Polera versus the ants

The ants were starting to bug me. They were in the sink, and now occasionally I'd encounter one on the bed. I'd asked them once to leave already, but to no avail.

There were a few nesty-looking things right at the doorstep to the studio, and I was planning on having my first guests over for some newfound vegan cuisine. So I thought maybe I could just flush out their hole with some water, so they would get the idea to flow on out of the immediate area.

Well they didn't seem to agree with that idea. And soon it was Polera versus the ants.

-----

It had been that kind of day. Slamming the front end on one of the myriad the lumpy intersections of OB. Awkwardly dropping a two-wheeler full of soy milk while pondering a woman on the next aisle over, and in doing so tweaking my wrist.

I thought internal cleansing was supposed to make things flow more calmly and smoothly afterwards. But then again I thought flushing ants away with the hose was a good idea. It was my landlord who pointed out that the strategy I had employed was generally considered to be the one thing not to do to ants. It pisses them off.

And so it did. No matter how many hundreds I flushed away, thousands arrived to yell WTF! They began climbing en masse up the door jams and into the house. At this point there was nothing to do but fight an obviously losing battle.

I tried paper towels and cloth napkins, before settling on old-socks-as-insecticidal-puppets. I began wiping out hundreds more ants around the door--any I could see--in order to staunch the invasion.

It started getting ugly--less to the visual sense than to the olfactory. Squished ants release a noxious odor, something like wet-dog, but a solid notch above it on the disguting scale. It would linger around the house all night, perfectly available to newly-cleansed human olfactory senses.

-----

Not sure who won that battle. The flow into the house was mostly staunched, while thousands of ants would continue to monitor the doorstep.

Reinforcements would arrive with the landlord's bait traps the next morning. But not before Polera would make a rash and possibly tragic move upon seeing his prized Hopi Blue Corn overrun with more of the tiny black pests.

Yep, the year's first ear of blue corn from the tall stalk got picked. Purple and white, it looked good upon pulling back the fronds, but in hand a relatively immaturity was more apparent. There may be a few kernels viable for next season's planting. The rest of the plant's months-long efforts will likely lead to but the smallest of snacks.

-----

And so I realize that's how cleansing goes. Flushing toxins brings the vibrational level up. This means more life.

I have way more energy...and all the stuff I haven't had the energy to deal with is up. I get the old car towed for $225...and I need to take the new car in to get the alignment checked. My system is so stimulated that I sleep only a few hours at a given time...and I begin to experience lucid dreaming again after many years. I find out the library has changed its hours from the closed side of the door...and I notice the nice green lawn to sit and journal on for a lovely late afternoon hour.

As we wait for the next moment's episode to come around

gig night

extra extra read all about it
common sense makes a comeback
--Joe Strummer


alright the gig itself is particularly unimpressive

the accordian player calls himself a fragile player
and his tempo indeed wanders about
amidst suddenly forgotten arrangements

while the cafe owner's daughter bangs away
out of rhythm on the washboard

but i am learning to breathe deep
stay grateful for the Louisiana folk music he is sharing
and not give in to the impulse to exit stage left

nor the one to express massive displeasure
at the owner's announcement as we begin
that our evening would be interrupted

by an hour of a folksinger he invited to audition
and who people less picky than me enjoy
including the one billionth rendition of Dead Flowers

after which we have to remix the sound again

-----

it was on the way over
i'd been reflecting on the pleasure
of the ride's lingering moment

my workweek behind me
perhaps my first comfortable one
as i learn to not overwork

driving top-down on the convertible
my bro-in-law left for the year
as he takes off to Europe with the kids

fiddle accompanying me in the front seat
with new gold e-string

as we cruise by the boats on Mission Bay
amidst warm setting San Diego sun
with Global-a-Go-Go rapping on the stereo

meandering along the beachside route
past surfers and taco stands
college girls out for drinks

-----

on the way home
nighttime but still on the warm side of cool
the top comes down again

i realize that while no one else noticed
there were a few moments i was actually playing
long flavorful Cajun double-stop fiddle lines

and now i sit $23 richer
plus the Etouffe to be devoured upon arriving home
still hot and fragrant in the back seat

listening to Bruce Daigrepont
and how the music needs to be played

while salty sea air wafts in

and warm summery smells
remind me of childhood

shared freedom

glimpses of dissipating dreamscapes in three a.m. snooze button time
inspire a foggy moment's attention to the task of recollection
before the day's commute to work

traveling scenes, golden leaves, and most of all
the warmth of cameraderie

with fellow travelers
sharing sensual and emotional bonds
amidst our collective free and flowing lifestyle

