My life and this semester, seem to be trending toward change. And like the folks at Dorito's say: "change is good." I haven't had Dorito's in a long time, but I'll trust their logic.
For the past 12 years, I've worked as a massage therapist. An amazing job at times, being part of an individual's personal journey, injury recovery, or simply putting that person back in touch with their body and at ease for a while in this hectic world of ours. But, whenever I discuss what I do for a living with others, they usually get googley-eyed about it and believe it to be something sexual. I almost hate to spoil their fantasy...
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Jess & Her Boo: Goldilocks Redux
I’m sure you’ve heard of Goldilocks, but no one really asks why I was in the woods alone nor where I went when the bears kicked me out. Well, allow me to fill in the blanks – this is my story.
First off, my name isn’t Goldilocks, that was just a nickname that my parents came up with one night when they were drunk. They both had light brown hair and despised my blonde, joking with each other about the mailman being my dad, but when they got ripped, that joke wasn’t funny anymore and my locks weren’t so cute either. My name is Jess – let’s get that straight first. I’m embarrassed to tell you my folks were living in a shit-shack, drunks on the dole…not that they stood out much, our town was a little burned out place that time had forgotten about. Not much opportunity for anyone really, and you could smell dead dreams and old industry hanging in the air. I guess in some ways fighting and drinking were something to do, but when they turned their wrath on me, I had a hard time justifying their ways and any reason to stick around.
So I just started walking, simple as that – no plan, no route, just wanted o-u-t and into the woods I went. Aimlessly and soundlessly, except the sounds of leaves and twigs under my feet, birds talking among the trees, I purposely took a new path just to see where it led. After a while, in a small clearing, I came upon a little cabin. It looked calm and inviting so I crept around the windows trying to see if there was anyone home. Tidy it was, and apparently the owners were out. I tried the door and it opened soundlessly onto a neat little dining nook with bowls already set out. What luck! Hot porridge! Though it did raise suspicion that someone would be returning soon, I couldn’t resist having a bowl. It was creamy, delicious and comforting. I knew I was pushing my luck, but the serenity of the cottage had me in its spell and I tried each bed ‘til I found the most comfortable one. Just a few moments of a peaceful nap and I’d be recharged and ready to go again, though I knew not where.
I must have fallen into a pretty deep sleep, because the next thing I remember was an angry Mama and Papa Bear roaring in my face to get out of their house. Their cub seemed mystified by the whole situation, but those big bears scared the crap out of me and I was out and running back the way I came as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn’t stop until the sound of their carrying on had faded in the distance. Man, was I mad! I hadn’t done them any harm, just wanted some peace and quiet for once. Fuming and frustrated, I walked back toward that nasty place called home and by the time I got there, I had a plan.
Of course my dad had a few guns, and, of course, I knew where he kept them. Assuming my folks were at the bar, but knowing they didn’t keep any regular hours, I grabbed a small handgun, a handful of bullets, and packed a bag with a few pairs of jeans, some t-shirts and hoodies. I scrambled around dressers and drawers looking for a few stray bucks and any spare change I could find. The whole deal only took about 20 minutes. I thought about leaving a note but I was too fed up to write anything nice and too amped up at the thought of being caught. I gave one last glance around, and walked out the door – just like that. I felt tall and right for the first time in a long time.
When I got near the bear’s cabin, it was nearing evening. A soft light filtered out through the windows giving the place a peaceful yellow gold glow. For a moment, I hesitated to disturb this serene picture, but then I remembered my plan and the lack of alternatives and was again confident of what must be done. I turned the handle on the door and found the adults reading in chairs, their backs turned to me. The cub looked up at me in wonderment and his parents gaze followed. Before they could begin their tirade, I pulled out the gun.
