I wonder what happened to him.  All of a sudden he’s so sweet and loving. Maybe because he knows he’d be miserable if I hadn’t taken care of him. Losing one of his canine teeth, the fur on his face due to allergies and a sick tummy. All totally unrelated, but he was not doing so well. One would think that he wouldn’t be so lovey – since I made him wear the neck cone for a week.

Im not complaining though, I love my fuzz therapy.

What got me thinking about this was a song I was listening to.  The lyrics that caught me were “If tomorrow never comes, will she know how much I love her… will she know how much I care.. is the love I gave her in the past, going to be enough to last… if tomorrow never comes…”

It made me wonder… Do those that I love really know how I feel? How important they are to me, what they do for me?

My aunt and I laughed about it and quoted some more songs.. “Live like you were dying” was one.

So then I thought about it some more….  I think that it should be important to do that… to live like you were dying. In some ways though, not going overboard.

I want to make sure that my every day actions and thing that I say show people what they mean to me, how much I care. Wouldn’t you like to be told daily that you are appreciated, loved even? It would make my day just a little bit more bearable, pleasant. To know what I mean to someone, to know that they love me, appreciate me and cherish my friendship. Wow.

I think it would be easier to fall asleep at night. Maybe I might stop wishing I wouldn’t wake up.

I hope that in the next few months I can make a habit of this. To let others know how I feel. To be sure that they know what they mean to me. Because there are always those what-ifs….  What if I don’t wake up.

A lot has happened in that time. I found myself re-reading my posts and wondering who that person was. It sure as hell isn’t me now. Or at least I am wanting to think so.

Too much has changed in my life. I wonder if I ever could pick up where I left off in January. I just started writing again this month – after a many month long dry spell. Well, it wasn’t a dray spell as much as there was no interest in writing. No drive. I couldn’t get past the daily thoughts in my head let alone put them down ‘on paper’.  Even though I have begun to change so much as a person I was able to pick back up on a book I am writing about my work. I suppose that is what made it so easy to do so. It is a day to day thing there for me. Every day there is something new to write about. Something to make me laugh, to make me cry or just go ‘eeeewwwiee’.

I have started a new life for myself and my boys. And there are times that I think I made the right choices and times that I wish I had done nothing. The times that I think about going back are few and far between, but there are still there. The depression is still there. The feelings of unworthyness. Thinking that others woul dbe much better of without me.

I know that I have a lot of healing to do. Inside and out. There is so much more than just creating a new life for myself. It is recognizing the abuse I went through. It is not letting anyone walk all over me again. In a way I have become someone new. I wonder where this new life will take me. What will I accomplish?  I know that I will continue writing. And Ihope to continue with my postings. Because I sure as hell haven’t lost my sense of humor.

To a new life… with many new adventures to come.

He climbed up into the pantry and found the catnip. Which, by the way, was double Ziploc bagged.  There is catnip spread out onto the three shelves below and everything on the floor. He shredded the damn bags, flinging the fine powder and leaves of the funky smelling plant all over. It wasn’t a small bag either, mind you. It was like a gallon size Ziploc bag half full. Little stoner. No wonder he has been sneaking in there every chance he gets. No wonder he was crashed out like a friggin rock on the bed last night and this morning. He was stoned. He was stoned out of his little mind. I wonder if there can be permanent damage from that. Like the damn cat is going to be retarded for the rest of his life. Dummy. Even now as I type this, he comes flying into the kitchen like he is being chased by the boys, or the dog, or the other cats – who hate him. Attacking his tale like it’s some kind of evil thing that’s got a death grip on his butt. His Batman identity tag jingles and clinks a bit as he rolls around on the floor. OOOhhh. Now the little fucker is trying to get into the pantry. Oh, what? Did your high go away? You coming down? Leaning against the door, he gives me this pitiful little meow. Then his tail somehow has a life of its own and twitches on the floor. Taunting him, teasing him with a flick and a swish. Suddenly, it’s too much. He can’t take it anymore and leaps two feet in the air while doing a flip. I gotta give it to him – he did catch the end of his tail in his mouth, mid-flip.  Even if his landing lacked all grace and athleticism that most cats have; he landed with a thump on his side. Well, the little bastard is fun to watch, and he is really very sweet; but I will be cursing him while cleaning up that mess.

Maybe I will leave the door open all night and the other cats will smell it. They’ll be in there having a little drug fest. I’ll come down here in the morning and they will be spread out across the floor and the couches. Cracking open one eye and giving a little “meowfff”. As if to say “What’s up dude. I found your stash in the closet, and whoa… It was some good shit.”

Ha, little kitty stoners. I still think it’s hilarious that it has that kind of a reaction. But I really would have preferred to ration his portions.

Even after it all, I will still welcome that little bum into my arms while sitting on the couch.  I love my kitty, even if he does have a drug problem.

