Walking in Santa Barbara

I’m walking up State Street .. keeping my eyes focused on what’s ahead of me while dimly noticing what passes on the periphery. Images from the past also flash by. Mostly shops and restaurants that are no longer there. I watch them come and go. Now I’m focusing my attention on the rhythm of my gait ..now I’m focusing on where I feel tension and where I feel relaxed ..now I’m focusing on my breath ..feeling pressure build when I inhale and drop as I exhale. Now I’m noticing pressure build when I pass by others. Feeling self-conscious. Funny, you’d think I’d outgrown that by now. Oh well. Now I’m remembering an article I read this morning in Luminosity ..reminding me (for the millionth time) how presence of mind is my ally against craziness of mind. I duck into the library on Anapamu and listen to a room full of children sing. Sweet. I don’t leave until they’re done.

Lilia pt 3

I haven’t heard from Lilia since her sister-in-law visited. I called once or twice to she if she were up for running but got no answer. Today I find out she’s planning to move. Rob told me. I ask why and he says: “She’s violating her rental agreement. Only allows for her and one other person (her teenage daughter). There are three teenage girls living there.” Makes me think someone must have snitched. He goes: “They weren’t obnoxious or anything. Just being teenage girls. Wasn’t their fault. Lilia’s got secrets though.” I’m thinking ..yeah, single mother going through a divorce. Something she confided in me but probably not the rest of the neighborhood. Explains why I haven’t seen her around. Turns out her sister-in-law has two teenage daughters who wanted to spend part of the summer in Santa Barbara. Not uncommon. Hardly warrants a violation. On top of going through a divorce ..re-locating .. starting a new job ..and trying to help her nieces .. she’s got to find someplace else to live. That sucks. I suggest she try holding out as long as she can .. let her nieces enjoy the rest of their summer break.

Lilia pt 2

I run into Lilia on my next trip to the high school track and ask her if she’s able to continue running on the beach. I’ve been going down there just about every morning since we met. She reminds me to call before next time I go. We make plans for the following day. Later I wonder if it’s such a good idea ..might be too soon to make it a social event. I don’t know. I need to stay focused. I call the next day anyway .. but she tells me she has to go to the airport with her family ..she forgot. Her sister-in-law is coming to visit. But she wants to go tomorrow. I call the next morning and get a message telling me she’s a voice-mail customer who hasn’t started her voice-mail service yet. For some reason it feels like a failure-to-launch, which surprises me. I shouldn’t feel this way .. it’s not like it was a date or anything. Even though I know I’m  making a big deal out of it ..it.kinda’ revives my doubts. Reminds me to stay focused.

Lilia pt 1

I meet Lilia for the first time at the football stadium. I’m walking around the track ..she’s sitting on the steps having a beer. It’s Friday after work. I stop and say “hi, kicking back?”  She responds enthusiastically so I stay and we chat. She says she needed to get out of the house ..something about not wanting to drink in front of her daughter. She goes on to tell me she’s getting a divorce and recently moved back to Santa Barbara where she grew up. Went to high school here ..played soccer and ran cross-country. Graduated in 1984 ..which I quickly figure makes her 12 years younger than me (old habit). She looks fit ..Hispanic ..pretty. She tells me she’s started running again on the beach and says: “they’ve finally come out with a running shoe you can wear in the water.” I tell her about my plans to start walking where I used to run along the shore. She lights up and asks me to call ..she’d like to join me ..says it would help her stayed committed ..and gives me her number. I give her mine. Turns out we’re neighbors ..she lives just a few doors down. Now I’m having lingering thoughts about her.

Herbaculture

Nathan is an ‘herbaculturist’. He tells me he’s identified specific strains of pot that are good not only for pain but also conditions like ADD, neuropathy and anxiety. He’s even found one that suppresses appetite, which I find kinda’ funny, when I think about my own experience with the munchies. He tells me about a patient he once saw ..L.A. City Councilman Bill Rosendahl. Rosendahl had cancer that had spread from his kidneys to his lumbar vertebrae. The pain was so excruciating that the heaviest prescription painkiller OxyContin brought only momentary relief. He was incapacitated and doctors told him there wasn’t much they could do. Herbaculturist Nathan began visiting him weekly to discuss his condition. They developed a weed regimen that almost completely wiped out the pain and allowed him to go back to work. While some of his treatments are validated by medical studies .. none are recognized by the federal government, which still outlaws marijuana. So dispensaries experiment on their own, relying on feedback from patients to develop the best product.

