Enduring friendship of the heart

Fall of 1971,I was in 8th grade. 13 years old. We were raising money for the music program at Pine Grove junior high, a car wash. I was standing beside my friend Holly when I first saw him, he was leaning down at the drinking fountain when he stood up and turned around I was struck, he was beautiful. Jim was a year younger and in the 7th grade. Holly introduced us and we started hanging out every opportunity we got. Lunch time, after school, weekends. I was smitten and it was mutual. His folks were professors at UC Berkeley, they sparkled with wit and intellect . His mother became a feminist role model for me and being with Jim and his family was like handing a person dying of thirst an ice cold glass of spring water. 

My first dance with Jim was early in our relationship, what a thrill to be together and be able to hold each other among all of our friends. We were both shy and nervous, but it was an absolute rush. The darkened auditorium and the music, slow dancing, the smiles and laughter. Did I say we were shy? We took nearly a  year before we summoned the courage to kiss each other, neither of us knowing more than the other. He made me a beautiful pair of gold and abalone earrings and I took his jeans and covered them with artistic patches of velvet and silk.

During the year that followed I graduated and went on to high school. We drifted and my mother took her life. My life began to dissolve… six months later , my father died in a plane accident. I was 15 and life was pretty much a mess, those days of innocence gone. I moved to another California town. Jim came to see me when I was sixteen. He walked me to the ocean during a full moon and we watched the moonlight on the water. I felt as though his visit was a gift, a magic touchstone to a part of me that needed to stay alive.

Jim and his family then moved across the country to Rhode Island. We wrote each other and stayed in touch. I moved into a tiny cottage away from my family and began attending a Junior college. Jim wrote me a postcard in his senior year, “ I’ll see you when I get out” was all it said. True to his word, he came for a visit and by then we were young adults ready for adventures. We reconnected and dove deeply into each other. Intimacy with him was comforting and felt like home. We went camping up the northern coast of California , slept nights in the park back of my pickup truck, explored the coast and each other. Then we drifted again. 

Jim lived a hundred miles away for a time, I bounced between men and a few women. Jim moved backeast to attend MIT, I met and fell in love with a Canadian woodsman. Jim fell in love with a woman in Cambridge. I got married and so did Jim. I lived in the wilds of British Columbia, Jim was living in sophisticated Cambridge. We had completely different lives. 

My marriage fell apart, I became a touring musician. Jim’s marriage was solid and they had two sons. They were both having promising careers. I, however… was lost.

Years of therapy showed me the reasons for my inability to have a successful first marriage. I dated wonderful solid people and crazy wild people. Then I met Marty, I was forever changed and so was my life. Marty was incredibly intelligent and funny. I was in awe of him . We married and grew an ambitious business, a 15,000 square foot film studio. 

Jim and I reconnected and he and one of his sons came to see us, they stayed with us and we had a sweet visit. I’m not sure if I explained everything about my history with Jim to my husband, he just knew Jim was special to me and that was good enough for him. My marriage was solid, we all treasured our friendship and I was thrilled to have Marty , Jim and Max under the same roof.

Years passed and we kept tabs via Facebook. Marty had an intense medical accident at Stanford. He ended up on a vent with a trach. I didn’t hear him speak for seven months. Our lives had changed and mine was upside down again. I was experiencing terror daily. It was then that Jim came to see me again. I walked out of the rehab facility to see his familiar ambling figure strolling across the parking lot. I melted in his embrace. His presence put me right, to get through the next few years. There is nothing as comforting as an old friend.. We spent a few hours, he checked in and saw Marty and realized the gravity of the situation. There wasn’t much he could do or say, but just having him show up was a Godsend. Another touchstone moment reminding me of the strength deep within. His visit allowed me to summon that one more time.

 Jim went back to his burgeoning career and family. Marty came home. We closed our studio and cared for Marty around the clock. Marty improved for a time, and then began a long decline. He passed in 2016. My friends and family held me close and lifted me. It was a hard climb back,. For the first time in many years I am content with my life. I’m still singing and teaching. Writing songs and creating art. 

