Not A God Damn

Thing.

Nothing.

I have no plans for tomorrow.

Zero.

Zip.

Nada.

I won’t be doing homework.

I won’t be going to work.

I have no clients.

I have no obligations.

I have no chores to do.

I did laundry today and cleaned up from last night’s holiday party.

I have no party to prep for.

I have absolutely nothing to do.

Except.

SLEEP IN!

Oh my God.

I am not setting an alarm for the first time in weeks?  Months, I mean, I don’t know.

It’s been a while.

I already feel like I’m playing hooky by writing my blog at 10p.m. at night.

I can stay up as long as a fucking want!

Although I won’t.

Because I am a creature of habit and I don’t want to blow my entire sleep schedule completely up.

I will have to work this upcoming week and not all of my clients went out-of-town for the holidays and I have group supervision as well as a one on one evaluation with my supervisor.

But hey.

That’s not tomorrow.

Tomorrow there is nothing to do but rest.

I have briefly entertained the idea of going to the MOMA, but I’m not sure I want to go downtown.

It may actually be the only place in the city that’s busy with shoppers and tourists and such.

I may not want to drive anywhere.

When was the last time I did that?

Not drive anywhere on a day off?

I had also thought about taking a nice long walk on the beach, but um, rain.

Looks like it’s supposed to rain most of the day tomorrow.

I could actually spend the entire day in the house and not leave it and lay around in my pajamas and not put on clothes or make up or do my hair.

I could.

I probably won’t though.

I can let myself sleep in a little, but not getting dressed and lazing around the entire day in pjs feels weird.

Besides.

I don’t wear pjs.

No.

I do like the idea of being up and doing a few things and I will do my normal morning routine, I will just not be doing it to the sound of an alarm going off.

I will wake up when I wake up.

There have been times that unscheduled open time freaked me out.

I have not had it in such a long time though, that I think I will manage to not freak out.

Christmas day I will be going out and about.

Not crazy like, but a matinée at the Kabuki Theater, The Favorite, with my person, then meeting up with a few others for Chinese food at Eric’s in Noe Valley, and then downtown to the Metreon for Mary Poppins.

I allowed myself to get wrangled.

Frankly I’m not really interested, but free ticket and not being by myself Christmas night was enough to get me to agree despite my lack of enthusiasm for the movie.

I do expect The Favorite will be fun, I heard it was wicked good and the previews definitely looked good.

I can’t imagine going out to more movies tomorrow.

Two movies in one day is decadent enough, I could read some books, not text books.

Although, knowing me, if the books I ordered for next semester happened to show up I might actually to get a jump on the work.

But I sense that’s not what I should be doing.

Keeping the space heater on, getting cozy with a novel on the couch and sipping hot tea and staring at my Christmas tree sounds about right.

I might walk to the store and buy a chicken to roast.

I really am contemplating not driving anywhere, although it’s likely that I will go out in the evening to do the deal, I could for most of the day just be at home.

It’s a nice home, it is.

I had a lovely time hosting my first little party here last night.

I had ten people show up and all the chili got ate!

All of it.

I had no left overs at all.

Oh, I had some, but not chili.

Anyway, it was lovely, very sweet, and I felt happy to have folks in the house and I made a pie from scratch, crusts and all, in heels and fishnets over silver glitter tights.

I mean.

It is Christmas after all, I had to wear some sparkle.

I found it quite appropriate to be in my kitchen in heels baking pie with my house full of gay boys and girlfriends.

It was good.

Chosen family.

I felt really blessed.

I have some of the best people in my life.

It was so nice too, to socialize.

I haven’t had much of that what with school and my internship and work and all that jazz.

I even tentatively talked going out dancing with a few of my girlfriends in January.

Not New Year’s Eve.

Total amateur night and way too expensive.

If I were to go dancing on New Year’s Eve I’d actually go to a friends party in the East Bay that’s a big sober event and usually a good time.

But not really sure I want to navigate the bridge on New Year’s Eve either.

The girls and I were thinking a little later into the month, although, not too late as I will be starting back up with school the last week of January.

I basically have one month off from school.

My spring intensive starts on January 24th.

So a few weekends of fun before I have to buckle back down with the books.

Two tops.

I will want to give myself some time to go over the materials before the intensive, there was reading assigned before this semester’s start, I can’t imagine that they won’t do the same for this upcoming semester.

Which is neither here nor there.

I am off topic.

Off topic from tomorrow.

My lazy, do nothing, have no responsibility to anything or anyone day.

Oh God.

It sounds so good.

I think I’ll get started now.

Good night.

Sweet dreams.

And don’t bother calling me in the morning.

My phone will be off.

I’m motherfucking sleeping in.

Seriously.

Tired

And wide awake all at the same time.

There was a moment today when I just thought to myself, I am not going to make it through the day.

Not enough sleep.

Too many hours at work.

Client that needs to be seen after work.

Party for a friends studio opening.

And I was asked to come in earlier tomorrow to work.

I thought I was just going to pass out.