Local talent

Warp speed

I look at the map of where I live ..the one inside my head. It’s warped. The angles are skewed and the distances are shortened. I can nail the directions to the County Bowl OK ..but the other side of town is a different story. This distorted image is like an icon that gives me an immediate sense of where I am and where I want to be. And it does a fairly good job. Consider the map of the London Tube you get at any station. It’s more like a schematic diagram than an actual view. Still it’s become an indispensable icon. In fact, I bet it comes closer to the one that’s inside just about every Londoner’s head these days. I ask for the closest Underground station and get a GPS-like reading. Mention Camden Town ..forget it.

New frontier

I’m here at a bar where computing people meet. Angela says she’s a Cloud Computing Specialist ..Daniel is a User Experience Analyst. I tell them I used to be a Software Engineer and they’re like “..how quaint.” That won’t fly in this crowd.  I sit back for a moment and think. “OK ..I’m a Fulfillment Specialist.” Now we’re drinking like old buddies. What used to be known as ‘software’ has been blown to smithereens. Apps did that.  These days in order to service requests from mobile customers  ..you need apps that mimic exchanges in cyber-space. I’m talking apps that simulate buyers ..apps that simulate sellers and apps that simulate order-takers ..as well as apps that allow other apps to communicate (usually referred to as API’s). You also need apps to determine the best cyber-channel to take for fulfillment. Each transaction requires a host of delegates to ensure what goes in one end ..persists and comes out the other. A single piece of software just can’t do that.  Now I’m feeling better equipped to hold my own in this crowd.

Shit expert

I’m out hiking with my dog Andy. At the first sign of critters ..the aroma of shit ..Andy’s got his nose to the ground. He signals me by sticking his tail out and cocking his left leg up. Can’t be just any piece of shit though. It’s gotta be fresh .. meaning less than a 15 minutes old. And it’s gotta’ be a critter like possum or rabbit (not just another dog or cat). Now Andy’s whining and it looks like he’s got the shakes so I go over and ask him what’s wrong. He looks at me like he’s just seen (or smelt) a ghost. I look at today’s droppings. Way too big for a raccoon but a bit too small for a deer. That leaves ..Bobcat! Andy looks at me like ‘BINGO’ ..and we haul ass outta’ there. I don’t underestimate his sense of smell. It’s been ‘genetically tuned’ to pick up the scent of shit left by critters he hunts ..as well as critters that may be hunting us. Sure enough, the first person we run into tells us that there’s been a bobcat sighting in the area.

Jason

This morning I go out on the deck to take breakfast and meet someone I don’t think I’ve ever met before. I live off the beaten path and you almost have to know where your going to get here ..so I’m not sure. He’s sitting comfortably with his legs out-stretched looking disarming enough. Mid-twenties, short hair, clean-shaven ..wearing freshly washed Diesel jeans and high-top Nike basketball shoes. He was on his way to stay with his sister and decided to take an alternate route. It narrows into a private road so he ducks into a driveway. The driveway ends at a creek where he sees my deck. His knee hurts so he finds a place to sit. Now he’s apologizing profusely for the intrusion ..and for just about every other word coming out of his mouth. He’s up on his feet but I see he’s favoring the left leg and looks kinda’ disoriented. I invite him to stay and offer him some coffee. He tells me his knee got tweaked in an accident and he was in the hospital. He’s here due to an unfortunate series of events. He lost his job ..lost his apartment ..lost his girlfriend and crashed his truck ..so he walks everywhere he goes. He’s local and I suspect there’s nothing in his background to prepare him for what’s going to happen next. He says his greatest fear is how other people are going to judge him for the situation he’s in. So he keeps walking.

St Vincent

well, we know where we’re going / but we don’t know where we’ve been / and we know what we're knowing / but we can’t say what we’ve seen / we’re on a road to nowhere / come on inside / taking that ride to nowhere / we'll take that ride (lyrics by Talking Heads)

A way out

The trail that goes into the canyon where I live has become impassable. Where shrub oak and other vegetation aren’t blocking it ..new fences are. I feel trapped and a little panicky. It was always comforting to know I had a way out. I have to find another. I try one bordering the canyon by the County Bowl, but about three-quarters of the way up I run into another barrier. They’ve expanded the bowl out to the edge of that canyon. The only way I can go any farther is by sliding back to where I started. Now I’m on Lowena Road where I see Levi waxing his Harley. Lucy charges me to lick my face and see if I’ve got any dog treats. I sit and chat while Levi works. After listening to tales of the next apocalypse ..he tells me where I can find another trail that’s more serviceable than the one I was just on. After a few false starts, I come to the end of a steep winding road where I find a clearly marked trailhead. A few steps in and I’m climbing a steep, tightly-wrapped switch-back trail, marked by stones piled like stupas. I arrive where the two canyons meet up top. I’ve been here before and know where I can catch a flat dirt road that loops around a hillside and takes me to Sylvan Park ..where the trail to Franceschi begins. I’m stoked and start howling like a madman ..just to listen to my voice echo through the canyons. Then I hear a voice inside my head scream “shut the fuck up” because I’m inside the perimeter of bobcat territory where calling attention to myself could be a life-shortening act. I follow the road to Sylvan Park and climb the ancient stone steps that take me to the trail that takes me to Franceschi park. Now I’m sitting on the ruins of a wall surrounding a botanical garden where I can look out and watch boats sail passed the islands on their way to China, and I’m like “Yes! I have found a way out. Yes ..!!!” 

