The Secret Garden Cafe

Let me paint you a picture. I am enjoying coffee in my garden, what I have come to call The Secret Garden Cafe. It is a remarkable place, a haven, a refuge. Considering how I live, what I own and do not own, my garden is a masterpiece.
Sunlight is streaming in and held precariously by the sheltering fence. Raindrops from a thunderstorm still hang like dripping honey on every leaf and bloom. The fragrance of an old fashioned rose bouquet rises, mixing with the rain-fresh air and the distinct aroma of Geranium leaves. I see a jumble of flower colors and various shades of greenery. The textures and play of leaves, blooms and decorations are endless and entertaining.
In my hand I have my favorite cup, my only cup and the first slow sips of strong, hot and sweet coffee remind me of the fertility of distant lands; earthy coffee, molasses-rich brown sugar and smooth cream. As I sip, I observe; listen to the early morning bird chatter and smell the various fragrances. My senses are filling without demanding anything of me. It is quiet in my mind.

It's Plane to Sea

I don't remember the Naval Air Guys this busy in a long time, if ever. Soaplady commented about the nightly practice on this blog and she is right. They are logging in the night flying hours like never before.
Currently we have the biggest build-up of Naval forces in the Mid East since 2003. This is not just a co-incidence, there are plans afoot.
If you think that the Military Occupation of Iraq is fun, you will be ecstatic when the Decider announces the Picnic in Iran. I'm bringing the Bug Spray.

The Secret Garden Cafe

I am having coffee in the Secret Garden Cafe. It is a place that I discovered recently. It features birdsong and flower blooms. It is enclosed and out of the way. Very few know about it.
Which is why I am the only customer on this Wednesday morning. The coffee is good. It is self-service, right now. I do not see any barrista.
Of course, I miss Gretchens Cafe. I miss the dogs, mostly. Damn.

Yesterday I got a couple of Mental Health hours with Lucy the Dog. Gretchen called to ask if I wanted to spend two or three hours dogsitting Lucy. I got exited. I planned. Lucy and I went to Mary Hedlins. Paula, Marys' helper, asked: " where we are going to get good coffee?"
I tasted the swill she had. Atrocious. Horrible. Vile. Wretched. These words came to mind. I am being kind by not including the more colorful words that came to mind.
Lucy and I went gleaning. I picked a bag full of lambsquarter, which is a highly nutritious weed that grows in abundance in the field next to Marys' greenhouses. Lucy ate grass. With a basket full of flowers to plant and a bag full of greens, Lucy and I went home. I was riding my bike since without the bike Lucy would get impatient with my pace. Slowpoke. Slug. Second coming. She was careful and stayed close by. I was worried that she might run into the street and get hit by a hurried car.
The greens I spread out on my bench to dry for the winter. I cooked some volunteer cabbage plants I found and ate that for breakfast, with rice and beans from last night. It was a feast.

Wasting No Time

Yesterday we had a summer storm. Just turned summer and bloomed a storm with honest rain and thunder. I left my door open and listened to the thunderbooms and insistent drumming on the roof of my trailer. The smell of rain and flowers; the associations in my mind, of tropical rainstorms with endless capacity to pour. Of blazing electrical displays on an Oklahoma evening, rain so warm and heavy that even the bath shower has nothing to brag about.
I was at the last day of the cafe, Saturday, with about a hundred people. I was sad and happy at the same time. My first cup of coffee I made for myself on Sunday morning was surprisingly delicious, exotic and rich. Sunday I spent mostly by myself. I am still re-orienting. The routine of going to the cafe, every day, broken. I am glad and satisfied. I know that in a week I will start to miss it terribly.
Right now, I do not miss it. I am looking at a compass, a new direction. I used the cafe to become social. I was allowed a great deal of leniency in my way of behaving. For that I am grateful and indebted. I consciously balance what I can with my insistence. I try to give way and to be considerate. Not all the time, mind you, but a general balance. Some people I can't stand next to and it shows. I withdraw or become strident. I sulk. I don't have a lot in common with many people. I don't give a shit about sports, so sport-talk is totally lost on me. Same with pop culture. I just could care less what was on TV or in an entertainment magazine. And I will let you know that, in no uncertain terms.