The little lady was close to taking a nap and I hazarded a distinct longing to put her down for a nap and cuddle with her and sneak in a nap myself.

But.

No such luck.

I also didn’t want to super caffeinate.

Although I came daringly close I did not succumb to the temptation and powered through the day.

My thoughts kept me company and I kept myself moving around the house a lot and kept telling myself that it was almost Friday.

It still was a long day.

But I made it through work and I got to my internship and I had a really good second session with a new client.

Two clients this week and I’ll be adding another client next week.

Slowly it builds.

I felt really good doing the session and decided that I could rally afterward and go sneak over to my friend’s open house studio opening.

I really wanted to have a grown up moment that was a social, even if it was just for a little snick of time.

I hadn’t any dinner so I knew that it would be short-lived and watching the fog roll in over Twin Peaks I was pretty assured that it would be a quick visit.

But it was good and I got to see an amazing work space and reconnect with Burning Man friends and talk a little about the event and when folks are going.

I haven’t found a ride yet and there was a moment when I thought, fuck it, wouldn’t it be nice to not stress and give up the ticket and spend the time here in the city with people I love and then I was like.

Um, no.

Hahahaha.

Sure, there are people who I want to see here, but the fact is if I don’t go to Burning Man I’d just be working anyhow, it’s not like vacation, although it completely is, but it’s outside of my time frame of paid vacation and I wouldn’t just take the week off without going.

Plus.

It’s the ten-year anniversary of my best friend’s death and he’s the reason why I went in the first place.

My heart, tender, feeling that loss, but not so achy as it’s been in the past, just tender, just there and I know there will be feelings that come up.

And there will be a conversation with him, somewhere in deep playa, out past the Temple where I am sure between the Temple and the mountain range my friend still resides, just a little part of him, I didn’t take all his ashes, but enough, enough to know he’s there and there are many places that I connect with the memory of him and also with the aliveness of him, the way I live my life a reflection of the gusto he went after life with.

I am sure he would be proud of me.

OH.

Hello.

There are the tears.

I knew you were around.

I watched the fog roll in over the top of Twin Peaks from the deck of my friends studio in the Mission and it was the same height and approximate distance from the hospital ICU, General, where my friend spent a week in a coma before the family pulled the plug and harvested his organs for donation.

There is always one strong memory for me, pressing my face against that window, my fevered brow, the hotness of my heart, the tears always on and off, more so off when I was at the hospital–it was only in the privacy of my own room in the dark as I prayed to God on my knees to get me through the experience that I would allow myself to cry–the coolness of the window and the dark, heaviness of the fog rolling in over Twin Peaks.

A blanket of sorrow and felted love thrown over the entirety of the city as though we all grieved the loss of my friend.

So.

Yeah.

I might be a little tired, but I’m not bailing on Burning Man.

Nope.

Sure.

I haven’t gotten a ride together yet, but that will happen and hopefully it won’t be as crazy as the ride up was last time.

I have gotten a couple of nibbles from my post on the ride share board, but nothing solid, it always comes together, I’m not too worried.

It’s more a matter, at this point, of getting a playa bike and finding time in between the comings and goings of my life to do some preparation.

I have people I am responsible to, my own recovery to attend to, and God damn it would be nice to get in a yoga class this weekend, but yeah,  a new playa bike and some sourcing of other items that are always nice to have and I’ll make some time, find some time, create some time, and do a little shopping when I can.

Side bar.

The mom just sent me a message about my work performance and told me that I really was “Mary Poppins sister!”

I’ll take it.

Anyway, this Mary Fucking Poppins, will be riding again under her parasol out on playa again this year and enjoying the hell out of not being a therapist in training, a student, or a nanny.

Just a girl.

Out on her bike.

Riding towards the painted calico mountains with secrets and love to share with an old friend.

“I finally was the ball, Shadrach, you’d be so fucking proud of me.”

Carmen, Let’s Not

Talk about it.

“It makes me sad to think about it,” he sighed and leaned into me.

I had just chased him down from the kitchen to the dining room into the living room where we collapsed on the leather couch by the Christmas tree.

He was full of wiggles and silliness, but underneath was far more sorrowful than I had even realized.

“The Santa in the van bag,” he said looking at the back of the Christmas tree, “that’s from you, isn’t it.”

“Yes, doll, it is, but you have to wait until Christmas day, but yes you guessed right, there’s a present in that bag for you and one for your brother,” I said and stroked his hair.

“Are you really going to be done on Friday,” he asked me.

“Yes, my sweet boy, I am, that is my last day,” I answered him, my heart swelling up.

I have said many good byes over the years to my charges, but most of them, I think, I could be wrong, but I think, didn’t realize that I was saying goodbye for good. I have not had the experience of being with older kids, older, ha, 6.5 years old and 4.5 years old, still so sweet and young (although completely dastardly about the potty talk, my God, little boys like to talk about poo, I had an idea, but shit, hahahahaha, pun intended, they do!) and so tender, but so much more cognizant of what is happening to them and around them.

