nakedjen

The Kindness of Strangers

Buddha and Stella and I have landed in Salt Lake City and already we're quite aware that we're not in Santa Cruz anymore.  On the very first evening that we arrived, we arrived to a house that was less than 30 degrees.  Not the outside temperature.  The inside temperature.  I had called that morning to check with the gas company that the gas had been turned on and was assured that it had.  However, in Utah all this means is that the gas company has arrived at your house and has checked the gas meter so that they can bill you properly.   They then leave you a yellow tag saying that your gas is now ready to be turned on by a qualified professional. 

Of course I arrived in Utah without any proper tools for turning on gas at a gas line on the sidewalk outside my house in the middle of the night on a Friday evening.  Who thinks to bring that particular tool with them?

So late Friday evening found me introducing myself to my new neighbor, M.  Who lives a few doors down.  And she welcomed me in with a warm hug, listened to my story of woe, and told me to sit down that she had a Christmas present for me!  I sat in her warm living room and admired her really beautiful holiday tree while she disappeared into her basement mumbling something about how sorry she was that her son wasn't around right now to help me with this problem.

When she returned she was carrying two brand new crescent wrenches still in their packaging.  She handed them to me and said, "Merry Christmas, welcome to the neighborhood!"  They were the perfect present.  Especially since they were exactly the right size for me to turn on the gas. 

So I hugged her and thanked her profusely and wandered back to my house.  Turned on the gas and the heat and eventually the house warmed up to 55 before I crawled into bed that night.

The next morning an Animal Control Officer appeared at my door.  Uh oh.  What had I done already?  It turned out that there had actually been a dog bite that had occurred at this property prior to my arrival and he was here to investigate.  I explained to him that I had just arrived the night before and that I was sure it wasn't Buddha or Stella.  He was certain also since the bite had happened on Christmas Eve.  But he needed to follow up because the guy ended up at the Emergency Room.  I explained that my house has been sitting empty since December 1, so perhaps it was someone who was just hanging on my porch?  He agreed.  But then he did something no Animal Control officer has ever done for me before. 

He sat down on my couch and registered my dogs.  Right there.  He said he could do it, might as well save me the hassle, and then I wouldn't risk getting a fine for not having them registered.  And while he was doing it, he also chatted with me about which dog parks were really worth taking your dog to and when and who the best vets were in town.  It was like Buddha and Stella were getting their own welcoming committee.

So I was already impressed with Utah's public servants for dogs, but then last night, I became just as impressed with their public servants for humans.  I had a seizure last night.  Which is pretty rare for me these days, but given all the stress of the last few months and the fact that I've been having panic attacks leading up to this big fat move, I'm not surprised that I actually finally did have a grand mal seizure. 

The thing about seizures and me is that I become extremely disoriented.  And last night found me wandering the streets of Salt Lake City in 7 degree weather in slippers and a t-shirt.  That's all.  That's perfectly acceptable attire for Santa Cruz.  In SLC?  Not so much.  I eventually found myself a tad more coherent, but completely lost, at a Smith's grocery store about seven blocks from my house.  Only I had no idea how I had gotten there or where exactly I was.  So I picked up a pay phone and did what every child does in this situation.  I called my mother.  Collect. 

Thank goodness for mothers whom you can call collect, huh?  And whom you know will pick up the phone and accept the charges?  Even if it is 3:00 a.m. at their house?

She called the SLC police.  Who arrived with two squad cars while I was still on the phone with her.  And they were superb.  I mean really superb.  They spoke to me like a human being.  They were kind and courteous.  They were loving, even.  They found a blanket.  They even got on the phone with my mother and chatted with her about all they were doing to take care of me.  And they called the rescue squad because they were very concerned about my physical health and wanted to be certain I did not need to go to the emergency room.  I elected not to go, so they both drove me home.  And when I got here, they escorted me inside and checked my entire house for me, as well. 

I had been extremely worried about Buddha and Stella.  If I was at the grocery store, where were they?  How had I gotten there without them?

But when we drove up to the house, there they were.  Sitting patiently on the front steps waiting for me.  I am not quite sure why they just allowed me to go wandering away into the darkness in my delirium, but I'm thankful that they did.  And that they waited for me to return. 

Good dogs.