“Sorry about the porridge, but I meant you no harm then and I mean you no harm now.” The Papa bear stood up and put one big paw forward. “Stop right there. There’s no room for negotiation, I want your cub.” Momma bear’s book slid to the floor and she burst into tears, pleading with me not to take her baby, while Papa bears face seemed to go blank. I tried to keep things factual: “look, he’s getting big enough to leave soon and fend for himself, you want your son to be independent, don’t you? – and, anyway, I need a companion. I promise to take good care of him, but he’s leaving with me, and we’re leaving now.” Making a sweeping motion toward me, I urged the cub to come on while keeping the gun focused on the biggest bear in the room. Bewildered and unsure, the cub came into the kitchen though continuing to look from Papa to Mama and back again, like watching a tennis match. I felt tense and kind of bad, we needed to get out of there while the bear’s grief and disbelief kept time suspended for a few moments. “I promise to keep him safe” and I said it with all the confidence I could muster, when in all actuality my hope was that he’d keep me safe. “We’ll send a postcard, now c’mon” and with one swift motion I grabbed the cubs paw, turned and jogged clumsily on nervous legs with a gun in one hand, a paw in the other and the bag slung over my shoulder banging on my back.
Once in the woods and sure no one was following us, the realization of what I’d just done made me light-headed and giddy. I started nattering on to my captive pal about what a fun adventure we were going to have and how many cool things we were going to see. He seemed sullen and doubtful at first, but the more I talked, the more lively his step became. At least that’s what I convinced myself. There was a train that went through our town though it didn’t stop, so our only option was hitching. By the time we reached the highway, I was dog-tired and the cub was lagging too. We lay at the forest edge between the ditch at the road and awkwardly tried to negotiate our space. Eventually, the cub cuddled up to me not because he was cold, but because he was frightened. It didn’t matter either way, his soft fur was comforting to me and together, in this strange mutual need, we napped. We awoke in the dark before dawn and trotted up next to the highway. I told bear to stand behind me a bit, shook my locks and stuck out my thumb. Blonde hair looks even brighter in headlights so we had a truck pull over in no time at all. I opened the door, threw my bag on the seat and climbed in, I motioned cub to the floor between my feet and we began to roll on.
The truck was bound for San Francisco which was perfectly fine with me. The driver and I were making chit-chat when the bear began to get restless, so I pulled him up onto my lap. The trucker nearly had a heart attack. His reaction made me laugh. After a light frenzy of swearing and shock, he calmed down and said San Fran was definitely the destination for us, a city where eccentricities are the norm and a girl and her bear ought to do just fine. I hadn’t thought of the bear as being “mine” but it sounded nice. I liked his weight in my lap, the leathery feel of the pads on his paws and now I had nothing to do but admire his face; funny nose where his fur was a bit lighter, his soulful dark eyes and his ears where the fur looked like velvet. I stroked his snout and rubbed the inside and outside of his ear between my fingers. I believe he was smiling. I kept right on petting him and fell asleep. I feared no advances from the trucker who was trying to play it cool, but was keeping his peripheral vision locked on “my bear.” It took us another day and a half to get there and when I saw the city open up before us, I think my heart skipped a few beats.
I had made no further plans beyond leaving that crummy hometown and now that a destination was upon us, I floundered when our driver asked if we had someplace to stay. “Umm, I hadn’t really thought of that, I guess…” trailing off at the end and trying not to sound stupid. “Tell you what, I’ll get you to Golden Gate Park, it’s pretty and there’s a lot of, uh, kids like you there. Maybe you can connect with somebody there.” he said. Sounded like a plan to me. I assumed he didn’t want to call me a runaway, but I got the message.
Golden Gate Park was indeed beautiful, and huge! By the time we pulled up next to it, evening was descending, and the place was filled with a hazy light leftover from sunset. We clambered out of the truck, I offered my thanks and our driver wished us luck. Bear and I walked over to a park bench under a tree and just took in the fresh air and the scenery around us. My mind was blank, but I felt relaxed, my friend seemed to be in sync with me, and so we sat in silence while the sky grew dark. After a while we heard voices and laughing and we began moving in that direction. We came upon a group of teenagers, some smoking, some drinking, some eating, but all seemed easy in each others company. I said hello somewhat tentatively and was welcomed over. I was eyeing their food and drinks when they made out the shape of my companion. “Dude, it’s a freakin’ bear!” “…no way!” but instead of being frightened, they were amused. The cub was my ice-breaker and instant cred. They invited us to share their food and beer and the conversation turned to best places to sleep, to pan-handle, to dumpster dive, etc. Fortified with nourishment and new friends, they invited us to hang with them for the night and we did. Bear and I were used to being physically close now, and it brought us both great comfort. Before I fell asleep, I whispered in his ear: “can I call you Boo?” and in response he flexed his nails on my back, much like a cat might, and I knew he approved.