“Carmen, I don’t want to talk about it, it just makes me sad to think about it, I’m going to cry when you leave,” he said looking at the Christmas tree and holding my hand.

OH MY GOD.

Child, you are breaking my heart.

I seriously do not know how I wasn’t a slobbering mess on the couch.

I mean.

Oof.

So much love and bitter sweetness, this saying goodbye.

I won’t lie, there’s also a part of me that is ready for the next adventure, I am, but I am also having all the feels.

Every damn one of them.

I have gotten, with both boys, this past week, to have quiet moments with each of them that have just blown my heart to smithereens.

Reading and cuddle time with the littlest and though has officially phased out of the nap stage, he still gets awful cozy around quiet time and just wants to cuddle on my lap and read stories.

I am super grateful that I have had this last week with them, pretty uninterrupted with other jobs, school, or life stuff.

Oh.

Life stuff is still happening, but I have gotten to work full-time hours with the boys, breakfast to dinner the last three days and though occasionally a goofy handful, there’s not really been tempter tantrums or drama.

Knock on wood.

Tomorrow and Friday I will have short days with them.

Tomorrow I go in early and I’m just edging into up past my bed time with my early start, but I had to write, not having written last night.

My blog got laid.

Ahem.

And so I had to write tonight.

I don’t like taking too much time off from it, and though the lack of sleep my affect me a bit, I’ll be out early as well.

The mom is taking the boys to A Charlie Brown Christmas matinée at the San Francisco Symphony.

I”ll do breakfast, a dash out to the park, lunch, baths probably and then get the boys dressed up in their finest.

Their finest is pretty fucking cute too.

Little velvet blazers.

Ugh.

Adorable.

And, AND, bow ties.

I mean.

Seriously, the cute factor is off the hook.

So I’ll be out by 1:30 p.m.

I have a meeting with my person and then a bit of free time before doing the deal.

I’m thinking that once I finish up with my person I will head over to Folsom and 14th, right around the corner from Rintaro.

I’m not going to go eat high-end Japanese street food, although there’s always  a desire to eat good like that all the time, it’s pretty outside the box as far as what I want to drop money wise on food.

No.

I’m not going to be grabbing a bite.

Rather.

I discovered a new Thai Massage place that had just opened and it had a bunch of grand opening specials listed on the chalk board outside the store front.

Including a free ten minute hot/dry sauna.

Oh yes, I’d like that please and thank you.

I’m thinking that I’ll book myself a massage for Friday after my last day with the boys.

I’m getting out early on Friday as well.

I think by 1 p.m.

The boys and I will do breakfast, maybe go to the park, but secretly I think I will take them to Ritual Coffee and get a last latte with them and get them little steamed milks or hot chocolates and we’ll sit on the big carved ship bench parklet in front of the cafe and play pirates.

Then the house, one last lunch with my monkeys and then they, lucky boys, are going to a private showing of Star Wars at the Roxie Theater in the Mission with a friend and classmate whose mum rented the theater for his birthday.

Nice birthday party if you can get it.

Heh.

I was, at first, a little upset that our last day was going to be cut short.

Then.

I had a change in perspective and got really grateful.

What better way to leave?

On a happy note, saying goodbye may make the boys a little sad, but hey, they’ll be heading shortly thereafter to Star Wars on the big screen.

That should provide a little distraction.

And.

It’s not a final goodbye, they will be in my lives, probably more so than many of my past charges, as the new family I work for attends their school.

I will get to see them and hug them and watch them grow bigger.

“You’ll visit us though, right?”  He asked, worriedly taking my hand, “please visit us, as much as you can.”

Oh bunny.

“Yes, as much as I can, I won’t be leaving your life, I promise,” I hugged him and though I teared up, I did not cry.

Saved that up for right now.

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

That I shall say goodnight.

Till it be morrow.

Time Off Request Granted

I’m going to Burning Man!

Fuck yes.

Hell yes.

Whoopee!

My family gave me the time off.

Time off for my school retreat (paid vacation, although it’s called a retreat it did not feel like one last year, I hear it’s not as bad as the first year, but whatever, it’s still school, ain’t no vacation) the week in August that I need.

August 7th-14th I’ll be in Petaluma.

And like a complete repeat of last year I will leave the retreat and head straight to Glen Ellen to nanny for the family from August 15th-24th.

Then I will leave there, head back to San Francisco, pack my shit, and head up to Placerville with one of my new camp mates, as yet unknown, to join the new playa family I will be working for this Burning Man, 2016.

On 8/25 I’ll care pool with some one in the crew to Placerville.

8/26 I’ll help the mom with the kids, yes, I’ll be nannying two this year, which is a first, but there is also grandma at camp, the eldest will be 3 1/2 by time of playa and has already been there three times, no four.

The baby will be 9 months, which is actually a great time, and means lots of snuggling and holding a baby, um, something I quite love and miss even though I get lots of love and snuggles from my boys, baby snuggles are something so delicious and I rather miss them.

