ of hope that someone might read." I thought I could go back to that. Thought that I really was "okay alone." But I'm not.

Regardless of what "…Terms…" started out as, it became rooted in AOL J-land. It was my presence in the community. It was my voice, my telephone line, my letter-box, and sometimes my soapbox; where my friends indulgently smiled and patted me on the head when I climbed up and shook my finger at the world… And though I was always more on the outskirts of the community that in the midst of it, I stayed. Through the "Unwanted Ad Exodus" and beyond, I stayed. Through generations of readers that came and went, I stayed. It was my place…it had welcomed me when I was at a particularly lonely juncture in my life. And so…I stayed.

And I sweated and cried and toiled over my keyboard for hours when AOL decided to shut its doors. The race to save the blog took energy I did not have and could not spare, but it was essential. But I know now…though the blog is saved, though five years of essays are here, many of them are meaningless. Silly, even. Because they tell the story of getting to know and being a member of a community that no longer exists. "Coming to Terms…" was a unique part of a unique place. And now that the place is gone, "…Terms…" has lost its purpose.

It's possible I will start another blog, under another name, where I can re-establish that theme of writing to get the demons out of my head, and taking the chance that someone might read. But I can't wrestle "Coming to Terms…" back into that mold. It is way beyond that, an entirely different entity than it was when it started. It is not a place I come to be alone.

So…this is

THE END

and goodbye to my sweet Bebebe, who slipped away quietly this evening...

Getting Nowhere

For awhile, I was able to convince myself that this economic downturn would deal us only a glancing blow. I fantasized that I was properly placed in the market (cheap) and well enough established after almost three years, that people would still come. Enough people to keep us in business.

But the bank account continues to bleed… If it's not being pummeled by a meteoric rise in the minimum wage (from $7.95 to $8.40 as of January 1) it's exsanguinating into broken equipment or some other unforeseen damn thing. I'm starting to slide back into that chronically over-stressed, sleep-deprived place that I thought I had just finished climbing out of. But the ground beneath my feet has suddenly tilted to a crazy angle and become slippery as glass.

A few days ago, I had the kind of ah-ha moment that no small business owner ever wants to have. I realized that we are not getting anywhere. Realized that after a year of what looked like pretty decent forward progress, we have not only stopped progressing, but we are hanging on with fingers, toes and teeth to stay where we are. And I thought, what if this is as good as it gets? What if last year was the best year we'll ever have?

Certainly the community growth we expected—that was part of our business plan—has been put to a screeching halt by the economic downturn. Developers have stopped developing, the homes they built just before the crash are sitting there unoccupied, and the occupied ones may soon get over it, as the young families who inhabit them lose their incomes or their sub-prime mortgages.

Six months ago, I let myself believe that we had turned some kind of corner. I thought I was starting to get a peek..I squinted, I rubbed my eyes. Yes, there it was. It looked like someone holding a bic lighter at the far end of the Chunnel. But it was a light.

I emerged from my exhaustion-produced fog and thought, "Ah! Now I can run this business like a human being…rather than constantly flying by the seat of my pants, and being so tired I don't know my own name half the time." Quality of life hovered right there on the horizon. So close, I could almost touch it. I reached out…and it disappeared.

I'm back to the sixty-hour weeks and being lucky to get a day off. I would like to say that I did this before, and I can do it again. But I don't want to do it again. I don't want to be that tired. And there's a hopelessness about it, this time around. Until now, I could almost convince myself that it was worth it to be in that intense, foggy, overworked place. I thought it was finite. I thought that if I just do this for x more months, I could eventually crawl out of the fog and get a life.

But I don't know that now. In fact, it looks like I'll never get out of this place…never get anywhere. Never get to where I can feel a lasting sense of success or accomplishment with this thing…much less make any money at it. That is not how I want to live. I have to…HAVE TO at least feel like I'm getting somewhere, making some kind of progress. And since I've never been one for choosing my own reality, I am not capable of assuming progress where none exists. I don't lie well, not even to myself.

I have to figure out where to go from here. If there is indeed a "where" to go. And even, where "here" is. The time is fast approaching where I'll have to choose between two very clear, very black and white courses of action. Get somewhere…or get out.

Not Moving On

Gannet passed an award on to me the other day. This one is called the "Friends Award;" and here is the obligatory explanatory text:

"The Friends Award isn't about being the most popular blogger or having the most read blog. It is just because you consider the author a friend. These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."

Robin's nod made me smile and sigh at the same time. It was nice to be reminded that I do have a handful of solid friends who came into my life through this medium. The thought of passing the award on to eight other bloggers was kind of intimidating…until I listed them here, I didn't realize that I do indeed have eight friends who have been with me for almost my entire five-year run here in the ether. Robin. Cynthia. Kat. Alpha-Mary-woman. Judi. Jackie—my real-life friend as well as blogging buddy. Lisa—who disappeared for quite awhile, but is back now. And Kay, who is actually my newest blogging friend—we don't go all the way back, but certainly several years. Ladies, consider yourselves awarded.

However, I've recently been tossing around the idea of hanging up my blogging spurs. Wondering, really seriously this time, whether there is enough left here for me in blogland to keep me plugging away. There has been a decidedly unsubtle change in the community since the demise of AOL J-land. Indeed, the "community" has all but dried up and blown away. Even those friends mentioned above touch base much less frequently than they used to, be it because of real life involvements, or simply because they have tired of…this place.

The community aspect of the internet experience has moved on to places like Facebook and MySpace. Those are the hotspots, now; they're all about having, flaunting, and making more "friends." Yes, I have a Facebook page. But I almost never go there. I neither understand nor enjoy all the jillion little games and quizzes and snowball fights and whatever that are part and parcel of Facebook land. There is really nothing I can do there, like posting pictures or "writing" to friends and family, that I cannot do—have been doing for the past five years—here on my blog. I guess with my life as full as it is with the trappings of my entrepreneurial endeavor, I don't have the time or energy to pack up and move on to the new neighborhood. I'm sure it's all very nice, and I'm not necessarily dissing anyone who does it. It's just…not for me.

So that leaves me here…one of the last houses on the block with the fire still burning and the lights still on. Leaving the latchstring out…but there's no one around to lift the latch, lean in and say "hi." Most of the time, I'm okay alone. I was alone when I moved in to this neighborhood…more alone than at any other time in my life. I came here in desperation, to get the noise out of my head…with the small germ of a hope that someone might read. Understand? Learn? Relate?

Those things happened…and more. I found I had fallen into a community. I found friends. Something I had not had in a really, really long time. I am not exaggerating when I say that blogging saved my life. Or at least my sanity. And I also found that I could still turn a decent phrase or two…a skill I had thought lost beyond any redemption.

But now, with everyone going on to…wherever they are going…it's down to me and the language and my keyboard. It has to be about me and the writing…which I thought was what it was about when I first embarked on this endeavor. Until I found the community, and realized it was about so much more.

Is the writing enough? Can I bear to keep going, knowing I'm merely a pitiful little squeak in the deafening noise of the blogosphere? Unsure whether all the words I can wring out of my soul are remarkable enough to make anyone stop, read… Understand? Learn? Relate?

Every other time I've come to this juncture, by the time I got to the end of my rant, my mantra would return: I can't not write. Here is where I write. Here I'll stay.

This time?

This time…

I'm not so sure.