Boo and I were a hit in SF, man! We would go to major tourist spots and people would snap pictures, ask Boo to give ‘em five and in return, they literally threw cash at us. A few crumpled singles, a fiver, sometimes more. I was astonished and pleased. We didn’t have to live on scraps much, we had cash. At the end of the day, I’d make sure Boo was in a safe place or with some street friends and I’d hit the Safeway, buying bear a piece of fresh fish and enough groceries to share with the group. We slept with pods of friends, it was safer that way they said, ‘cause some of the homeless are crazy and would mess with someone they found alone. We rotated where we went, hung out and slept. The police in San Francisco are mostly kind, inured to runaways, prostitutes and the like, but they could hassle you in the name of keeping the streets safe. A few times they’d ask me to move on from where Boo & I were “performing” not totally sure if he was a real bear or a really elaborate costume with a kid inside, and not wanting to get too close to check, just asked us to keep moving, which we did. This went on for just short of a year, the weather was always perfect, the place always busy and our pockets always full. But the constant moving around was getting old, and soaping up in fountains or public baths left me feeling not quite clean enough. Boo was starting to develop a larger appetite, though he didn’t grow too much in height. He began to eat the ducks in the park, and though the good people of SF were accepting of just about everything, finding piles of feathers and carcasses was truly upsetting for them. It was only a matter of time before they put two and two together and might realize what our friends knew from the start. Boo was a real bear and though he wouldn’t harm a human, I doubted anyone would take my word for it.
The runaway/hobo network is a strong one. We were a diverse group from all over the map, we kept each other informed, alerted and watched each other’s backs. I began to inquire about other places that Boo and I might go where we could be relatively safe. My friends casually spread my inquiry around town and a week or so later I got the reply of my dreams. Dolly Parton was buying up properties around Dollywood and building small cabins for rent. While she wanted to provide a “true” nature experience for her guests, she couldn’t afford or bear the thought of anyone getting mauled or attacked. So, she was looking for dogs that looked like wolves or coyotes and, naturally, bears. Anyone possessing such a companion was welcome to apply for a small residence cottage in return for putting their animals to work on her grounds. I discussed this with Boo and we decided to head out once again.
Same gig leaving Cali as getting there: hitchhike, trucker, introduce Boo, wait for freak-out to subside, naps, grungy truck stop food and finally Dollywood.
We were hired on the spot. I was to work in the amusement park, Boo was to roam the woods at appropriate times and scuttle away right after he was pretty sure someone got a “surprise” photo of a real bear in the woods. Win-win-win! Dolly was clever, our cabin was small and cozy with tunnels leading to the amusement park and different parts of the woods so no one saw us coming or going. The windows were frosted except for the ones near the roofline so it appeared to all as just another occupied cabin. It was home – we were safe and happy. I trimmed the ends of Boo’s nails so he didn’t tear up the floors or the bedding and I bathed him so his coat always looked shiny and full. The streams in Tennessee were stocked with trout and salmon, Boo would eat some on the spot and bring some home. We cooked together, read books and told funny stories of tourists we encountered. At the end of each night, we’d climb into bed and snuggle contentedly, wake up the next day and do it all over again. I loved it, he loved it, we loved each other and the beauty and peace surrounding us.