Plus, both will be napping still and I am not going to be alone in the work.  So I feel quite comfortable with the set up.

8/27 we’ll depart to the playa!

8/28-9/5 nanny on playa

9/6 depart back to Placerville and carpool back to SF.

It’s going to be a big August!

And September.

Hell when isn’t my life big?

I am also being well taken care of, the camp, Star Star Roadhouse is located on the last road of the 9 o’clock spoke.

I’ll be out there, but I sort of like that after the experience of being in a similar area, a little ways off from there.

In fact, ha, I was reflecting how funny God is.

I rode my playa bike past them numerous time last year and wondered what the camp was about and although I never made a show there I was hella intrigued and wondered, I mean I really did, what it would be like to camp with an established camp.

Looks like God was listening.

When isn’t he?

Yes, I use the male pronoun, get over it.

She/He/It.

God.

Looking out for me.

Hearing my heart’s desires and responding in kind.

I started writing about going a few weeks ago, maybe a month?

And when I started writing the affirmation I sort of shot the moon.

I thought I was asking for a lot, but figured, hey, ask for it, and see what happens–this was before I had been approached by the family, or gotten the referral from a family I used to work with–I was asking for these things:

A ticket, early arrival pass, a place to camp, A/C, showers, compensation, a ride there and back, food, and my Beloved.

Well.

Ahem.

What the family is providing me with:

A ticket and early arrival pass.

An office trailer room with A/C and access to electricity

Yes!  My electric kettle will be coming again as will my Ipod home player.

Access to shower trailer.

All meals, water and NA beverages

Access to crew shade/lounge and walk-in refrigeration.

HOLY SHIT.

Plus, um, oh, thank you God, the food is pretty much organic, the people I am working for do big time catering–I am so taken care of.

And.

Yes.

Compensation.

I will be covered for the money I’m losing at work, since it’s not paid time off.

As for my Beloved.

I don’t know who that is.

But I hazard to say, it’s happening, he’s happening, love is happening, everywhere I am blessed and graced and given what is in my heart.

It helps that I am willing to do the work.

Even when I want to run away from it and go grocery shopping at Rainbow for kale.

I know, crazy right?

I had another yoga class today and after wards I was thinking I could run to Rainbow and pick up some kale and make a big salad for lunch and dinner.

I got home, threw myself in the shower, changed clothes, dried my hair, put some makeup on and realized that I was rushing to do something that I did not need to do.

I was making busy when I could actually sit down for a half an hour and relax, maybe do some school reading, I read before yoga too, and not go run off across town before work when I had done food prep yesterday.

And.

Further more if I wanted to get kale that bad I could just walk up to Other Avenues and buy some.

I realized I was running away from doing the work.

So.

I sat down and I wrote the rest of my inventory.

The concept really got me and I did a lot of writing on that, then the four people on my list.

Four.

God that is just awesome.

I still have a few things to write, an ideal, but that’s it.

And in the writing I got to see how damaging I am to myself when I act like I am not worthy.

I am worthy.

I am enough.

I am lovable and worthy of love.

I mean.

I have said these things for years, but still felt, underneath it all that somehow, I was still unworthy, not enough, something broken in me.

I just saw how it was thrust upon me and not in a way that was done consciously despite the damage done, I don’t excuse the behavior or the abuse I went through.

However.

I am not living in that place any longer.

The healing continues.

And then when I was done.

I rode my scooter to work and I had forgotten, I mean, completely, that I had sent off the request to the parents for Burning Man.

Half way through chatting with the mom about the week and cooking and school schedules for the boys, she just suddenly interjected, “Oh, and all your time off requests are fine, you can have the time off you asked for.”

OMG.

What?

I tried hard to not burst out hollering in joy.

“Of course, we’d rather have you than not, but yes, you can have it off.”

Thank you God.

So not knowing who my Beloved is?

What ever.

It’s obvious I’m being so taken care of.

I’m not going worry about this.

God’s got it.

And I’m going to Burning Man.

Burning Man.

Burning Man!

Mary Fucking Poppins rides again.

I just hope my Beloved’s name is not Bert.

Now.

Wouldn’t that be funny?

Bwahahahahaha.

Sorry, just gleeful, it’s sort of spilling out here.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

Free.

Free.

And.

Oh.

So.

Very.

Loved.

 

My Love Tank Filled Up

Full to overflowing.

I mean wow.

I wasn’t expecting it to happen and it just did.

I had a nice day with my little guy, some bumps here and there, it’s hard for a little boy to adjust to the heat and the things and the excitement and all the people.

It becomes overwhelming really fast.

And pop.

He will have to reset and refuel and nap and ease back.

Otherwise tantrums.

And that’s cool.

It’s just an expression of feelings that he cannot articulate, and there’s nothing wrong with having feelings, good or bad.

They pass.

Sometimes I feel like they never will, my feelings, but they do and just as I can have a challenging day out here on the playa, I can also have a number of random encounters that blow wide the doors of my heart.