And good public servants of the city of Salt Lake.  I feel bad that I have already taken advantage of their services and I've been here just 48 hours.  But you know what?  If you're going to pick a city service to test, I suppose that's a good one to know about first hand.

My love, gratitude and thanks to each and every one of you who has wished me well and kept me sane along this very difficult journey.  Every step has certainly been easier because of all of you.

It's Just Goodbye

I have close friends who will not even remember that there was another time in my life when I attempted to leave Santa Cruz.  It was shortly after my relationship with Greg dissolved and in a similar "this town just isn't big enough for the both of us" fashion, I was taking the dog, Clyde, the things that were going to fit in my backpack and I was moving to Santa Fe, New Mexico. 

I quit my job.  There were various farewell parties for me.  I really felt mentally prepared to leave.  Greg had pretty much taken everything that we had shared in our lives together so I really only did have the dog and my backpack and a lot of books (what is it with me and the books?) but I truly believed that I was moving to New Mexico. 

And then, a few days before I was supposed to get on the airplane to fly away, I called Lynda in Bonny Doon.  She is the mother of Pilar, and one of my dearest friends, as I have been a part of their family since Pilar joined their family back in 1992 and I joined them, too.  I told Lynda that while I knew I was leaving for Santa Fe, I kept finding myself rearranging the furniture in the cabin on their property.  The cabin that they had for their live-in nanny.  The cabin that had just the day before been vacated!  Would I like to have it?

Well, that, my friends, was an 11th hour reprieve.  At the same time I learned that Greg was moving to Boulder, Colorado and so I decided that I would stay.  Here.  In Santa Cruz.  My little gem of a town by the sea.

I had dinner with that very same family last night.  They live in a different house now.  A house that doesn't have a cabin for me.  I also now have two big dogs and while I know, deep in my heart, that if I truly needed to they would figure out a way to make it work so I could stay with them, I can't ask them to do that.  Pilar is about to go to college.  Alexander has his own apartment in San Francisco.  But it is a testament to our love for one another that when I called them with my news about Dave's "I'm done" ultimatum the first thing Chuck said was, "Jen, are you moving back in?" in complete seriousness.  I love them so dearly. 

Our dinner last night was perfect.  It always is, no matter what.  But it was such a celebration of who we all are as individuals and as family.  And I am going to miss them.  I know I have my own real family who happens to actually live in Utah.  But let's remember that I have always said that family is not really the one you're born into, but rather the one that you choose.  I have chosen them.

I have also chosen Chris and Holly.  And they know this.  I had to say goodbye to them and their amazing kids last night, as well.  And my heart ached, literally, as I hugged my dear friend Holly goodbye.  I haven't even known her that long.  But there are certain people on this planet that you just make an instant heart connection with...who just get you.  Who finish your sentences for you before you even start them.  And Holly is one of those people for me.  Her husband Chris is one of my best friends, as well.  No joke.  He will be coming to Sundance, so I'll see him very soon.  It's just goodbye, I know. 

A blog friend sent me this song just a few days ago.  It was written by a woman who was leaving a town she considered home for new adventures.  It very well captures the myriad of emotions I've been having over the last few weeks.  If you substitute Bonny Doon redwoods for the Illinois cornfields, well, you've pretty much got a song about me and this grand journey I'm about to take.  I hope you'll give it a listen.  Consider it my little gift to all of you on the Christmas morning.

I've been told by someone quite wise that life continues.  It doesn't stop.  I think I've been trying to make it stop so I won't have to take this giant leap into the unknown.  But you know what?  I am still breathing.  My heart is still beating quite strongly.  I am absolutely contained in a vessel of love and support.  And I am taking that giant leap and I am trusting that I will land softly.

It's not forever.  It's just goodbye.

What My Head Doesn't Want To Know

The following is excerpted from an email I sent to a dear friend this evening.  I decided it should be shared with all of you, too.

My body is also telling me things that my head doesn't want to know. Back in the late 90's in the dot com boom I was a global marketing director for an international software company.  And I was, admittedly, a workaholic.  I worked insane hours.  And was always on a plane.  And in a different time zone often 3 or 4 times a week.  I logged over 1 million frequent flyer miles in just 8 months.  Really, insane. 