It feels good to feel good

I have been doing a course of brain training that Joan Cross is offering. She has been very kind, deferring cash payment for work-trade. Now, the course is not affordable (for me) and yet it is a bargain. So far, I have a few salient points without being subjective. As you know, there is a vast gulf between objective fact and subjective tendencies. Objectively, twice I became as relaxed as I ever remember being. After my 16th session, I felt really good. Really, really good. My mind was functioning extraordinarily well. I felt uncharacteristically happy; I admit that is somewhat subjective. At times, during the one hour sessions, I experienced wonderful vibrations or waves coursing through my body, akin to shivers or goose bumps. I am taking a week break and then will finish the course.
These new technologies and tools promise something extraordinary. We can learn, in a relatively short time, what a Tibetan Monk might take years to acquire. It is wise to explore these new possibilities.

The Robin on the Fence

This year I have been watching birds. Not like a hobby or an obsession. It's because of that Robin, the one that has a nest in the fir tree that hulks over my trailer.
The other morning my friend Pat and I were chatting in the secret garden when the Robin flew around the corner of my trailer and briefly landed on Pat's head. She then skipped up to the top of a rusty metal plant stand. I saw a flash of fur on the ground, out of the corner of my left eye. The Robin flew down after it. It was a squirrel! She chased the squirrel out of the yard, under the gate, while she flew over the gate to continue the chase. Pat and I looked at each other, mouths in an "O" shape, as if to say: "Did ya see that?"
I had noticed that the top of the fence, which was a squirrel freeway before, had become the sole transit for the Robin, on her way to the nest after having found two worms for her chicks. Always the same routine. She lands on the fence with a Thunk, looks around, cuts the corner and skips, hops and scoots down the fence line. Waits for a few seconds, then leaps up and flies out of sight. This has been going on all spring long. Her chicks must weigh 90 pounds by now.
I understand why the squirrels no longer use the fence for a road. I had hoped that they had relocated to a better neighborhood. I don't like squirrels. They eat the birdseed that I put out and chase the birds away.
The Robin and I are buddies now. She is my secret ally in the war against the squirrels. I day dream about slighshots and wire snares. She acts.

Provincial Mentality

The San Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert work about three hours a day to make their living. Their environment is harsh, with few resources. The rest of the time, they socialize, sing and party. How is it that they have such a leisurely lifestyle, living in such a difficult environment? Chew on that one for a while, if you have teeth. If you don't, I will chew it for you shortly.
Although I am not widely traveled, I grew up in Europe, spent some time in the Orient and traveled extensively in Mexico. I have lived in a number of places. As a result I have experiences that give me some where to stand to notice differences in how people live. I have had the pleasure to be in the presence of truly remarkable Individuals, who appear as ordinary as any taxi driver, carpenter or waiter. Especially in Mexico, where the population tended to be well educated and open minded. I learned a lot about deep politics of the U. S. from the Mexicans.
Recently I have been reading a wide range of subjects, due (in part) to conversations I had with two lucid Mexican men, who clued me in to the fact that I had been lied to (at best) and mentally lazy (at worst, which is my opinion, as they both were far too civilized to point it out). I had soaked-up the popular (American) view of how the world works. It is a fable, a myth and pure propaganda. As such, I have had the onerous task of re-aligning the myopic outlook of a bunch of self-righteous, know-it-all, dis-educated village idiots, that just howl like bad brakes in a freeway pile-up, when their truth is threatened.
I am reminded of one individual, in particular, who was unabashedly proud of his lack of discernment. Nothing you can do or say with one of these; not even neutron stars are that dense.
Which brings me round to the San bushmen. They have nothing. No money, no oil or water, nothing. They need nothing. Their lives are in perfect harmony with their environment and has been so for at least 50,000 years. If they have to change, it will be to adjust to Western Culture, which will bring progress and diet Coke and alcohol to improve their lives.
The U. S. is bleeding money. There is not enough for stuff like pay raises, infrastructure and education. People are working more and more and getting less and less. Inflation is raging. The rats are eying each other and picking out the weak to eat.