And things are getting to be a challenge—but not in the way of the heat or the dust or the work—just the number of people here at Burning Man.

I mean.

It’s the Saturday night BEFORE the event happens and there’s a wait at the gate hours long, there’s more than 25,000 people already here.

That estimate was given to me by my boss late afternoon today and I bet there’s more than that now.

The gate for regular attendees will open tomorrow morning at 10 a.m.

The Bureau of Land Management has allowed the event to open its gates early to help with the egress of vehicles on the road heading in.

FYI.

The event doesn’t even start until Monday–but it feels like it’s happening all around me.

Right now, it’s all theme camps and workers coming in, artists, musicians, builders, art cars, volunteers, EMS, rangers, fire performers, the folks that do the work to delight all the senses and stop the heart.

Then there’s just the things that are heart stopping for me in particular.

I ran into my first bunny rabbit at the Artery on the Esplanade.

I was heading into town to hit a meet up with some folks at 8p.m. and there she was—Action Girl!

I saw the beautiful read hair and just about rolled over her on my bicycle.

I knew that the Junebug could not be far behind and I was correct.

Oh good gravy.

My heart is just booming now, remembering.

She tackled me with love and I just swept her up in my arms and carried her across the road way and sat down on a bicycle rack and I don’t know what I said, I mean it was just a babble of hugs and love and so good to see you’s and incoherent mumbles into her hair and neck and she still smells like Junebug and she’s still my Bug and oh.

 

Oh.

My heart.

Such damn fine goodness.

Winning.

I am winning.

She remembers me.

That, I cannot say how important that is to me or why exactly that the thought plagues me once in a while, they will forget, the charges, the babies grown, the children off to school, pre-school, other adventures, and though I know I did not lavish the love on the in vain, should they forget I would still have loved just has hard just as much, just as fierce.

But.

To have her know and remember and hug me back and tell me how much she loved me and how she giggled and wrapped her arms and legs and whole self around me, gracious, I felt so verklempt.

Ugh.

The words they do fail.

It’s love and it’s love and it’s more love and I just had my cup so filled and then overfilled and I have to say I may have gotten a little leaky, but I was able to contain myself enough to say hi to mama and papa and let them know EXACTLY where I am camped.

8:45 & C

Camp Equilibrium.

Look for the red and yellow flags.

The Bambi Airstream.

The blue chopper bicycle with the vanity plate “Carmen” on it and the purple pennant, that’s where I will be.

And there’s a dome with couches and hammocks and another little girl here—Sassafrass—and well, me, I’m here.

Let’s hang out and do makeup and talk silly talk and bounce on the jumping balls and travel to the Campoline Camp down the road.

And let’s hug.

A LOT.

Because what I have discovered, again, always more this learning, is that my heart can continue to be broke open to hold more love.

You broke me open little girl.

You made my heart bigger and now I have more capacity for love.

And the love has to be given away, because it’s best shared.

That’s the thing about sharing—there’s more for everyone.

I was not able to stay as long as I wanted.

I had places to go and people to check in with and I rode off on my bicycle into the twilight dusk of Black Rock City so glad, so grateful, so blown open, I must have glowed in the dark with the love.

I was also hoping to run into my friend who were coming into the city tonight, but I suspect that they must have had one hell of a wait at the gate and I did not want to spend my entire evening twiddling my thumbs.

I asked the woman in charge of placement at the Village they are staying at to show me where they would be located in the camp and I will pop in tomorrow.

That’s what a Poppins does.

She pops into places.

Or nanny’s, you, know, semantics.

Then the cherry, really I might be in love and I sure hope I get to meet you again, Johnny from Robot Heart, on my nanny Sundae.

I rolled up to the DMV (Department of Mutant Vehicles–all art cars that venture out on playa have to be registered and checked to make sure they are not a danger to anyone out at the event) thinking that I was seeing Heart Deco, where a friend of mine is camped.

I asked after her to the group of gentleman standing by their vehicle waiting for inspection.

One of them came up to me and asked if he hadn’t just seen me at a meeting.

“Weren’t you just with Feed The Artists?”

Nope.

“I was at a meeting elsewhere,” I said and smiled.

“What’s your name?”

“Johnny.”

“Poppins, as in Mary Fucking Poppins, Not Your Nanny, at your services,” I curtseyed over my bicycle handles, if one could be said to curtsey astride a bicycle.

“Mary Poppins?”

“Or the Poppins, I am a nanny on playa.”

Then.

The most amazing thing.

I mean, I still have goosebumps thinking about it.

He sang me “A Tuppence” from Mary Poppins.

The kissed my hand.

Swoon.

Full.

Full and then some.

I like lot’s of things.

Love, love, and love.

So good.

So blessed.

So, well, loved.

Thank you Burning Man.

So very pleased to be here.

 

Early each day to the steps of Saint Paul’s
The little old bird woman comes.
In her own special way to the people she calls,
“Come, buy my bags full of crumbs.