So everyone I was working with in the company was like, "Wow, you're just amazing.  You get everything done, you're always ahead of the game, you never sleep!"  And honestly, this was true.  But at the same time, at night in my hotel room, I'd have these attacks where I was sure that I was going to die.  My chest would become completely constricted.  I'd feel like my bra was too tight and I couldn't breathe.  That my heart was definitely giving out and I was going to have a heart attack at any moment or a stroke.  And then I'd rip my clothes off and be covered in huge welts and hives.  Everywhere. 

And since Monday of this week?  When I realized this is truly my LAST week in Santa Cruz?  I've had all of this happening again.  I can't breathe.  My bra that I'm not even wearing, because I don't wear bras anymore and haven't since I left the corporate world, is way too tight and I feel like my heart is going to stop working at any moment.  And I'm covered in huge welts and hives. 

Back in the late 90's, when this was happening, I kept going to the doctor.  And she was giving me various antihistamines for the hives. And checking my blood pressure and finding everything normal and not even worrying about the breathing thing.  Never once did she say, "Oh dear, you're completely stressed out!"  Never once.

However, once I quit the corporate world in 2000?  I never ever had another attack like that again.  Until now.  Now I am.  And I have to just face it that while my head is saying, "I'm going to Utah and it's all going to be fine..." my body and heart are saying, "I'm leaving Santa Cruz and I don't want to go!" 

The idea of leaving is literally making me break out in hives.  Who would have imagined?  Certainly not I.  But it makes me really sad, truthfully.  You know, I think I'm going to just copy and paste this part of my email right into my blog.   I want the blogosphere to know that while I have said I am "done" with Santa Cruz, I am obviously not.  My heart does not want to go.  It really does belong here in this city by the sea.  This town?  This town is my real home. 

You and Your Dogs Can't Leave Santa Cruz Soon Enough!

I was just walking Buddha and Stella in the dog park.  As I do every day.  As I have done every day, nearly twice a day, since I got them as small puppies.  As you all know, our dog park has become a political hot bed of contrition.  Dog lovers verses Non Dog Lovers, basically.  I fought long and hard to find alternatives for the dogs of our fair city by the sea, but was thwarted at nearly every turn. 

Today I ran into a ranger. 

"You obviously know that your dogs are supposed to be on leash!," said the female ranger to me in a very agitated tone.

"Yes, I realize this, but I also know that to really be exercised properly, I need to allow them to chase a ball off leash.  I have them under voice command.  Buddha and Stella, come."  Buddha and Stella immediately came to me, sat in front of me, and I put both on their leashes.

"You! You are the reason we are having all the problems we're having in this city!," exclaimed the ranger.

"Well," I said, "Then you'll be happy to know we're leaving town very shortly." 

"You and your dogs can't leave Santa Cruz soon enough!" 

Um, okay then.  I suppose that is the answer.  Did I mention we're moving?  I promise, Santa Cruz, we're leaving.  And we won't be back until the well-behaved dog citizens of this city by the sea and their owners are free to run off-leash. 

Give A Dog A Home

It is the holiday season, as we all know.  Who can escape it, when you're blasted with some horrific Muzac version of Here Come's Santa Clause or The Twelve Days of Christmas every where you turn.  Not to mention the aisles and aisles of holiday lights, candies, stockings, and 50% off signs that popped up the day after Halloween.

I actually do not celebrate Christmas, but instead choose to celebrate the Winter Solstice.  The shortest day of the year which marks, yes, the return of the light.  That the days will once again be getting longer.  And that it is only 196 short days until it is time for the Oregon Country Fair!  Get your wings ready.

But that's not really what this post is about, actually. 

It is no secret around here that I am quite passionate about dogs.  Of course we all know that my dogs, especially, hold a very special place in my heart and soul, but that really I am in service to all dogs.  I can't really say no to dogs.  They have a magical power over me and I have been known to get quite passionate about other people's dogs even when it probably would have been best for me to keep my mouth shut.

In fact, this may be one of those times.  But I am so incensed by what I just discovered that I feel the need to share it with the rest of you.  All of you can make up your own minds about this, but I will just say that it truly upsets me. 

There is a movement in the dog community that seems to be screwing around with mother nature in ways that just are not necessarily beneficial to anyone, but especially to the dogs. 