-----

i am guessing i continue to process
my relations to the streetpeople
and drifting youth of ocean beach

who have provided both the most moving
and frightening encounters i've had here

the last of which brought me to some inner work
to dissolve enemy images

while my first instinct was to leave town
silent empathy from a safe distance proved inspiringly rich

and along with self-empathy
opened up the notion of belonging

-----

in fact a vision arose from the pain of the encounter
with the guy in the library last week

once i fully experienced it without projection

and that was the suggestion
of a healing space i've already been studying

restorative circles

wherein one can create an informal
nearly anarchistic, temporary
and safe social structure

of fellow humans in the community
gathering as they are willing
in order to right a wrong perceived

or more aptly heal a hurt
in the rift that sometimes arises between people

-----

and when this vision occurred to me
i thought this could be more important
than any of the so-called plans i have

to do this or that in some vague future

especially since it comes from wanting to make amends
for my contribution to another's pain

i don't know if i have the resources
personally to find the support
to manifest anything with it

but i like the journey
the empathy associated with it
has set me on

my heart has opened up
to fellow humans again

and my mind to the notion
that legions of overbaked hippie panhandlers

may be reflecting the very shadows
of isolated materialist urban society
that i find myself on both sides of

and in their aggressive, often drug-fueled
insistence on being noticed
demand something more mutual

than what they have so far found

-----

morning dreams have reminded me

why i have chosen to stay in this town
at least another month:

there is a world we all belong to
in common

and a vision of freedom
that perhaps can manifest

if we but remind each other
of the collective and healing power

of sharing it

in the meantime

Day off. I hope it's okay if I indulge in somewhat unartistic chit chat, as I just feel the need to be heard, as to what's going on for me. Computer's in the shop finally, with a line on a laptop also, courtesy of Rich the accordian player, so soon I will have photo-uploading capacity again. And then I can share images of the first blue corn tassles, and the squash plants overtaking the garden

The first half of last night's gig at Chateau Orleans was for me our best yet, as I get a feel for Louisiana-style accompaniment on the fiddle. The owner was unfortunately in a grouchy mood, and it seems we couldn't play quietly enough for him no matter how much we turned down. I also notice I have less tolerance than I used to for playing long gigs, particularly having a fiddle jammed into the left side of one's neck for three hours. I guess this is one of the reasons I've been so lax in contacting the other five bands I've seen looking for a fiddler

Work at TJ's sucks. Just about every day I have to overcome serious stiffness and fatigue to just get to work. Still, I think, "oh today I'm just gonna smile, move fast, and stay positive no matter what." I imagine that this will create a positive energy field, from which I can begin having more productive conversations about kaizening (improving) the workplace for all involved. This has been a successful strategy at the other stores I've worked at, as people respond to my efforts to improve my attitude and offer increased contributions to customers, coworkers, the business, etc.

And every day, I leave feeling beaten down, barely able to contain my dissatisfaction with the entire situation. There's a pervasive energy that's hard to pin down: a rigidity of roles, a lack of awareness, perhaps due to the captain's military background? Is this the "drama" several coworkers mentioned when I started here? I think also the state of the economy has everyone working their asses off, with no bargaining power. No space to request frills such as a thank you for the hard work, extra efforts, keeping a positive attitude, showing up on time and ready to work every day at 4 am, etc. It has been many years since I've felt so menial

This comes on the heels of daily acknowledgments, empathy and rapport at the Albuquerque store for my work and presence. As I was taking my leave, I received hugs, warm verbal comments of appreciation, for my mentorship of others, and--from someone who had been critical of me in Santa Fe--for finding a really positive workstyle. The unexpected coup-de-gras was a touching outburst of loud applause and ringing bells as I was heading out the door. On both a personal and professional level, it is hard not to think of returning. I could save money paying half the rent I do here, receive better reviews and raises, and get promoted much faster if I decided to move into managing, all the while enjoying each day's work a heck of a lot more

Stimulated by my work experience here, and my general experience of San Diego, I am looking to begin writing treatises on several subjects. The first involves the social effects and subtle dynamics of the presence or absence of "Space for Awareness" in public settings. How does it get reconstituted in the face of mounting economic or ecological pressures to its detriment? How can it even be described or advocated, in the settings in which its very existence is ignored?

In other news, after hemming and hawing, I turned down the prized local community garden spot this week, since I am so lukewarm about the job, San Diego in general, and Ocean Beach in particular. I could easily move back to NM in a couple months, and declare it a victory to have succeeded in spending a couple months with the kids while they were here, and really becoming a part of their lives. I will know more after visiting in September

For now I am taking my time, appreciating the relative stability of things, and allowing the space for things to continue to transform here if they wish to. Maybe I'm still adjusting culturally, and can find growth in the challenges of the work and social interactions here. I also want to give the adventure some room, by going deeper: finding the space for intellectual refection on the local zeitgeist, and by allowing myself to bond with life here more fully

I also want to give my hopes of significant musical expression a chance. Even this thrust offers some ambivalence though: at a recent public pizza-parlor bluegrass jam in Encinitas, I was probably only the fourth best fiddler there out of five! With the increasingly arthritic feeling in my hands (due to daily work stocking grocery, coastal humidity, and probably just injuries accumulated with age), the idea of playing violin professionally looks like an uphill battle

Still people seek me out, perhaps because I am a ballsier player than most--taking more chances to play something unexpected, in order to be musical. As a banjo player once told me, "people might not like what I play, but they usually remember me." Last week, this led to my inciting the formation of a slightly disrespectful alternate jam outside the parlor--risky in that it offends people, affects the main container, and who knows how the cafe's management feels. But the tenor guitar player and I, who thought we were just playing on a break, definitely got some hot playing going--and it didn't want to stop. It's been too long since I've felt that

Now, if I would just be alert enough to do something like having taken off with a woman I met to a dance party she happened to mention, I might very well start establishing a firmer commitment to being here. Maybe I need testosterone injections, or just to commit to the old beer commercial slogan of "never missing a genuine opportunity." At least I have the convertible now to look the look of desperate middle-aged single guy on-the-make

Better blogging soon. Thanks in the meantime for your indulgence