Come feed the little birds, show them you care
And you’ll be glad if you do.
Their young ones are hungry,
Their nests are so bare;
All it takes is tuppence from you.”

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag,
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag.
“Feed the birds,” that’s what she cries,
While overhead, her birds fill the skies.

All around the cathedral the saints and apostles
Look down as she sells her wares.
Although you can’t see it, you know they are smiling
Each time someone shows that he cares.

Though her words are simple and few,
Listen, listen, she’s calling to you:
“Feed the birds, tuppence a bag,
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag.”

Though her words are simple and few,
Listen, listen, she’s calling to you:
“Feed the birds, tuppence a bag,
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag.”

 

How About The I am Tired Blog

Yeah.

I know, that doesn’t sound really tantalizing, now does it?

Doesn’t really give the reader anything to sink their teeth into, but as I am sitting here scratching my head over what to write all I am doing is procrastinating getting this blog started, so better a bad title then no title at all.

If I can just get into the meat of the motion, get into the action of doing something, than something will come out of the process.

It’s the action.

It’s not the thinking.

I can’t think my way out of a paper bag.

I am like a cat.

Content to sit still and pretend that no one sees me or hears me, nothing in this brown paper sack, move on, twitch, twitch, twitch, swat.

I am a bit more noticeable than that I suppose.

“Look at your blond hair!” She said to me in parting, as we went out ways, she back to Moss Beach, me to 7th and Irving.

Blond now.

Pink tomorrow.

Purple too.

Not exactly tomorrow, but Saturday.

That’s about it, that’s what I was thinking, how can I write a blog about my hair, aren’t I done writing about my hair.

Aren’t I done thinking about myself?

Who’s going to date a girl with purple and pink and blonde hair?

What will they, the infamous they, think of me when I got to Wisconsin for a visit.

Who the fuck cares?

I was also thinking about what I want to submit to the Burning Man blog.

I have been thinking for a while that I should send them one of my blogs about being a nanny on playa, perhaps a kick in the butt to work on a book proposal that I have been thinking about for years.

Again, it’s the taking of action that saves me, not the thinking.

I went into my archives and I have to say.

Fuck, I am a better writer than I was four years ago.

Hell, I am a better writer than I was last year.

The constant daily practice has honed a voice and a style that I have for the writing.

It is spare and direct and concrete.

My imagery is better.

My metaphors better.

My phrasing much better.

The essence is still there, but I couldn’t really read what I wrote.

I realized that if I did submit something to the Burning Man community, a dry run, I suppose for the project, that I would have to rewrite what I wrote.

I would do a new piece.

And that tired me right the fuck out.

I got up and made a cup of tea and decided that I had nothing further to say about it, that it was a stupid idea and who the hell wants to read about adventures in nannying on the playa.

Is there a way to be of service, to share my experience and move forward a community idea or am I just self-aggrandizing: look what I do, aren’t I special?

I am not too sure.

I suppose it’s just that I can see photographs in my head and I would like to have a collective space for them all in one piece.

Ah.

That could be the start.

I could do a photography essay.

That could be the way to go.

I could simply gather all the best photographs that I have taken and put them together.

I don’t have to ask for others photographs, I could use the ones I have in my own photo archives, then seeing the overarching picture I can write the story.

Really the story comes down to how I learned to let myself be more my authentic self by being a nanny at Burning Man.

“You were hiding your Mary Poppins in the closet,” a friend of mine said when I told him that I had been considering toning down who I am and how I dress in regards to a position that was being offered to me.

A position I did not end up taking, but it did allow me to see that indeed I was worried about the clothes I would have to wear.

Would I suddenly be raiding the racks of the mundane, or would I allow myself to flower and bloom and wear pink and glitter and sequins and bedazzle myself at work?

I choose flower.

I am grateful my families are all Burning Man families.

They have all gone to the event.

They have photographs of their experiences there.

They are themselves.

“You’re like Mary Fucking Poppins with tattoos,” a mom, another Burner,yes, said to me last year, and there it was my playa name, after many years of just going by my own name, my own little playa handle was given to me.

I do like to carry an umbrella with me on playa, it’s a great portable shade structure.

I just looked up and saw a polaroid a participant took of me and the little girl that sparked the entire Burning Man nanny gig, the year is 2010, I am wearing dusty blue jeans, cowboy boots, a green tank top, a ruffled apron and huge sunglasses, my tattoos are in full affect, my hair is cropped short and spiky, faux hawk that year, and I have my polka dot umbrella open sheltering my little girl charge from the sun, her hair is in multitude of braids that I spent hours on and she’s got a dusty bandana wrapped around her neck, a sundress on, little red crocs and white ankle socks, she’s sucking on an orange Mister Freeze Pop.

The photo behind that is her in a pink tutu and her mom’s oversized sunglass and me sitting next to her in polka dot tights and my own huge sunglasses.

Not only has the experience of being a nanny at Burning Man helped me to find my inner Mary Poppins, it has also shown me how to better take care of myself so that in turn I can do my job, which is caring for a small child in some very extreme weather conditions.