If mother nature had intended Saint Bernards to be miniature, don't you think she would have created miniature Saint Bernards all on her own?  Or had she intended Labradors to be "comfort sized", don't you think that she would have created a miniature labrador that fits neatly in your lap and under the seat in front of you while you're traveling on an airplane?

I can tell you from experience that Buddha fits kind of neatly in my lap and while he does weigh 90 pounds the idea of him being any smaller than he is is just preposterous to me.  He is a big dog because he is meant to be a big dog.  With a big head.  And big feet.  And a big wiggly body that bounces into a room and absolutely says, "Here I am!" 

The folks at Dakota Winds Ranch would have you believe otherwise, however.  They claim they're a small and careful breeder, but after spending far more time on their web site today than a girl who loves dogs should really have spent (as it truly made me so upset that I feel I need to report them, but to whom??) I believe these folks are a puppy mill.  Who are creating a real aberration for multiple future generations of dogs. 

Mini Saint Bernards?  Comfort Labbes?  Mini Aussie Doodles?  Come on, people.  Really.  Let's think about this from the dogs perspective, shall we?  These people claim that this mixing of breeds results in a healthier and heartier dog!  That they're creating new breeds that are better.  They are creating mutts, that is for sure.  But honestly, are we supposed to be paying $600 for a mutt that most likely would not have happened at all if not for the instigation of these breeders?   And I truly wonder what happens to the puppies that do not meet their "miniature" standards when they're born?  Because we know that not all of them are cute and cuddly and tiny in this very odd experiment.  Where do they go, I'd like to know? 

I believe these folks (and the folks like them) should be stopped.  There are hundreds of thousands of dogs sitting in shelters across America who need a home.  They do not have pedigrees (although some of them even do!) and they want nothing more than to be rescued from their cold SPCA cages and taken home to your warm loving home for the holidays.

A $600 minature labrador puppy that can fit in your lap may sound like a good idea on your computer screen, but let me assure you that there are many many more cute puppies at your local shelter that can be had for a fraction of that price that will fill up your heart and soul with love and happiness for many years to come.

Please do not support these puppy mills.  These are not designer dogs.  These are a tragedy to the dog community.  And if we're going to celebrate the dog this holiday season, we should start by putting these folks out of business.

HalfNakedRobin Just Wants To Be A Housewife

My sister, HalfNakedRobin, has placed a very specific advertisement on Craigs List.  She's very serious.  And open to all applicants. 

What's not to love?  I encourage you all to apply! 

I Want To Tell Him Everything and I Can Not

I'm living at Max's house right now.  Max and I have been friends for a very long time.  In fact, I've known Max longer than I have known DearSweetDave.  Max is a very good friend.  Really.  I am grateful to him for sharing his home with me and Buddha and Stella right now.  It's a lot to ask to open your house to me and my two furry friends.

I'm also going through some very tough stuff right now.  I feel like I'm riding a roller coaster that was created by the most demonic of roller coaster inventors and it has every twist and turn and up and down and inside out curve imaginable.  And it also does not have a stop button.  Nor does it really ever slow down.  It just goes and goes and goes and goes.  Even when I'm trying to sleep.  GoGoGoGOGOGOGO!!

Up until that day in October when DearSweetDave turned to me and said, "I'm done," when I was riding an emotional roller coaster like this one, I could always turn to him and at least say, "Oh, fuck, could you hold my hand or ankle or something so I don't fly away?"  I could also tell him absolutely everything.  And he would listen.  Thoughtfully, even.  He really would.  He would listen, people.  He would listen to me talk about all the weird stuff going on in my world and my head and my heart. 

And he would hold it for me. He would hold tight to the string on my ankle and make sure that I did not fly away. 

Perhaps it was too much for him to hold?  Perhaps I tugged at him too thoroughly?  Perhaps that is why he was done?

I won't even begin to guess about that because I haven't been able to get any answers from DearSweetDave that really makes much sense to me. 

I will share this, though.  I miss him.  Right now, right in this moment, I'm going through some really difficult emotional stuff that isn't even related to our divorce and all I want is to turn to DearSweetDave and tell him everything.  All of it.  I just want to sit on the yellow couch and face him and say it all.

And I can not.

And I think that, that "can not"?  That is what currently hurts my heart the very most of all. 

