The van is in the shop in Monterey getting new tires today in preparation for the cross country journey. I get anxious about the expenses, but each repair makes me feel better prepared for the trip. 

I spoke with a wise and wonderful friend, Renee, about how drawing from savings each month to pay expenses weighs on me, and she reminded me that I’m living the dream. I forget sometimes how hard I worked at my high stress (but meaningful) job to be in exactly this place. How each month I wondered if I could continue my non profit job until my planned retirement date,  July 31. Staff changes in the last 7 months resulted in 10 to 12 hour days at my desk. Now, I am a honey bee, traveling from flower to flower gathering song nectar from Threshold Choirs and Community Singing Circles, and gathering nurturing love nectar from family and friends to carry forward. I am so blessed, and so filled with gratitude for the support I have received on this journey. Family, friends, and Threshold Choir members I have never met, have welcomed me with driveways, meals, hot showers, and stimulating morning coffee discussions in our pjs, my favorite way to start the day.  Thank you, thank you, thank you all.

On January 10th, I said goodbye to Oakland and my son, Kel, whose love and support is so sustaining. I leave him knowing that if all goes as planned, it will be a year until we see each other again. I immediately drove south to Morgan Hill, to spend another night at Katie and Rusty’s park like property. As the evening came to a close, Katie played her crystal bowls for me, sending me into much needed deep dreamy sleep. After sharing a beautiful breakfast the next the morning, she guided me on a soul collage journey and gifted me with materials to continue the soul exploration. Then we joined other alumni from the Aromas Threshold Choir for a 10 -year reunion. The gathering ended with a song, sent by phone, to an ailing friend. You have to love the melding of ancient healing circles with the modern technology of IPhones, another ritual started by the brilliant Kate Munger. 

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It was dark by the time I left the town of Aromas (a proud one stop sign town off Hwy 101 between Gilroy and Salinas) and instead of heading to Monterey, as I had planned, I decided to overnight in nearby San Juan Bautiste. My wonder driven van, Wanda, provides the wings to follow such flights of fancy. After catching up with emails at the San Juan library, I searched for a place to park overnight on the street. This is a difficult task in cities where  fear of transient van and RV dwellers, like me, has generated street signs that make it illegal to park between midnight and 6:00 AM. Luckily, friendly little San Juan Bautiste has not posted such restrictions. I am drawn to this historic town of 1,600 people that looks and feels a village in Mexico, a golden place where miracles, art and simple living are possible. In this town, one can imagine that California is still part of Mexico.

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Besides meticulously preserved adobe structures, the mission and the historic park hotel, stable and blacksmith barn, San Juan Bautiste is home to Teatro Campesino.  This award winning Latino theater group was founded in 1965 on the Delano Grape Strike picket lines. They followed Cesar Chavez to farm labor camps where they performed skits dramatizing the plight of the farmworkers on the back of a flat bed truck. Under the artistic direction of founder, Luis Valdez, award winning theater that spotlights the oppressed continues to dazzle audiences here and around the country. At the 50th anniversary party, I overheard the president of Cal State University at Monterey Bay, Eduardo Ochoa, say that he was part of the theater group supporting the farmworker movement in 1965. It makes me wonder what other members of the troupe have gone on to do in the world. Teatro Campesino’s  bilingual Christmas extravaganza, performed in the San Juan Bautiste Mission each year, is a spectacular mix of bi lingual theater, song and traditional dance that includes a cast of talented community members ranging from 4 to 90 years old. The tradition never fails to move the audience to tears, laughter and song.

San Francisco – I joined the San Francisco Choir on the evening of January 7. It is a big group, 30 + singers poured into the large cheery room at All Saints Church, just one block from Haight St. With a focus on singing, the well planned practice left little time for the distraction of side conversations, but rotating song leaders were generous with time to go over notes and timing for each song, as needed. Special events like the annual New Year’s Day sing in Golden Gate Park, a Night of Remembrance that was in the works, and an upcoming  leadership council retreat fuel the high energy of this group. At one point in the practice, the directors asked that the group pair up for a discussion of favorite essential songs (their name for core songs), which they requested be written down to help plan for future practices. The organization was impressive and efficient. It was fun to see the effervescent Sadie, who I got to know sharing a bathroom at the Boulder gathering last June. As with the other choirs I have visited, everyone in the circle had an opportunity to name someone (bring them into the circle) for whom they wanted to send healing song. In a tradition started by Kate Munger, Melanie DeMore’s song, “Sending You Light” is the song of choice for sending this type of compassion.  Beloved choir members Helen Greenspan and Lauren Lane Powell were included in the circle. Lauren’s Sweet Dreams song, one of my personal favorites, was sung in closing. 

