Monthly Archives: October 2024

Autumn Musings

The calendar hints at the nearness of my seven-year anniversary as a Delta resident.  I feel the passage of time.  Milestones slip by.  A former spouse dies; my son visits; my oldest brother and his long-time partner marry.  Muscles and bones ache a bit more each morning.

The heater in my tiny house kicks into gear with its humming motor.  I had not even realized that the dial sat just at the edge of activation.  A glance at the small house thermometer confirms the seeping sear of cold around me.  Soon the Delta winds and the biting rain will grip our island.  I gave away my rain coat in favor of a long black silk thing that a friend passed along.  I have no idea if it will repel water.  But I anticipate looking like Alice B. Toklas as I wrap a scarf around my neck and pull a felt hat over my brow.  Pity that I’m straight.  I could play opposite Gertrude Stein quite well, though only in the grey of winter when I could layer folds of flannel and wrap myself in wool.

The carpenter who moved my house to California brought it here on the 10th of November.  My vehicle and I arrived with bags and baggage five weeks later.  People keep asking me, how long have you been here? and now I must admit:  Seven years.  It took me twelve more months to close out my cases in Missouri and stay full-time.  But I will always think of autumn as my anniversary.

The egrets herald the impending arrival of the cranes and geese.  I’ve seen that first flock, sweeping high and wide across the steely sky.  Their raucous song reaches me long before the sight of them and I stand, mesmerized, as they ride the air.  My feet seem to be welded to the cold ground beneath them.  Envy rises in my breast.  Earthbound, I can only guess at what they see from the loft that carries them.  I watch as they move into the middle of the island, where I know they will settle for the night.  As the golden rays stream across the horizon, bright against the trees and the roof of our marina, I sigh, and take myself inside.

It’s the thirtieth day of the one-hundred and thirtieth month(fn) of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.

(fn) There have been a lot of entries over the years in which I have misstated how long my quest to live without complaining has been.  I started on 01 January 2014.  It is now 30 October 2024.  That is 10 years and ten months — making this the one-hundred and thirtieth month.  My apologies for any times when I have misstated that duration.  I lost at least three years along the way:  2014 and 2015 nearly undid me; and we all lost 2020.  But I officially calculated the duration at my favorite site for doing so and I can confirm its accuracy.

In Case It’s Not Apparent

A customer in the shop today asked how long I have been in California.  I glibly answered, Oh, just a few years, as an explanation for not knowing the location of his home town.  After he paid and left, I found myself frozen for a few seconds, thinking, Six.  Six years.  No.  Six and a half.  

It actually depends on how you could.  My house arrived in November of 2017.  The local propane tech connected a leased tank in early December.  The RAV4, a friend, and I headed west on December 17th, and by New Year’s Day, I had taken my visiting son back to the airport from his Help-Mom-Settle-Into-Her-New-Digs-For-Christmas visit.

I spend 2018 flying to and from Kansas City closing out cases.  I tried my last one that November.  Some time along the way, homeless in Kansas City, I got a driver’s license and became a registered California voter. In March of 2019, two months after my Missouri plates expired, I paid for California ones and officially stopped excusing my intermittent trespass to gawk on being from out of town.

But I associate moving here with winter, with the waning of daylight hours and the turning of the leaves.  I lean backwards and strain for the sight of migrating birds as their ruckus precedes them into the airspace over Andrus Island.  My porch has tripled in size from the original one built before my actual move by a long-gone neighbor.  Having arrived without plants as dictated by the guard at the state line, I’ve acquired a plethora of succulents that thrive despite my hapless care of them.  You might say that I’ve settled into Delta life.

In case it’s not apparent, my nesting tendencies did not abate with my move west.  My walls burgeon with paintings, small shelves filled with knick-knacks, and dangling ornaments.  Like the swell of potted cacti on the wood rails outside, my stairwells boast an accumulation of baubles on haphazardly implanted hooks.  I like a cozy house, though recently an urge to purge has reawakened within me.  I whittle away at a list of tasks prompted by the approach of our yearly open house.

So October comes, and winter looms.  Whether I count my anniversary from my house’s arrival In November 2017 or the fateful day  on which I got my picture taken at the DMV in Vacaville, my tenure here stretches past a half-decade.  It feels too late to turn back now.  My only remaining options take me forward, into the undefined last third of my life.  I do not know what the future holds.  But the air feels sweet and clean on my uplifted face, and I’ve never had more hope.

It’s the sixth day of the one-hundred and thirtieth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

Angel’s Haven, October 2024. Mural by Alex Loesch, restoration by Rachel Warren of Magical Alchemy Designs, Rio Vista, California

P.S.  One small announcement:  I am the official owner of The Missouri Mugwump®.  It’s been a long journey, made more expensive by inadequate legal counsel (resulting in a chance of representation).  But I made it.  More official announcements at themissourimugwump.com in the coming weeks.