Last month I got a text from my old friend Jim, He was coming for a visit. I was so excited at the thought of seeing him again. 

Three days ago I was on stage when he walked down to sit in front. The same smile and heart connection was apparent .When I was done I got that long awaited hug and had a hard time breaking away. It’s challenging to describe how sweet, loving and precious this one human being is to me.The deep resonance that began with the very first sight of him has only grown through these fifty plus years. While it was lovely to introduce him to my tribe and we enjoyed visiting and sharing the other music happening, we both were itching to catch up. We left and sat in front of a fire talking until the wee hours. So much to catch up on, so many of our life stories to share.

In the morning there was coffee and breakfast and more stories, photos of nieces, nephews and grandchildren. A tough farewell and he was gone. My heart is full and joyous. It’s my turn to visit Jim and Sarah in Cambridge. It will not be another decade. Time is precious. And this connection a rare gem. I will treat it as such, as he has shown by example.

This an honest and perhaps the most challenging piece I will ever write.

The last time I saw my mother was the Friday morning before she took her life.

I awoke early...excited to be going on a school ski trip.
When I went into her room I was sad to see something I had not seen before, She was asleep with a bottle of vodka in her hand,  I was 12 years old, I picked up the bottle and put it on her dresser. " Mom, It's time to get up."  I went to the kitchen and ate a bowl of cereal. When I went back to mom's room the vodka bottle was empty and mom was getting dressed. It was dark. 

We went to the station wagon, mom was slurring her words and unsteady. So I got in the drivers seat...I had not driven before and it was a very long winding road to the church. I drove the car, when we got to the church I took my stuff from the car and mom got into the drivers seat. I said " Mom, please take care of yourself "...
I know my mother was embarrased and filled with shame. What I didn't know at the time was that there was a love affair that was filling my parents with guilt and confusion.

I had a good weekend filled with teenage fun. 

The Sunday we got back to the church parking lot many parents were there for the other kids. There was a hush that fell.  My best friend Julie was with me... and others. I remember hearing "they are coming to get you" and I knew something was horribly wrong. When I was on the phone I asked "Can I talk to mom?" Nobody would answer... they just kept repeating "they are coming to get you."

The feelings that engulfed me then stayed with me for years. Nothing would ever be the same.

She left notes for us. 

They were hidden 

.....and found 

.......and hidden again 

........and then destroyed. But I remember finding one and it said : Mommy is going to do something that is going to hurt you very much.... It said more but that is what I remember reading, the rest is a blur. And she was right. It hurt a LOT.

The following beliefs took years to untangle;
Trust nobody
I am not lovable
I am not worthy

My mother was a wonderful, beautiful lady She was loved by so many. She was funny, loving and smart. She was also troubled and plagued by depression. The drinking only enflamed matters. 

What I do know now for certain:

None of her trouble had ANY thing to do with US. 
We didn't cause it and we couldn't cure it.
We are lovable 
We can still have fulfilling lives with great relationships. 
We are NOT our parents
We do not have to repeat our parents mistakes. 

When I first met Marty Collins I knew. I knew here was a man of integrity. And that had appeal. He was rugged, handsome and smart. He was also somebody you didn't mess with. (story to come later). I like that, I recognize a scrapper because... I am one.

My boyfriend Paul, introduced us. We talked in the lobby of Marty's film studio. He was wearing denim and sporting a ponytail. These are a wicked combination
 (for me) on any day...combined with a quiet thougtful demeaner and a gentleman's blue eyes I was intrigued. (never mind that he was a surfer and had a good solid frame) I thought I was in love with Paul so my thoughts regarding Marty were put away.
Forward a year...Paul was off with gal number 2 and I was working on my music. I was thinking that a song penned by friend Lacy J Dalton was worth a video, so I looked Marty up. Would he help me? We spoke and started a plan.