Crap, It's Happening Already

I went to the grocery store in search of the Magical Fried Chicken, bought some and ate it. Flavor-less. The whole town is flavor-less today. I have been reflecting on how something missing, like the Cafe, will change my whole-town view; how La Conner is bleaching out for me, shrinking. It is a matter of attitude. The slightest shift in viewing angle that changes totally what is perceived. Yaaaaahhhhhhh!! That was a scream of lament.
So now what. I thought about wretched places in Mexico, abject poverty apparent to all, yet there was a spirit that reigned, a royalty of life that made me cherish those places. Who knows, I don't intend to romanticize poverty and deprivation, nor impoverish romanticism, nor deprive anyone of Poverty---.
I have been thinking about the courage to live life. I confess, I am a coward. I admire, for example, Annabelle, who is just brimming with life. I envy the ease and familiarity with which she, unabashed charges into the fray. I am held back by my own studious gravity. It is insulation, for I am above all frightened by my own nature. Even the good stuff, the golden shadow, is unbearable. There you have it, that is my confession. Just a little boat drifting on a vast inland sea, without direction and purpose.
And yet, there is something else, undefined, vague and shrouded. It glimmers.

My bike is smarter than I am

Yesterday we talked a bit about the possibility of consciousness in inanimate objects. As usual, I took the side of the inanimates and damn if I didn't, once again, hang myself off a steep cliff with barely a toehold and a fragile rootlet to keep from plunging. Everybody knows that machines are just machines, rocks are just rocks and don't got no brains unlike most Hummins. We didn't bring up the subject of plants, as it is fairly well established that they know a lot more than we give 'em credit for. Somewhere in my brain there resides a file where I have stashed data on the subject, but my retrieval process was compromised yesterday and though I had considerable proof for doubt on the paradigm, I just couldn't argue effectively.
Today, the problem of retrieval persists and the usual cure (caffeine) is not working. I might have had a global erasure of the file, which is frightening as it represents years of squirreling-away useless information. So now I need to start over. My first bit of data will be the subjective notion that my bike is smarter than I am, based on a incident that happened Wednesday night.
It was Open-No-Mike and absolutely wonderful. My alcohol consumption plan allows for nearly unlimited drinking on Wednesday so I ended the evening with a thorough saturation of my body with wine. All that to say I got drunk, hum. Obviously the word stupify is appropriate.
Riding my bike home at One AM on a wet street, I did fine until I tried to negotiate the first corner. I am not sure what happened, but I went down. Now here is the meat of the matter. My bike was smart enough to land on top of me, unhurt, unlike Mr. Stupid. Some naysayers would argue that one occurrence does not prove a trend. I have to agree.
It happened twice. I got back on and sure enough, crashed again and once again my bike deftly hopped on top, actually pinning me to the wet street; as if to indicate that I should stay grounded.
Looking at my bike the next morning, I noted no damage. I on the other hand, suffered several injuries. I rest my case.

I got a job!

Damn, I am moving into the mainstream, I got a job! (Disclaimers on pages 2, 3, 7, and 19) In the spirit of truth, it is not much of a job, but it is regular and it brings up resentments and even though I don't have to punch a clock, I have to be somewhat punctual and reliable. Needless to say I have managed to wrangle my way out of those limitations and am solving the problem of actually having to do more than collect my pay. I will keep you updated as brilliant notions come to mind.

For those of you that are living in parts far away, you will be happy to hear that we are back to our usual weather pattern; the drought has lifted. We hope that the 23rd will be anything but rainy, as that is the last day of the cafe (it rhymes). Big party, bring a dish, as in Potluck. We are taking to the streets on this one.