Flying Solo

I am still in Santa Cruz.  I know I said I was leaving.  Suddenly disappearing to the Windy City because I was needed as a doula and that is what doulas do.   Plans changed just as suddenly as they were made.  Well, not quite as suddenly.  There was some very long and hard conversation that took place at the end of one bed of one very wise and dear friend.  Who reminded me that yes, I am a damn good doula.  Perhaps one of the best (thank you for that).  But that I am also going through some heavy duty intense personal stuff of my own right now.  (Oh really??).  And that I might also want to consider that the $500 I was going to use for the plane ticket to fly to Chicago to support my very good friend might be better spent on snow tires or new furniture or dog food in Utah.  Um, yeah.  There was that whole being responsible for myself to think about and when she put it like that, actually had me stand still and breathe and think for a few moments about what I might need, well, I realized that as much as my heart and soul really wanted to be in Chicago to support my very dear friend in a very traumatic time, I needed to take care of me first. 

It was one of the hardest decisions I've made in a long time.  I'm not good at taking care of me.  I am superfantabulous at taking care of everyone else.  If you need anything, anything at all?  I am your girl.  Over and over again.  But this taking care of me?  Not so good at that.  And I am going to have to learn how to do just that.  Especially now. 

Because I am flying solo.

I realized I am without a partner.  This whole trip to Chicago made that glaringly obvious to me because were I still married to Dave, I would have just said, "Dave, I need to go to Chicago.  Now.  Please take care of the dogs.  I'll be back."  And I would have gone.  No questions would really have been asked.

But now?

Now I had to figure out dog care for Buddha and Stella.  And that turned out to be a huge ordeal and challenge.  You would think it would have been easy, right?  I mean I have a myriad of friends in this small little town who all love me and would certainly want to help.  But they all have lives!  And families!  And some of them can not just stop what they're doing to take care of MY DOGS because I need to go to Chicago to take care of someone else! 

Plus, this going to Chicago to take care of someone else meant a plane ticket.  Or driving for three days.  Gas money.  Just money, period.  Money that is now not so easily spent.  Of course when it was OUR money it wasn't just easily spent, either, but it was more easily spent because there was security in knowing that I had a partner.  Someone else to share in the creation of more money.  I knew that Dave would help support my doula efforts, my herbal tea efforts, my holistic healing efforts.  He was my husband, my best friend, my life partner.  He was there.  Just as I was there to support him in all his heart's many many pursuits. 

But now?

I'm flying solo.  So I must be responsible for Buddha and Stella.  And most importantly, I must be responsible for me.  Me.  I must remember to take care of me.  Because I'm the only one who really can.

Santa Cruz Convictions

Because of circumstances beyond my control (well, not truly beyond my control, because I have free will and can make choices and I'm choosing to do this) tonight may be my last evening in Santa Cruz.  Of course I was not planning for this to my last evening in Santa Cruz and I certainly have not said good bye to all the people I wanted to say good bye to properly, but sometimes you just have to hit the road.

In this case, my doula services are needed in the Windy City and this is what a doula does.  She goes where she is needed.  Especially when she is needed in such heart wrenching circumstances.

Again, I wasn't planning to leave so soon.  I was going to be here through Christmas.  Maybe even New Year's.  But now, well, now I am probably leaving tomorrow.

So...

I give you a story that actually happened to me today.  Here in my wonderful Santa Cruz.  The town that drives me mad and that I love with all my heart and soul and fiber of my being.

We have a local ice cream here in Santa Cruz known as Marianne's.  It is good ice cream.  It's not fantastic ice cream, people.  But it is good ice cream.  And it is made here.  Locally.  And I'm all about supporting local products.

Grace had some oral surgery today and requested a strawberry milkshake from Marianne's.  Who am I to deny Grace anything, but especially a strawberry milkshake when she's just had oral surgery?  I know better than to question the requests made when the patient is under the influence of very strong narcotics.  You just nod your head and drive straight to the ice cream parlor.

Which is why I found myself standing at Marianne's this evening ordering a strawberry milkshake.  I am not the remarkable part of this story, however.  Or even the very Santa Cruz part of this story.  It is the other gentleman who entered while I was ordering my milkshake. 