We worked together on a gorgeous video. One day while scouting locations we all rode horseback up a mountain to look out over a beautiful scene. Marty could ride, as well as any, but never spoke of his past. I look back at that day and really ... It was the beginning of my love affair with this brilliant, funny, kind and all too generous man.

He put together a crew and a list of shots for the song I had recorded and we began. He was tireless and creative. The crew he brought was wondrous. I watched in wonder as he pieced together every scene. The last shot was set on a hill overlooking the ocean at sunset. I was riding a thouroughbred on loan and we were all pretty tired. But we were having the time of our lives. Marty Collins could make a beautiful moment come from anything. We got the shot of me riding into the sunset and that horse kicked me hard after and we all laughed and called it a day.

He told me later " I thought you were too bossy" because as we worked together I was direct in my requests. He then realized that I was orphaned at 14 and was the bandleader of five guys on the road for 5 years. Marty came to understand and appreciate the leadership quality that brought and no longer thought of it as " bossy".  Boy what a guy! I was so fortunate. I know that when he asked me to marry him...when he chose me, I became one of the most fortunate women ever. Of course I didn't know it then...I had to think about it for 3 weeks until I said yes.

I said yes. It was the beginning of a true romance. We would dance in the living room when the lights were low. We would travel together and love every moment. We would bury his daughter, friends, family and beloved animals. We would work side by side in a business he loved. And when fate decided our time was at a close...

We were together, quietly looking at our time together. Realizing that we were beyond grateful for the time we had together. Out of all the billions of souls...
We had found each other
And we had made a life together
❤

There is great Love for us
There is a love for you beyond what you imagine

There will never be another Marty
Ever

I will see you in my dreams
I will see you in every single dream
Thank you for all you are
And all you were
And every single dream you ever made come true

For ever and always

Your wild rosehttps://youtu.be/SikrNw5T488

Fortunate One

Born in the late fifties, our generation had a sense that there were trappings within the materialistic life. Only people born with a certain comfort might have the audacity to turn our backs on it... to think a "Back to the land" movement was romantic. Gypsy clothing, bright colors, home made homes, cabins, music, food and lifestyle were honorable, hand hewn from our own creativity. Or so we thought.

Riding the bus to school was a rather interesting study in contrasts. Certainly living in Orinda, we knew we didn't live in poverty. However while on the bus we could see how people with generations of money lived, generations with LOTS and LOTS of money. Hidden among ancient oaks, these spanish style estates dotted the perimeter of the Country Club life and it's sprawling golf course. These are the families whose sons would be invited to the Bohemian club. The daughters grew too beautiful for words and in the meantime wore the shortest tightest clothes in their tennis or cheerleaders outfits. Perfectly tanned arms and legs and teeth so straight and white they were blinding. If they were kind like Julie Eldridge we loved them if not, we hated them, albeit secretly. Not a good thing to publicly hate anybody rich or popular.

Alternative lifestyles of the rich and famous

By the 70's the hippest friends were getting high and beginning to steer away from any neat and tidy futures planned for them. The Vietnam war divided families, generations could not agree. A few guys left for Canada, the fortunate ones were deferred. My generation hated the war and the machine it stood for. We were the long haired, patchouli laden, patchwork covered flower children taking to the streets and then back to the land. By 14 both of my parents had died and when asked how I felt if my brother went to Vietnam, by a counselor, my reaction of tears was enough to get my brother out of the war, the only male left in the family. 

We leaned into music. Stephen Stills had penned "For what it's worth", Joni Mitchell gave us "Woodstock" Jimi Hendrix showed us his experience, the Dead were gathering the tribes. "White Rabbit" was not just another fairy tale. My brothers close friend, Xandor, had a recording studio in his parents garage. My brother was part owner in it's initial start. As a result I spent all my spare time soaking in the subtleties of an underground scene. We spent one night in the mobile van in Berkeley recording Jerry Garcia and David Grisman. (Of course I had no idea, at the time, what I was listening to, or the historical significance of that night.) My brother and I played music hours on end learning guitar and singing was a lifeline for me. The idea of living in a home made house in a community of like minded souls seemed like a sweet fantasy.