At the heart of it I learned to love myself because I was employed to love a child.

That is the essence of my Burning Man nanny story.

And that is a service I can do for others.

Go out there, doesn’t have to be Black Rock City, it can just be out in your community, where ever you are finding your niche, and explore yourself, find out what makes you tick and how you love and allow yourself to be that person.

Mary Fucking Poppins.

Or

Fire spinner.

I don’t know, I can’t tell your story.

Only mine.

And mine is going to start with compiling those photographs in one spot and seeing what I come up with.

See, that’s all it took.

Start writing and the answers come.

And I am not so tired any more.

Funny that.

MF Poppins

 

Mary Poppins It Up

I am not riding my bike to work tomorrow.

No, the wheel is fine, no more flat tires this week.

I just don’t want another day of riding in the rain.

It is supposed to rain all weekend and I have enough time tomorrow morning to take the train and use my umbrella.

My gigantic, heart-shaped umbrella that I ordered especially for Burning Man this past year having been inspired by my friend in Rome who had one similar.

I think I shall wear a red dress and put my hair up to just have some icing on the cake.

Because if you are going to wear rainy day gear you may as well have fun with it.

I don’t have rain gear, something I have been meaning to remedy and the time has just consistently gotten away with me.  I have not made a trip to Sports Basement to do so and the couple of places I did check in with, although having some, it was not what I was looking for.

Determined to not feel cold and wet all day at work I put on the back fender to my bicycle and charged up the lights on my laptop–I have rechargeable bike lights that charge on the USB port on my laptop–making sure they were at their brightest luminosity.

I wore thick winter leggings, in black glitter, a pair of jean shorts, a long sleeve black top over the tank top, a sweatshirt, my jean jacket, and my black glitter infinity scarf, put my hair in pigtails to keep it off my face, pocketed my glasses–too hard to see with rain drops all over them–and put a hat on my head.

I arrived at work earlier than I expected, also having left ten minutes earlier in case people were cuckoo on the road, which happens often when the weather turns wet, and way over heated, but ultimately, dry.

Not bad.

The day was mellow for me, the rain held steady all day and my little charge and I did not do much besides reading  and singing and making little videos to send to her folks.

We did “You Are My Sunshine” and “If You’re Happy and You Know It”.

Adorable.

Really adorable.

Her grandparents were in town to celebrate her second birthday and when I showed her grandmother the video this afternoon of her singing she clutched my arm and said, “Oh, thank you!”

Apparently my photos from our days have made their way to the grandparents and she gushed about how much they love getting them.

It felt really nice to be acknowledged and to share the joy of getting to work with their grand-daughter.

I also took advantage of the grandparents being with us in the early part of the day to clean and tidy and take care of the house, a little birthday gift to the parents.

I don’t always feel compelled to go above and beyond that much, but it really was also a way to keep myself busy while they played with her.

Then they were off to see the sites and my charge and I went for a little walk.

I bundled her up in the stroller with extra blankets and layers and popped the plastic skin over the top and we ducked out during a slight break in the rain to stretch my legs and give us a little change of pace.

We walked a few blocks, went to BiRite sampled the blood oranges and cheese.

I bought my bag of Stumptown Holler Mountain and some gorgeous organic apples.

Then a quick duck into The Mill for an Americano with almond milk, for me, not my charge, and by the time we got back to the house it was lunch time.

We ate together and sang some more songs and then snuggled and she went down like a little dream boat to nap and I had two hours to read and catch up on some e-mails and texts.

One of which was the very exciting text message from a friend who read my post about researching getting a glitter helmet, and lo and behold, he has one I can haz.

Yippee!

Oh, dear lord it is stupid cute.

Black glitter with silver stars.

I have been trying to get the photo that my friend sent me to one of my other accounts to have it for the post, but the internet is a little wonky right now and I am done trying.

I don’t feel like wasting more time on it, suffice to say, it is spanking cute.

In fact, serendipity, it matches, exactly, what I was wearing today.

Made me laugh right out loud when I was sitting down to breakfast this morning and checking my phone to get the text from my friend and then see the photo attached.

I yipped with glee, basically.

Said, “I want,” and “yes please.”

We’ll meet up for lunch soon and the hand off shall happen.

Oh my things are moving that way.

It will be so lovely to show up for work without having broken a sweat.

So nice.

Funny, wonderful, really, how things fall right into place when they are supposed to.

I mean, my friend offered me this scooter years ago and I wasn’t ready.

For what ever reason, I am now.

Has something to do with doing the work, I suppose.

Going where the resistance is and walking through it.

Or riding through it, as the case may be.

Tomorrow, though, no riding of vehicles, except the train and the bus.

I shall go slow.

I shall wear my trousers rolled.

I shall, wait, I am not going to the beach, I am going to the Castro.

I shall use my Mary Poppins umbrella and show my that my heart really does belong in San Francisco.

Where I will show up, dry and in good cheer for my last nanny shift of the week.

I almost forgot it’s Friday.

Nice how the week has gone by.

Nice to have shown up for it.

Small actions that have led, almost miraculously, to me signing up for the Motorcycle Safety Course, confirming the buy of a scooter, and being given the helmet of my dreams.

“When it’s meant to be,” she told me once, “it will all fall magically into place in a way you cannot imagine.”

I could not have imagined this last week.

And yet, here it is.

How wonderful.

 

Congratulations!

You have won crackhead bingo!

Yippee!

I saw my midget prostitute today.

I win.

I don’t know why seeing this woman puts a smile on my face, is it the cliché of it all?

She was dressed up more so than the last time I saw her, she looked like a miniature Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman.

Which fyi, was NOT filmed in East Oakland.

In case you were wondering.

She was dolled up in a platinum blonde wig, a very tight leopard print mini dress, and black boots.

Like you know, a three-year old might wear.

If she were a hooker.

I totally smiled, and I shit you not, I almost found myself waving.

“Hi!”

Just your friendly neighborhood crazy girl bicycle commuting through East Oakland in the late morning, oh yeah, it was morning.

I was not smiling or laughing or waving to anybody tonight on my ride home.

I just missed the magic hour of dusk and the end of the work day commute and got caught in the let’s get it on of after dark Oakland.

It was getting on.

I was just pedaling as fast as I could and doing my best to slow down and breathe, to not stay standing at any intersection, to always be in motion, to be seen, to not get hit, to not get harassed.

I made it back alive and not too scared to tell the tale.

The girls during the day are not the same girls that work the nights, from what I can tell.

I still would like to take my camera out and catch a few of them.

Not working, but you know, working.

I did take some surreptitious photographs at the park today.

I took out the camera to capture a man sitting nodding off on a park bench with ropes of drool coming out of his mouth.

Every once in a while he would come to, sit up, regal, raise a hand and softly point, almost wave, in a direction.  Like was directing slow motion traffic in his mind.

Then he would lean forward and nod back out.

I was busy watching my charge, but being on hyper nanny alert I was also, I always do, making sure he was not a threat.

He was harmless in a sad, old man, down on his luck sort of day.

I thought later, what if my perspective is skewed?

He was sitting on a park bench, nodding out, so he got his fix, in warm sunshine, children laughing and playing t-ball in the lot.  He was probably happy as a fucking clam.

Unlike the little girl whose mother pushed her down the big kid slide after getting impatient with her not having the immediate courage to do it (it is a steep ass slide, fuck, I went down it once and got nervous).

Pushed her the fuck down.

Congratulations bitch cakes, you just gave your child fear of heights in one stupid move.

I saw a beautiful three-year old, I know because she was introduced to me as such, go from being happy and joyful to scared, screaming, frightened.

Then it became hysterical crying.

And it was bordering on the tantrum crying that cannot be stopped.

I got up and left.

It was so uncomfortable.

I would rather watch a fucking junkie homeless man nod off on a bench then listen to the little girl wailing and I knew the crying was going to stop and it was going to stop when she got hit.

It was pretty obvious that was the route it was taking.

And the kid knew it too, which I think was adding to the hysterical crying.

“Home,” my charge said.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said and picked her up and tucked her into my side and got the fuck out of there.

“Leaving before it catches,” a dad said with a wry chuckle.

“Something like that,” I said.

PTSD alarm bells ringing in my head.

GET OUT.

The crying broke with a desperate, abrupt wail about a half block out.

I am just glad my charge was not there to see it.

You can explain away the nodding out junkie, “he’s taking a nap in the sun,” you can’t explain away the parent that pushes their own child down a slide and then hits them later when the child does not respond well to your action.

No thank you.

“I have decided what your playa name should be,” my employer said to me this afternoon when I showed up for the gig, my charge already down for her nap.

The mom’s eyes gleamed with pleasure.

“Mary-Fucking-Poppins!”  She said, gleefully.

Oh my god.

Yes.

Please.

I am Mary Fucking Poppins, or MFP, for shorts, you know.

That will be my street name.

“No, sir, I am not working, I am just getting done with work, no sir I am in child care, no, not childish care, I am a nanny, yes you heard me, ass hole, my name is MARY FUCKING POPPINS.”

Then I would bean him with my umbrella and fly away on my magical bike.

Which might be a little E.T. but the image rather works for me.

And I did get a new parasol for the playa, yes I did.

Bright red.

In the shape, of a, wait for it.

Heart.

BAhahahahahahahahaha.

I love myself.

I crack myself the fuck up.

In other news, I will be house sitting this fine upcoming weekend, in San Francisco, in Cole Valley, in the Upper Haight, yo.

So, let’s do some hanging out and some coffee and or tea having.

And since I will be staying at my Burning Man families place, I will be bringing my playa bike over from my friend’s house on 19th and Valencia.

After a short pit stop at the bike shop to get my Fat Banana saddle.

Fingers crossed my bicycle basket with the daisies comes in this week as well.

Heh.

I am Mary Fucking Poppins.

Good lord.