First off, my name isn’t Goldilocks, that was just a nickname that my parents came up with one night when they were drunk. They both had light brown hair and despised my blonde, joking with each other about the mailman being my dad, but when they got ripped, that joke wasn’t funny anymore and my locks weren’t so cute either. My name is Jess – let’s get that straight first. I’m embarrassed to tell you my folks were living in a shit-shack, drunks on the dole…not that they stood out much, our town was a little burned out place that time had forgotten about. Not much opportunity for anyone really, and you could smell dead dreams and old industry hanging in the air. I guess in some ways fighting and drinking were something to do, but when they turned their wrath on me, I had a hard time justifying their ways and any reason to stick around.
So I just started walking, simple as that – no plan, no route, just wanted o-u-t and into the woods I went. Aimlessly and soundlessly, except the sounds of leaves and twigs under my feet, birds talking among the trees, I purposely took a new path just to see where it led. After a while, in a small clearing, I came upon a little cabin. It looked calm and inviting so I crept around the windows trying to see if there was anyone home. Tidy it was, and apparently the owners were out. I tried the door and it opened soundlessly onto a neat little dining nook with bowls already set out. What luck! Hot porridge! Though it did raise suspicion that someone would be returning soon, I couldn’t resist having a bowl. It was creamy, delicious and comforting. I knew I was pushing my luck, but the serenity of the cottage had me in its spell and I tried each bed ‘til I found the most comfortable one. Just a few moments of a peaceful nap and I’d be recharged and ready to go again, though I knew not where.
I must have fallen into a pretty deep sleep, because the next thing I remember was an angry Mama and Papa Bear roaring in my face to get out of their house. Their cub seemed mystified by the whole situation, but those big bears scared the crap out of me and I was out and running back the way I came as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn’t stop until the sound of their carrying on had faded in the distance. Man, was I mad! I hadn’t done them any harm, just wanted some peace and quiet for once. Fuming and frustrated, I walked back toward that nasty place called home and by the time I got there, I had a plan.
Of course my dad had a few guns, and, of course, I knew where he kept them. Assuming my folks were at the bar, but knowing they didn’t keep any regular hours, I grabbed a small handgun, a handful of bullets, and packed a bag with a few pairs of jeans, some t-shirts and hoodies. I scrambled around dressers and drawers looking for a few stray bucks and any spare change I could find. The whole deal only took about 20 minutes. I thought about leaving a note but I was too fed up to write anything nice and too amped up at the thought of being caught. I gave one last glance around, and walked out the door – just like that. I felt tall and right for the first time in a long time.
When I got near the bear’s cabin, it was nearing evening. A soft light filtered out through the windows giving the place a peaceful yellow gold glow. For a moment, I hesitated to disturb this serene picture, but then I remembered my plan and the lack of alternatives and was again confident of what must be done. I turned the handle on the door and found the adults reading in chairs, their backs turned to me. The cub looked up at me in wonderment and his parents gaze followed. Before they could begin their tirade, I pulled out the gun.
“Sorry about the porridge, but I meant you no harm then and I mean you no harm now.” The Papa bear stood up and put one big paw forward. “Stop right there. There’s no room for negotiation, I want your cub.” Momma bear’s book slid to the floor and she burst into tears, pleading with me not to take her baby, while Papa bears face seemed to go blank. I tried to keep things factual: “look, he’s getting big enough to leave soon and fend for himself, you want your son to be independent, don’t you? – and, anyway, I need a companion. I promise to take good care of him, but he’s leaving with me, and we’re leaving now.” Making a sweeping motion toward me, I urged the cub to come on while keeping the gun focused on the biggest bear in the room. Bewildered and unsure, the cub came into the kitchen though continuing to look from Papa to Mama and back again, like watching a tennis match. I felt tense and kind of bad, we needed to get out of there while the bear’s grief and disbelief kept time suspended for a few moments. “I promise to keep him safe” and I said it with all the confidence I could muster, when in all actuality my hope was that he’d keep me safe. “We’ll send a postcard, now c’mon” and with one swift motion I grabbed the cubs paw, turned and jogged clumsily on nervous legs with a gun in one hand, a paw in the other and the bag slung over my shoulder banging on my back.