This has been a long and winding road. I spent years in Canada with my first husband in a small home close to a mountain creek with water that tastes like heaven. My brother and sister are married to Canadians and live there today. I walked beside the ocean this afternoon looking at homes I know now that I can never afford to live in and look back at a financial legacy squandered. This life is for learning, I have few regrets. I have loved and been loved and I have smarts enough to be able to take what's left and live a good life. Would I make different choices? Perhaps.

Somebody once said that our true wealth lies in our relationships, if that is true then I am richer than most.

Swimming through our Lives

Here we are, 2 months into a new year. 2018...if I still had checks I'd be used to writing the 18 instead of 17. The daffodils, paper whites and narcissus I planted in honor of friends and family members have come up, the front lawn is green and needs mowing, the back yard has roses blooming and is ripe with the promise of spring.

It will rain tomorrow and I look forward to hearing and feeling the rain...knowing that spring is coming soon. (That is not the case when the rain is in it's fifth day in the dead of winter.)

Watching changes...

With any observance of time I feel the loss of others. My friend Jayme lost her battle with cancer months ago, February 4th was the two year anniversary since my beloved Marty left us. My beautiful vibrant cousin Harriet has always been my idol. She is highly educated, thoughtful and has lived her life to the hilt. She has traveled the world over, had a thriving therapy practice, raised children and managed her many properties as caregiver thinking of the next generations. She is now in her eighties and is moving from their beautiful 3200 square foot estate to a retirement community apartment of 1200 square feet. It has affected me deeply.

When I turned sixty I began thinking much differently about my life. My husband had died and for the first time in my life I was in a position to make different choices. That leaves me in a very strange place. What do I mean? I have decisions to make so I am open to options. 

I look at a lovely cabin in the woods close to the ocean and private. A few years ago it would have been ideal...but now I don't think I would like to feel that isolated. That is a new feeling for me. 

I want to find love again, but when I look at the reality...do I REALLY want to be tied to somebody? 

It's not that I feel frozen, however I am not the person I was in my 30s, 40s or 50s. Choices have a trajectory they change our futures. Some of my choices in the past led me to wondrous places, led by my heart I had glorious, as well as horrific outcomes. So now I find myself really pondering my decisions.

I am looking at community more than anything else. I am looking at my family connections. They are the threads in the tapestry of this life. My family holds me, my creative family holds me. When life unraveled and I felt completely un-done they held the candle in the dark, they talked to me, held me and lifted me. I would not be on this earthly plane without them. It is the only lesson taken from the mess that I have been able to surface from. I feel as though I have been underwater swimming to the surface up to the light and up to where I can breathe and...LIVE. Authentic foundation is built on these connections. Yes, spirit is there, and it reveals itself on this earth with my worldly angels.

What this means is that I am now seeking either co-housing, an eco-village or perhaps even a mobile home park eventually. 

Here is a thoughtful article for you on co-housing:

https://www.huffingtonpost.com/kathy-gottberg/is-a-cohousing-community-_b_9535380.html

A summer ritual that pulled like the tide. North to Canada following the geese. Good enough for them... when I would hear them it was soon time to depart California and the madness of the highways gnarled with tourist traffic.

From the time I was a child it was inevitable that the family would transfer North. The land of bears and Mosquitos ...and.... 

wilderness and freedom. 

As I got older when classes were done I'd get the inner calling. My brother had moved to Oregon by this time. He'd built his cabin by hand in the woods. We were back to the land reading the Firefox books and singing Joni Mitchell and Crosby Stills and Nash.

And then when the time was right I fell in love with a gorgeous woodsman and moved to Canada to be with him. The travels North and South continued. The Northern gentleman and I married then parted.

My musical travels continued North and South. A van with me and the boys. Late nights long hours on stage and on the road.

Then...I met the man who would change my life forever. We married and continued the travels. He loved our Canada, we saw the grizzly, the wolf, the bear... the Northern Lights.

Now...he is gone to the other side, yet today...he travels North with me.