View from Franceschi

Halfway house

I tremble I tremble I tremble I tremble 
They're gonna eat me alive alive alive
If I stumble stumble stumble stumble 
They're gonna eat me alive alive alive 

I’m sitting on some old stone steps about halfway up to Franceschi when the rain comes. I hike back to APS .. slide down the muddy hillside by the County Bowl ..and surprise Ron and his dog Murphy at the bottom. It’s not raining down here. We go up and down Figueroa Street to the high school. I see some pathways I haven’t seen before. Ron looks like a man on a mission so I make a mental note to explore them on my own next time around. I hose down my overalls and parka ..throw them in the dryer ..wrap myself in a cotton bathrobe ..sit down with a cup of tea and watch my hands tremble while I try and hit the right letters on the keyboard of my PC. This may take a while.

Little boxes

Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky. Little boxes, little boxes, little boxes all the same. There’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one. And they’re all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.

Thoughts and impressions are arriving in packages that are way too small today. I need a bigger picture. I put on my Merrells and find the shortest path up to Franceschi. I start on residential streets because the canyon would be too tortuous today. I pass by stately homes and funky California cottages. I concentrate on loosening the suspension joints in my hips ..and experience a more cushiony ride. The street gives way to a woodsy trail bordered by pine, oak and eucalyptus. Feels spongy. I reach the top of Franceschi where I get a panoramic view of the coast ..from Rincon to Gaviota ..then out to sea where white clouds are beginning to roll over the tops of the islands. South of me the fog has already breached the coastline and filled Sycamore Canyon. I inhale .. like a wave crashing ..and exhale .. washing away the debris. No quarrels or nagging doubts here. Like water seeking it’s own level ..I listen to the narrative in my head expand to fill the space available ..both inside and out. Calm and undisturbed. I throw the packaging material over the edge and watch it sail away.

Little Boxes by losttimeblues

No substances required

I step out, close the door, look at my watch - 4:30 pm - plenty of daylight left. I walk past Señor Jim’s place ..struggle up an overgrown canyon and reach the trail to Franceschi park where I can see the waters of the bay below, pale blue ..and the fog, pearly white, rolling inland and up the mountainside directly ahead of me. The trail goes into it and I follow ..getting that magical feeling my head is in the clouds ..revealing possibilities I don’t ordinarily see (no wonder my teachers warned me about this). Apparitions of the Indians that used to live here re-appear (as always) ..reminding me that I’m just passing through. My neighbor Amanda steps out of the fog ahead ..shrugging and going “it’s a reoccurring thing” ..before disappearing behind. Now I’m wondering who, or what is going to happen next. Julie is waiting with the weimaraners she rescued. She hands me a tennis ball and I throw it and it goes ‘poof’ and disappears. Lotus chases it and disappears too. I look at Julie and she tells me not to worry ..he’ll reappear somewhere down the line. Then she disappears. I hike out of the fog ..slide down the hill next to the county bowl ..a natural amphitheater I’m lucky to have as a neighbor ..then walk past Marlena’s place and head home, thinking: sometimes foreign substances aren’t required.

Zona locale

“Hey, dude ..wusup? wanna’ smoke ..?” My first reaction to this generous offer is to decline, with gratitude. I’m so wrapped up in my workout at the track; it takes a few seconds to realize it’s over! Perfect timing. I circle back and they laugh and light up the bowl for me. Hey, mis compañeros. I’m good. I continue walking down and around to the lower athletic fields ..then up to the schoolyard where two guys are banging on the back door of the gym. As they walk away, a girl strolls up and yells “Kathleen!!” and the door magically opens and in she goes, followed by the guys ..and I’m like cool ..now I know the secret password. I cross the schoolyard, from where I get a view of the ocean ..the same view I get out my bedroom window if I peak ..and realize it’s only a peak because of these trees ..and those bordering Anapamu, which is either a sudden realization or just poor memory for something I already knew. I go down and around the tennis courts and back up the street to my house where my neighbor Amanda asks how my workout went. I go good, but shake my head and say “I think what I do afterwards is counteracting it tho’ ..competing with my system for oxygen ..” which she immediately gets and starts laughing. Now I’m sitting here writing and wondering if I just blew my cover.