He had brought his own bowl.  Now in Santa Cruz that isn't that unusual.  There are many of us who carry around our own utensils, chopsticks, coffee mugs, and yes, even bowls and plates, so that we do not contribute to the extensive landfill problems that are plaguing our county.  It's not that we're all germaphobes, but with so many folks offering plastic this and plastic that and non-recyclable options, some of us choose to use our own utensils and plates and carry them home to wash them. 

Gentleman with bowl:  "I'd like you to make me a banana split and use my own bowl."
Manager at Marianne's: "We can do that for you, but I need to be sure the bowl is clean."
Gentleman with bowl:  "It's clean, of course.  I cleaned it myself."
Manager at Marianne's:  "I'm sure you did.  But because of our liability issues, would you mind if we ran it through our dishwasher before we used it to make your banana split?"

Gentleman with bowl:  "Um, well, no.  But do you have any other dishes to wash?"

Manager at Marianne's:  "Not right now, no."

Gentleman with bowl: "Then you're going to waste a lot of water just for my bowl and banana split."

Manager at Marianne's:  "Well, yes, I suppose we are.  But we can't use your bowl without being sure it's clean."

Gentleman with bowl:  "I'll wait."

Manager at Marianne's:  "You'll wait?"

Gentleman with bowl:  "Yes, I'll wait.  Until you've got enough dishes for a full load.  I'm not going to have you wasting all that water just to make me a banana split!"

Manager at Marianne's:  "You know we could just make you a banana split in one of our glass banana split bowls."

Gentleman with bowl:  "I'd really like to use my own bowl.  So I can take it with me.  I'll just wait."

And with that, he sat.  And he waited.  I'm guessing for a long while.   It wasn't exactly a busy night at Marianne's since it was December.  And cold outside.  Not like there was a line out the door of people waiting for ice cream sundaes. 

But I had to admire that guy with the bowl.  He's so very Santa Cruz.  Not going to waste water just so he can have a banana split.  And not going to have a banana split that he can't take with him.  And not going to leave Marianne's until he actually gets his banana split, his way. 

That's so Santa Cruz.  Full of wacky convictions that you just have to admire. 

I'm really going to miss this place.  I really am.

Nakedjen Doesn't Live Here Anymore

It's done.  I'm officially houseless.  I am not homeless because I have lots and lots of really beautiful people in my life here in Santa Cruz who are willing to provide me with not only shelter, but to also allow my two black furry friends to stay, as well.  And on top of that, I've got free wi-fi (it is here that I must give a proper shout out to my old neighbors Katherine and Steve who generously let me "steal" their wi-fi over the last two weeks so I didn't have to skulk around to the coffee shops to check my email)!

Today I officially handed over the keys to my house on Taylor Street.  The house that I loved perhaps more than a person should really love a house.  And these last few weeks have been so very difficult for me (and yet cathartic at the same time) as I've literally watched my marriage and the love that made that house my home literally dissolve around me. 

I spent my last night in that house with Buddha and Stella on Thursday night.  We actually slept in what was once the living room on an old futon couch that had once lived in my office upstairs.  It's been difficult for the dogs, all this upheaval.  I know that dogs adjust.  Just like humans adjust.  But Buddha is especially sensitive to me and my emotions so having everything up ended has made him extraordinarily needy.  However, I do know that while we may be bouncing around a bit over the next 30 days, once we're firmly planted in Utah, the dogs will be okay.  They may be a bit cold...these are California surfing dogs, after all, but I bet they'll be sporting their doggles and snowboarding with the best of them before too long.

The biggest surprise for me came today when I handed the keys to the landlords.  They were there showing the house to perspective new tenants all day today and once we were truly finished cleaning out the garage (gah...just more stuff!!) we handed them our keys and made sure they had an address for the security deposit.  But it was in handing them the keys that I realized that this truly was it.  And I started to cry. 

I know that sounds really rather silly to a lot of you.  It's just a house, for goodness sakes.  But Anne, the wife of the couple who owns our house, knew just how very much I loved that house.  How hard all of this has been for me.  And she hugged me and said, "I promise, Jen, that we'll take very good care of your house." 

I do know that a house becomes a home by the spirit and love that inhabits it.  I may have left just a teeny tiny part of my spirit and love in that house, but I promise that my house in Salt Lake City will be a home that is filled with love, lots and lots of love.