I am in denial about the cafe closing. It will hit me on the 24th, when I will have to go in search of coffee in a wasteland of plastic ersatz. It will give me the chance to practice some obscure mental art, similar to the miracles attributed to Jesus. Turning water into wine would be easy compared to transmuting some of the swill surreptitiously sold in other places. (Notice the use of Alliteration in the last sentence. I am very proud of that!) OK.

Weather or Not

It's got to be a small town when I am going to write (once again) about the weather. Of course, I could write (again) about metaphors or other abstractions, things which do not exist in nature. Hey, how about if I combine some stuff and write about weatherphors!!
Winter did an encore yesterday and I was digging up my December wear. Got me to poetrizing.

Although it's not snowing,
I just have to say,
A chill wind is blowing;
It's a two sweater day.

I was wearing two sweaters until things heated up at Open No Mike. It was a good one. We had the place absolutely packed. SRO. Some guest musicians did a couple of songs and damn they were good. The whole evening was just exquisite.
It is the best happening in La Conner. I am very glad that the group will continue and will become, I hope, a lasting phenomenon. I desperately need that. (So do you, dear reader and fellow Human.)

Best Place to Shop in L.C.

I was real grumpy one day last week. It was so obvious to me that I could neither ignore it, nor deny it. I was doing what I usually do, displacing air at the cafe. Listening to the usual people, the usual talk. I did real well by keeping my mouth shut. Finally I had had enough. I needed a change of venue. I went shopping at Mary Hedlunds' Greenhouse.
Now, there are people in this world that though not evil, are certainly a couple of weeks beyond the pull date. Mary is at the other end. Too easy to love. No trace of meanness, not even the slightest hint. What a sweetheart.
Sure enough, after a few minutes she had me out of my grumpiness. I pedaled home with my heart light and singing. Bless you, Mary.

Your Real Bank Account

Don't get me wrong, I understand full well how important the Ka-Chink is. I'm talking the Palm-Grease, Baby; what makes the world go HO-HO; that which we dream of, which we count dearly.
It is a great tool, if you got it. Most that have it got it from their parents. Some have a lot of it due to innovation, usually in the form of some kind of trickery. I am thinking of the Catholic Church, which co-opted the good will of Paganism to amass a hoard from the herd. Bill Gates got his not by producing an exceptional product, rather by suppressing good innovations. Need I mention the record-breaking profits of the oil companies over the last two years?
Those that don't have it, about 98% of the world's peoples, have to make do with what they can-can. So far, we in La Conner, and most of us in the US, at least get to eat. Some places, food is scarcer than money.
Hard to be spiritual if you are starving.
So for those that have water, food and shelter but lack the pure mojo to jet-set, what to do?
I am reminded of a little boy I knew, the nephew of a girlfriend, who was being punished by having his toys taken away. Wasn't long before he turned his hands into airplanes, cars and guns. I realized that, in effect, the lack of toys built his imagination. Astronaut training, in other words. Builds character.

I'm a character!!

Shun security and convenience! Put your moola into the Real Bank Account.

My Patio

For White Trailer Trash, I have a very nice patio. I consider it to be the hidden jewel of La Conner. Of course, secret gardens are by nature difficult to find, so I am hindered in my research.
I used to wear only black clothes with bright undergarments. Somewhere in my psyche resided the precious self that I (careful!) manifested.
A friend visited me yesterday evening. We shared beer and talked. It was a marvel. Each place lends something different in the way of communing with friends. Some places only arid sand, others fertile, vibrant and generous, so that even the dead stick comes to life and bears fruit. It is the set and setting, the lead-in (for the joke) that determines the outcome. Just as the street magician carefully prepares the trick, so to appear seamless and natural, the outcome is predetermined and flawless, misdirections and all. In that is the magic. After the set-up, the results are guaranteed.
I was thinking (and talking ) about the lie of "convenience". How we sell out to the bastards in the name of more and better and get tasteless plastic poison instead. I am as lazy as they come and for me, convenience is, well, convenient. I might as well swat myself on the back of the head, for all the sense I ain't got. We save time to waste it on something no better than watching TV.
Stay tuned!!