Once in the woods and sure no one was following us, the realization of what I’d just done made me light-headed and giddy. I started nattering on to my captive pal about what a fun adventure we were going to have and how many cool things we were going to see. He seemed sullen and doubtful at first, but the more I talked, the more lively his step became. At least that’s what I convinced myself. There was a train that went through our town though it didn’t stop, so our only option was hitching. By the time we reached the highway, I was dog-tired and the cub was lagging too. We lay at the forest edge between the ditch at the road and awkwardly tried to negotiate our space. Eventually, the cub cuddled up to me not because he was cold, but because he was frightened. It didn’t matter either way, his soft fur was comforting to me and together, in this strange mutual need, we napped. We awoke in the dark before dawn and trotted up next to the highway. I told bear to stand behind me a bit, shook my locks and stuck out my thumb. Blonde hair looks even brighter in headlights so we had a truck pull over in no time at all. I opened the door, threw my bag on the seat and climbed in, I motioned cub to the floor between my feet and we began to roll on.
The truck was bound for San Francisco which was perfectly fine with me. The driver and I were making chit-chat when the bear began to get restless, so I pulled him up onto my lap. The trucker nearly had a heart attack. His reaction made me laugh. After a light frenzy of swearing and shock, he calmed down and said San Fran was definitely the destination for us, a city where eccentricities are the norm and a girl and her bear ought to do just fine. I hadn’t thought of the bear as being “mine” but it sounded nice. I liked his weight in my lap, the leathery feel of the pads on his paws and now I had nothing to do but admire his face; funny nose where his fur was a bit lighter, his soulful dark eyes and his ears where the fur looked like velvet. I stroked his snout and rubbed the inside and outside of his ear between my fingers. I believe he was smiling. I kept right on petting him and fell asleep. I feared no advances from the trucker who was trying to play it cool, but was keeping his peripheral vision locked on “my bear.” It took us another day and a half to get there and when I saw the city open up before us, I think my heart skipped a few beats.
I had made no further plans beyond leaving that crummy hometown and now that a destination was upon us, I floundered when our driver asked if we had someplace to stay. “Umm, I hadn’t really thought of that, I guess…” trailing off at the end and trying not to sound stupid. “Tell you what, I’ll get you to Golden Gate Park, it’s pretty and there’s a lot of, uh, kids like you there. Maybe you can connect with somebody there.” he said. Sounded like a plan to me. I assumed he didn’t want to call me a runaway, but I got the message.
Golden Gate Park was indeed beautiful, and huge! By the time we pulled up next to it, evening was descending, and the place was filled with a hazy light leftover from sunset. We clambered out of the truck, I offered my thanks and our driver wished us luck. Bear and I walked over to a park bench under a tree and just took in the fresh air and the scenery around us. My mind was blank, but I felt relaxed, my friend seemed to be in sync with me, and so we sat in silence while the sky grew dark. After a while we heard voices and laughing and we began moving in that direction. We came upon a group of teenagers, some smoking, some drinking, some eating, but all seemed easy in each others company. I said hello somewhat tentatively and was welcomed over. I was eyeing their food and drinks when they made out the shape of my companion. “Dude, it’s a freakin’ bear!” “…no way!” but instead of being frightened, they were amused. The cub was my ice-breaker and instant cred. They invited us to share their food and beer and the conversation turned to best places to sleep, to pan-handle, to dumpster dive, etc. Fortified with nourishment and new friends, they invited us to hang with them for the night and we did. Bear and I were used to being physically close now, and it brought us both great comfort. Before I fell asleep, I whispered in his ear: “can I call you Boo?” and in response he flexed his nails on my back, much like a cat might, and I knew he approved.
