State Street Prophet

When I was younger I thought God lived in the mountains and made his home in the pine trees ~ I knew when I inhaled deeply and smelled that fragrant pine and could hear the crunch of the cones beneath my feet, that I was in his home.

Last December, with the chill in the air and the Christmas lights sparkling, God was walking down State Street. Michael and I had taken a spontaneous trip up to Santa Barbara to buy a piece of furniture we found on Craigslist. But with the holiday spirit beckoning us to stay in town a little longer, we decided to go have a drink. We entered the Canary Hotel ~ ended up at the Chase, dining on Chicken Piccata and Caesar salad. The streets were pretty empty being that it was a Monday night and colder than usual in Santa Barbara. But there was something magical and surreal about the night, you know, like a holiday Christmas movie. The only thing missing was a light snowfall.

We were walking back to our car and crossing the street when Michael saw something in the sky, high in the sky, bright red and green. He called to me to come and see it. I walked into the middle of the street not even looking to see if there were cars coming from either direction and looked up.  It was as if the world had stopped, everything was in slow motion.

I could see the bright colored object in the dark cold sky. All of a sudden we were joined by a man, a black man, Carl, who at first glance you would easily peg as homeless. He held a plastic bag in his hand and wore a bulky coat. He wanted to see what we were looking at. Of course, when he looked up into the sky it was gone. He laughed and accused Michael of trying to get us killed by a car. Accused him of looking for UFO’s.

As we walked back to the curb he came with us. He started saying to me that Michael was a keeper.  That he had a childlike way about him, that he was authentic and real. He told Michael to stay that way and informed him that that was one of the things I loved about him. He kept telling Michael how he was so real and authentic and was original with his childlike wonder. He reminded me again that he was a keeper. He told Michael that I was still analyzing him.

He then turned his attention to me and was quite insistent. “He is not them” he stressed “Quit testing him, he did not do it” ~ he told me over and over again. He went on to tell Michael that the men that had been in my life before had been intimidated by me and warned Michael not to control me. I burst into tears. He had hit a nerve. How did he know anything about us? And how did he know anything about my past or present relationships?

Carl kept saying he had to go, as if he were in a hurry, like he had somewhere important to be. But as soon as he would start to cross the street he would turn and come walking back to tell us “just one more thing.” And one of those things was that he was delivering this message from God. Carl might have made me a believer.

Leaving you here

Early morning, bittersweet.  After a little over a year, today is my last day in Santa Barbara.  At least this time.  I'm sitting here, having my coffee and thinking back, all that has happened since I've been here, the one step forward, two steps back, turning things over in my mind and trying to make what turned into a rather painful ending into an exciting and welcoming beginning. Sometimes that can take a lot of twisting and turning.

So, I'm pretty much packed.  Of course there are lots of loose ends to take care of today.  Like, go by Peet's Coffee and buy some of my favorite Chai Tea.  I know Portland has great tea and tea houses, the Tao of Tea being one of my favorites, but I just need to have one tin of Peet's with me.  Sorting and deciding which things will stay in the long term storage unit, which to take with me in the limited space I will have and adding to the Goodwill bag, moving is never fun.  You would think by now I wouldn't have much left to sort out, but like all good humans, I continue to accumulate.

It's raining here today in Santa Barbara.  That's actually a good sign.  I remember when I lived in Hawaii right after I graduated from high school.  The day I was leaving Honolulu to come back to California, it poured rain.  The locals told me that when it rains on the day you are leaving, the island is crying for you, sad to see you go.   I think the same story applies here.  I'm gonna miss you too, Santa Barbara.  You've given me a lot.  More fun in the 80's than I've ever had in my life, the birthplace of my beautiful daughter, breathtaking scenery that always stay with me, and like San Francisco, I will leave you part of my heart.

Who's your Daddy?

Mosquitoes love me. I don't know exactly why. I always assumed that I had a "sweet smell" from possibly my light perfume, body oils/lotions or just an au naturel plain and simple sweetness that I would exude. But after being victim again this past weekend to another mosquito feeding frenzy, I had to do a bit of research on the subject. Enter Google. While there has been much study done on the subject, one common theory is that mosquitoes are attracted to certain blood type markers that we humans release. Studies have found that people with Type O blood suffer more bites than those with AB blood types because of these odorant markers they emit. And since I have the O blood type, this makes me an especially hot commodity. Even though type O is the most common, it still seems I get bit much more than my fellow O-ers. And here all along I thought it was that I just smelled so good, so sweet, so irresistible, only to find out it is just about the blood, always has been just about the blood, nothing more.

Besides finding out about the O blood type, it was interesting to discover that only the female mosquito feeds on humans (great, like the other side needs any more ammunition about how brutal we females can be), but in momma mosquitoes defense, she needs the blood in order to produce her eggs. We are nothing more than mosquito sperm banks, apparently we have been fathering many mosquitoes without our consent. So can't fault her on this one, we all know how strong the maternal instinct can be.

But for some reason within the last few years my markers must be distinctively higher. I always seem to be the one at the garden party who wakes up with a mosquito injected hangover. I sit at the candlelight outdoor table, trying to be inconspicuous as I swat at my arms, then my ankles (which seems to be their entree of choice) gently pulling down the sleeves of my shirt, and as I suffer in a silence (except for the swatting sound), I patiently wait for the hostess to say, "it's getting kind of cold out here, want to go inside?"

This seems to happen wherever I go. In St. Helena, Sacramento and most recently, Marin County. I came back to Santa Barbara last night with my newly mosquito bitten tattooed legs relieved to know that I haven't seen a mosquito in Santa Barbara since, I can't remember when. The itching was so intense I ran to CVS to buy some Cortizone-10 to help me ignore this mosquito saliva infested annoyance of mine. Ready to call it a night, I applied the gel, put on my pajamas and got in bed to read (okay, I'm lying, to do a little Facebooking), when lo and behold what do I see, a mosquito flying, hovering over me. This can't be! I started to panic, wondering if he came with me in my suitcase, my computer bag, where on earth did he come from? I tried swatting at him a few times, then he was no where to be found. I couldn't go on this hunting expedition all night. I was tired.

Not having access to any mosquito netting, I pulled my covers up to my chin, trying to expose as little of my sought after flesh as possible and hoped that my assumption was correct, that this little fellow, was in fact a fellow. Only then would I would be able to fall asleep peacefully.