Being of Service Even When I Don’t Know

by

Where I am going.

I was lost.

Yeah.

That.

I get lost pretty quick.

I had thought I had it all figured out, not really, but I at least had the place mapped out on my phone, I was cranking down Piedmont Avenue on my bike looking for the turn I needed to make when I heard,

“CARMEN!”

I had no clue who it was, but I whipped a u-turn and turned my bike around.

There, a friendly face waving from the car.

“Where are you going?”

“1300 Grand Ave,” I replied with a grin, it’s nice to run into folks when you are lost.

“You’re going the wrong way,” she said and smiled.

“Of course I am,” I laughed.

“I can give you a ride,” she said.

“I don’t think my bike will fit in the back of your car, the front wheel is not a quick release,” I said scanning the back seat, “do the seats flip down?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “well, how about you ride your bike to my house, I live really close, then you can lock it up there and we’ll head over together?”

“Perfect.” I hopped into my pedals and whirled back down Piedmont the opposite direction of where I was going.

Arriving concurrent with her, I’m fast, and she got stuck at a light, I situated my bike, locked her up, and off we went, headed out to see some fellows in my new town.

It felt a lot better than last week, I was pretty cultured shocked and wonked out and I felt myself today, really myself for the first time since I have been back.

I am feeling CARMEN.

I am not jet lagged.

I am not having any more culture shock and my thoughts are now all in English again.

I am also digging on the sunshine.

Man, I get seasonal depression, yeah, chuckle now, that’s right, I wintered in Paris with its dark, grey, cold winter.  Makes great fodder for the depression.  I am lucky it did not get worse than it did.

Of course, I know that one of the best things for the depression, seasonal and the clinical anxiety and regular old depression I was diagnosed with six years ago, is exercise.

I walked a lot today, about two hours between pushing the stroller and walking the dog.

And I got on the bike and kicked out another 45 minutes or so, what with getting turned around.  The exercise really gets my head in a good place.  I am not a gym rat and walking and bike riding are where it’s at for me.

Good thing I will be doing plenty of it in the near future.

Tomorrow I will be heading into the city to iron out the details with the other two families that want me to do a nanny share.  Four families.  I am going to be working for four families.  Two days a week in San Francisco and two days a week in Oakland.

Actually a nice little balance between keeping my ties with friends in San Francisco and getting into the community here.

Hopefully the babies in the city will have a better start out to their weeks than I have had with the little monkey here.  Poor pumpkin has been sick all week.

Three diaper changes today with explosive yellow yuck.

I joked with her after the third change of clothes, “you are just a fashionista, that’s what’s going on, you want to have three full wardrobe changes, don’t you?”

Thank God for bubbles.

She is not a bath baby, does not like getting wet and lifted her little white frog legs away from the water like it was acid.

“Look! Bubbles!” I emphasized and splashed them higher with my hands.

“Bubbles?” She said wary, looking at the white froth.

“Bubbles.” I said with enthusiasm and lowered her little bum into the sink full of warm water.

She still cried.

Diarrhea is not fun for anyone.

Not the nanny, not the little monkey pants either.

Ah, yes 40-year-old woman blogs about poo.

Yup.

“Your going to have triplets,” my friend said tonight as we pulled out of the lot.  “I mean, really, look at all the practice you are getting.”

“Something, man, is coming out of this, I mean, I know there’s a good reason why I am doing this yet again,” I replied.

I don’t even have any cares about it right now.

Who cares?

I am a great nanny.  I am good with babies and toddlers and I like drawing, and singing, dancing, and taking long walks in the park and being outside.  I like that my tattoos are colorful and I use them to teach numbers and letters and colors and shapes.

“Star.”

“Bunny.”

“Pink.”

“Butterfly.”

There’s a great reason I am a nanny again, and I don’t have to know what it is or why.

Do I want to always be a nanny?

Nope.

I want to be a writer.

Oh, wait, I am doing that right now.

I am a writer.

The nanny bit makes it possible for me to do this.  The hours work for me, the money is not going to make me wealthy, but it is going to sustain me, and I get to sing and dance and make funny faces and hey if I fart, they think it’s hysterical.

Name me one other job where if you say “excuse me, I tooted,” your co-workers are going to hoot with laughter and clap their hands in glee.

Sure, I want an adult job, with benefits, and more money, and maybe some prestige, but when I look around at the beautiful children I have gotten to be graced with having in my life and how strong and funny and brilliant they are, to have been even a small part of that is a great gift.

Huge.

And if I do have twins or triplets, or even just one, I will have a solid foundation on which to build.  I cannot imagine that most parents have gotten to have the boot camp training that I have had in this venue.

Not to say that I am not looking out there for other work, I am, but until the book deal happens or Burning Man hires me, come on you know you want to, I am being taken care of.

Even when I get lost.

Most especially then.

Advertisements

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: