Still Waters — 2013 in transition

I exist as I am that is enough,
If no other in the world be aware I sit content.
And if each and all be aware I sit content.
One world is aware, and by far the largest to me, and that is myself,
And whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness,
I can wait.
— WALT WHITMAN, Leaves of Grass

January 1
A friend sent me the poem, above, early on the first day. The words express what I am striving to, but could not, articulate. Still waters, and even if the waters are not, I can be present.

Sunday, February 3
We are at a little cafe, 263 Cuernavaca, meeting with owners at the Bal Harbor house in a few minutes, to see if we can all come to an agreement about our living there temporarily. We are in a difficult place to not agree. Embrace the change and be willing to bend. It will workout somewhere. Somewhere. Be open to the embrace of others.

Thursday, February 7
Shredding, waiting,
Drivel, phone
Wrapped in a burger
Tossed in a slaw
Boxed, taped,
Bubbled and brewed
Coffee first thing
Before it all blew
In less than three weeks
We move

March 13
Today. Today is where I am. Oh I have to focus, but today is where I need to be. It is never easy, never. The cat sits on the table, staring. Dogs have positioned themselves around the room. We sit here. It is night. The TV is on in the background. In a few minutes the dogs will go out for a final run. I’ll put clean sheets on the bed.

March 14
Melt down with headache, then Advil and Valium. Later a call and we have a house in the Corpus Christi zip code that I wanted. Now for the next step. I ordered a hamburger and then ice cream with a shot of espresso (a passive aggressive transgression knowing this is what fuels a vestibular attack). I signed documents remotely from the Lake Austin retreat house, took the dogs for a walk, bathed dogs and continued into the rest of the day and evening. It is our 20th wedding anniversary. A nice day.

March 15
Ah, the Ides of March. A morning of coffee, dog walking and granola.
Quiet. Listen. Continue.
The little transition paintings are here to focus on.
Corpus Christi will be soon enough

April 1
I am still out at the lake. I heard the call of the coyotes in the early hours this morning. Rosie coughed most of the night, something that began on Friday. Worried about what she may have met up with on her runs through the woods.

Thursday, April 2
Cat pushes his way into the iPad space, sitting on the newspaper. His need to be near is part of our morning routine here at Bal Harbor. We sit at the table in front of the big window, watching the wind blow — a cold front in May. High predicted 57 degrees today. The internet is almost always out here. No New York Times or checking FaceBook and writing email. Just my thoughts, the newspaper that the cat is sprawled out on now, and coffee.

I left Austin on May 6th in a 13-year-old pickup with 2 cats and 3 dogs. The truck bed was loaded. I was turning onto Shoreline Blvd. in Corpus Christi by 1 pm. Thus began my entry into a different way of living. I was at the Gulf. No coffee roasters or Whole Foods, Central Market, Wheatsville Co-op, Apple Store or decent Mexican food (at the date of this writing, July 7, we have yet to find a good enchilada). The big water is beautiful, love the birds and plants. Oil refineries dot the way here and surround the city. Organics are sparse. I don’t feel as much in twilight zone as I did in May and June, but it creeps in from time to time. I search for the positives.

September 27
Coffee in a paper cup, uncomfortable chair
Back in Austin at a noisy little place I used to frequent
Strangeness comes in many packages
Today is just a memory

October 29
Water, slide, flutter, fly
Everyday tea-sipping
Coffee semblance
Morphing new plans
Created in a swirl
My head maintains
Night fretting
Flutter fly
Half-winged coffee thoughts
Nothing new
The list is on the table

December 30
“I am at peace with all that has happened, is happening, and will happen. ” – A daily affirmation that I am hoping to embrace. Some days I can embrace these words more than other days. This year has been a good, a horrible, a difficult, a happy and a sad time. I have lost friends and I have gained friendship. My dogs are my constant, they say nothing hurtful, nor do they hold a grudge. They are loving. I have much to be thankful for. As Mark said in late May, “We were walking in darkness all those years, and we have moved to the light.”

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