Boo and I were a hit in SF, man! We would go to major tourist spots and people would snap pictures, ask Boo to give ‘em five and in return, they literally threw cash at us. A few crumpled singles, a fiver, sometimes more. I was astonished and pleased. We didn’t have to live on scraps much, we had cash. At the end of the day, I’d make sure Boo was in a safe place or with some street friends and I’d hit the Safeway, buying bear a piece of fresh fish and enough groceries to share with the group. We slept with pods of friends, it was safer that way they said, ‘cause some of the homeless are crazy and would mess with someone they found alone. We rotated where we went, hung out and slept. The police in San Francisco are mostly kind, inured to runaways, prostitutes and the like, but they could hassle you in the name of keeping the streets safe. A few times they’d ask me to move on from where Boo & I were “performing” not totally sure if he was a real bear or a really elaborate costume with a kid inside, and not wanting to get too close to check, just asked us to keep moving, which we did. This went on for just short of a year, the weather was always perfect, the place always busy and our pockets always full. But the constant moving around was getting old, and soaping up in fountains or public baths left me feeling not quite clean enough. Boo was starting to develop a larger appetite, though he didn’t grow too much in height. He began to eat the ducks in the park, and though the good people of SF were accepting of just about everything, finding piles of feathers and carcasses was truly upsetting for them. It was only a matter of time before they put two and two together and might realize what our friends knew from the start. Boo was a real bear and though he wouldn’t harm a human, I doubted anyone would take my word for it.
The runaway/hobo network is a strong one. We were a diverse group from all over the map, we kept each other informed, alerted and watched each other’s backs. I began to inquire about other places that Boo and I might go where we could be relatively safe. My friends casually spread my inquiry around town and a week or so later I got the reply of my dreams. Dolly Parton was buying up properties around Dollywood and building small cabins for rent. While she wanted to provide a “true” nature experience for her guests, she couldn’t afford or bear the thought of anyone getting mauled or attacked. So, she was looking for dogs that looked like wolves or coyotes and, naturally, bears. Anyone possessing such a companion was welcome to apply for a small residence cottage in return for putting their animals to work on her grounds. I discussed this with Boo and we decided to head out once again.
Same gig leaving Cali as getting there: hitchhike, trucker, introduce Boo, wait for freak-out to subside, naps, grungy truck stop food and finally Dollywood.
We were hired on the spot. I was to work in the amusement park, Boo was to roam the woods at appropriate times and scuttle away right after he was pretty sure someone got a “surprise” photo of a real bear in the woods. Win-win-win! Dolly was clever, our cabin was small and cozy with tunnels leading to the amusement park and different parts of the woods so no one saw us coming or going. The windows were frosted except for the ones near the roofline so it appeared to all as just another occupied cabin. It was home – we were safe and happy. I trimmed the ends of Boo’s nails so he didn’t tear up the floors or the bedding and I bathed him so his coat always looked shiny and full. The streams in Tennessee were stocked with trout and salmon, Boo would eat some on the spot and bring some home. We cooked together, read books and told funny stories of tourists we encountered. At the end of each night, we’d climb into bed and snuggle contentedly, wake up the next day and do it all over again. I loved it, he loved it, we loved each other and the beauty and peace surrounding us.
favorite folktale
My favorite folktale is Goldilocks and the Three Bears. I've always been entranced by bears, not sure why, they just seem like gentle giants. It always surprised and amused me that they were so mad at Goldilocks and ran her off. She seemed like a nice girl and judging from the bears cozy home, they seemed like nice bears. The story is most often told in third person, but I thought I'd pick it up where it left off and give Goldilocks the opportunity to speak in a first person narrative and give us her own story. So, here goes...
Monday, January 11, 2010
Hey, y'all
This is the first post for this class.
My creative edges have accumulated a lot of rust.
I have no idea what to write, but am looking forward to writing it - soon.
The idea of a muse book is of major appeal...I didn't realize how much I disliked the word "journal" until PF presented an alternative.
I believe this is going to be a wonderful semester.
My creative edges have accumulated a lot of rust.
I have no idea what to write, but am looking forward to writing it - soon.
The idea of a muse book is of major appeal...I didn't realize how much I disliked the word "journal" until PF presented an alternative.
I believe this is going to be a wonderful semester.
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