Driving up and over Poncha Pass opens my eyes to the beautiful valley.  I can’t usually put into words how it makes me feel.. almost like coming home. More on that later. Lush trees and foliage disappear as you make your way onto the plains. Dry, dusty earth barely allows any growth. Open space for miles in front of you, few trees and even less buildings. Scattered here and there are farms thriving off of springs, trees and vegetation lining the slightly damp earth. To the right, or west, are the San Juan Mountain range far off and in the distance, but still impressive. To the left, or east, the Sangre De Cristos shoot up out of the tumbleweeds like giant rock demons escaping the underworld before being frozen in time by the Gods. It is at the foot of these monsters that the little town of Crestone flourishes, even when it shouldn’t.  People from all walks of life call this place home. From Buddhists to devout Christians to the hippies that Boulder rejected.

A little history, for those that might be interested.  Crestone is a small mining town of about 90 people. Until the early 70′s most residents were without plumbing and electricity.  A woman recently gifted with large amounts of land decided to bring religion to the obvious heathens. Wanting to create a melting pot of followers, she gave pieces of property to Buddhists (Tibetan and Zen) Carmelites, Sai Ma, Shu Mei, Hindis, and some others that I cannot remember at the moment. Each one used the land as they saw fit, building shrines to deities and creating welcoming places for the masses I am sure they thought would come.  I have yet to peruse the different shrines and centers. I’ll be sure to post on that when I do.  Last visit I was able to make a trip up to the Stupa there. The big one. It’s amazing. When I remember the name of it I’ll post it.

Just outside Crestone is the Baca Grande Subdivision. A 500 acre area of subdivisions and grants. Keep in mind this is not your normal subdivision, not even close to a mountain suburb. Unless you count the gaudy displays of wealth and prestige mixed with eclectic rock gardens boasting colorful gnomes, disabled vehicles and retired school buses acting as an addition to a 1960′s airstream mobile home. Monasteries and sacred buildings litter the mountain side. Colorful prayer flags wave lazily in the breeze throughout the area. One home boasts a wall of televisions and straw bales. He calls this work of art “10 good things to do with a TV.”

Alternative building and state of the art buildings litter the subdivision.  Brave new ideas using recylced materials seems to be the norm.  Saving the earth is a part of every ones life out here. My sister and her husband have two businesses, one dealing with dirt and the other energy. Mudcrafters Construction is all about using natural or green materials to build your home, such as straw bale or adobe flooring.   NewGen Energy provides people with renewable energy systems, such as solar or wind.  Their home, when finished, will use only renewable energy.  Fascinating.

People from all walks of life roam the streets of Crestone. Walking by the now closed liquor store a woman might wave at you. The wave is enthusiastic, even though she doesn’t know you. Carefully watch the underarm, the growth of hair there could set world records. In Curts, the local market, be wary. Eye contact might win you a hug with a stranger. A stranger that hasn’t bathed in god knows how long. Avoid this at all costs, as the body odor can somehow transfer itself to you like an unwanted cologne from the JC Penny salesperson. Dreadlocks are abundant, as is the no ‘no diaper technique’- where the baby never wears a diaper. The mom just holds the baby over the sink or toilet every 20 minutes. I wouldn’t want to go on a car ride with them. Lesbians are very welcome, in fact the last town mayor was one. As far as I know there is only one gay man, he must be very lonely….

 Just outside of town, there is a trailer park. Looks pretty normal, until you look into the homes. Just driving by and peeking in the windows you can see altars to Buddha on one wall and Christ on his crucifix on the other. Only here in Crestone can you believe in both and it’s totally ok.

Then there is the campground. Where you can find old school busses, bright silver airstreams and RV’s older than my parents. all trying to stay warm through the winter with the ‘free’ electricity that is offered. One of these days they are going to catch the straw bales under the trailers on fire…. I don’t even know if there is water there, and you sure wouldn’t know it by the people calling it home.

All throughout Crestone and the Baca, there is one common thing. A sense of wanting to make the world a better place. But how they go about it is totally different. I wonder the things they might accomplish should they actually agree on something.

Don’t get me wrong, I have sympathy for those that were hurt in some way. But Jesus Christ people, when will it be enough? When will we be able to turn on the TV and see a happy story, a good economic forecast or open our email boxes to an uplifting story that doesn’t have us choking on the sappy fake lie someone wants us to believe is real.

I wonder why we don’t have pictures of the devastation from the Battle of Little Big Horn or from the Civil War flooding our minds. There are photos as well as numerous artists’ renderings. Hey, even better, let’s send out mass emails of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Let’s do a television series on all the shitty things we have done to other people. Our society’s gluttony of thriving on other people’s misery is disgusting.

It brings to mind a song I like to listen to. ‘Vicarious’ by Tool. I’ve copied some of the lyrics here. If you get a chance, find the rest of the lyrics online.