natural born killer

Susan has an adversarial relationship with the natural surroundings we live in. It’s a beast that needs taming. She began ripping out the periwinkle and nasturtiums that covered the slope above the creek. I stopped her before she ripped out the native plants along the banks. Got a stink-eye for that. Then she began planting ‘posies’, which didn’t take but contributed to the sudden death of an oak tree [link]. Next, she decided do have an olive tree removed. Her husband actually cried when he noticed it missing. She claimed the tree-guy must have made a mistake so they took him to court ..and lost. Fewer trees made them more visible from my side of the creek. She felt this was an invasion of privacy and told me about her plans to plant a bamboo ‘wall’ along the property line. “I don’t want people trespassing around here anymore, Bill” she said. What she really meant was “I don’t want you to be able to see us anymore, Bill.” I talked to Dr Jones and he nipped that in the bud (long story). The next three years she spent battling with another neighbor who had built a small stone wall nearby, which I thought fit-in well with the surroundings. It was a vicious battle, which she eventually lost and had to pay somewhere around $250,000 in court cost (hers and theirs). It fouled the atmosphere enough to where the neighbor moved out ..which Susan considered a victory [link]. Now she’s looking in my direction again and plans to build an extension of the former neighbors’ wall along our property line. However, she wants to build it higher so it’ll act as a retaining wall and she can create a level yard out of the slope. I mentioned what a major feat of engineering that would be and this time I got the evil-eye. I quickly walked over to see Dr Jones who monitors building permits. If she starts building without a permit, the City will stop her. If she applies for a permit, Dr Jones and the other residents will counter and the City will nip that in the bud as well. Then I’m afraid I’ll see her sitting across the creek, in an Adirondack chair, staring at me with a blunderbuss on her lap.

Charlie

Sitting on the deck sharing a bowl with Charlie. I’ve always felt safe doing this even though I don’t have a medical marijuana card. My neighbors aren’t that close, and besides ..they’re pretty cool. I haven’t met the new neighbors across the creek yet. When I mention this to Charlie ..he freaks. Now he’s imagining a surveillance operation and starts outlining a plan in the almost-certain event that they start to move in on us. “We can hurdle a wall or two ..carjack Richard’s SUV ..drive to the harbor ..commandeer a boat ..sail out into the channel ..then head for open seas. It should work.” “Why would they have us under surveillance, Charles?” He looks at me in disbelief and explains how it’s not uncommon for con men to infiltrate the police department to enrich themselves by taking advantage of asset-forfeiture laws. While I don’t disagree about asset-forfeiture laws ..I tell him I think it’s a bit of a stretch in my case. Now he’s looking at me like you would a naïve child. “Bill, you really outta’ get a medical marijuana card ..save us both a lot of aggravation.” I’m not the one who’s aggravated, but I don’t say anything. Charlie’s not just a conspiracy theorist ..he’s a true believer ..and he’s definitely one to act on his beliefs. Paranoia has always been his default response.

Coastal zone

The ocean is olive-green with a soft silvery glow where the sun is absorbed (not reflected) by the surface. There’s a strong northwest swell but mostly small mushy waves. So I’m swimming just outside them. I run into Barb on the beach where she’s preparing for her regular swim out to the shipping lanes. I sit with Joanne and her son Ryan and share a couple mouthfuls of sushi rolled in seaweed. Ryan is 6-years old and just finished surf-camp. He likes to tell people he’s part Cherokee. He already looks like a California surfer with thick blond hair, dusty tan and cool Oakley shades. He goes and grabs his boogie board and I take him out and launch him on the waves. He rides them into shore and quickly paddles back into position ..where I launch him again. Says he likes the feeling of bobbing up and down in the water. “So do I ..” I tell him.

clearlessness

I wipe off the lenses of my senses. Sure enough, there’s a multilevel interchange of butterflies zipping around the creek. Birds eat olives from the trees on the other side and spit them out on the deck ..and me. More ingenious ones drop hard breadcrumbs into a bird-feeder so they’ll be soft enough to eat. My neighbor Don is following orders from his wife and clearing the back-forty. I’m sitting here trying to make sense of the news. A feeling of frustration is gnawing at me ..not sure where it’s coming from. Possibly the remnants of yesterdays’ fiasco. The radio operators in the canyon are disrupting wireless connections and pissing off the notebook PC operators. I don’t see a ‘civil’ solution. Hoping there’s a technical solution that’s just not apparent to me. My brain feels as small as a pea this morning.