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Oakland – On January 8, I joined 4 members of the Oakland Choir and Sherrin Lloyd, who directed via Skype, to sing on Lauren Lane Powell songs, as she requested on entering hospice. Lauren has been very public about her bouts with cancer and her dedication to infusing the chemotherapy treatments with song, dance, gratitude and joy. You can see her singing, dancing and explaining her revolutionary approach to chemotherapy and healing on you tube. The video posted at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFDP7oNsamA, is an example of her joyful approach to healing. 

Amma, the Oakland TC member who hosted us for the meeting, helped with the technical aspects of recording and Sherrin sent Lauren the video of us singing one of the many songs Lauren has written, to which we added personal messages. It was such a privilege to honor Lauren’s wishes in this way with the talented Oakland Choir. Her joyous spirit will forever shine. 

Peninsula – I drove to Portola Valley to practice with the Peninsula Threshold Choir the evening of January ninth. It was great to see Ellen Rose again, whose commitment to the choir included website master for most of the 11 years I have been with the choir, with lightening quick responses to all of our questions. Big thanks to Ellen for making time for me to teach “Duerme”, a song I wrote and Ellen scored for me in 2013. The chair was utilized in the practice with a focus on blending voices by listening to each other and getting feedback from the person in the chair. This choir has really mastered the blend and their beautiful blend sounded like one voice during my turn in the chair. I also noticed that the lyrics of the songs took on a different meaning for me when received as opposed to sung. This was a good reminder how valuable the chair is for at practice. The Peninsula choir traditionally closes practices with a rousing version of “Kinder”.

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Aromas Threshold Choir Reunion –  Members of the Aromas Threshold Choir agreed to meet with me on January eleventh to catch up and sing. Aromas is my mother choir, introducing me to the Threshold repertoire and culture of kindness. It took a full year of weekly practices (and 45 minute commutes) to learn enough songs to start a Threshold Choir in Pacific Grove, and I am so grateful for their patience and support.  Members of the Aromas TC, the Santa Cruz TC, and Kate Munger, showed up to help kick off the PG choir in April 2009.  For the past few years, I have seen my Aromas mentors only at All Choir Gatherings. For this occasion, we gathered at Linda McCue’s house (who’s birthday we celebrated), with Joan Linton, Katie Lutz, Path Star, and Maureen. We sent “Sending You Light” by phone to a friend of Linda’s. What joy to be able to meet with these loving friends and sing common songs after 10 years.

Excited to have an opportunity to sing with the spectacular San Francisco Threshold Choir, I arrived in San Francisco 3 hours early.  The lush rolling hills and forests of Golden Gate Park welcomed me. With a break in the rain, it was a perfect afternoon for a walk in the park. Exploring Haight Street, I was amused to find it much the same as I found it in 1967, with pot being smoked openly on the sidewalk, used clothing stores windows still displaying the bell bottoms, crocheted tops, and other styles we wore in the 60’s, groups of wild looking teens still congregating at the corner of Haight and Ashbury Streets, and I even passed a group listening to Jim Morison tunes on a boom box. I was surprised to recognize some of the same businesses on Haight after 50 years. A Whole Foods market now occupies the  corner of Haight and Stanyon St., where the “Gas Station of Shame” once stood. 

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I was 18 when my hippy husband and I stopped at that 76 station to fill the tank of the 51 Dodge panel truck that was our home in 1969, an experience forever burned in my memory. While Phil was busy at the pump, our dog, Lucille, who was in heat, managed to hop out of the truck, attract a randy male dog, and get hung up, something I had never seen before. The dogs cried in terror (or was it pain?), as they tried to untangle their interlocked genitals by running in opposite directions. The racket sent the owner of the station into a rage, screaming obscenities at Phil and I and ordering us to separate the dogs, a scene which he apparently considered  uncivilized and bad for business. Pitiful Lucille looked to Phil to solve the problem, but Phil had no idea what to do, and I was useless, doubled over with laughter. The proprietor ended the calamity by spraying the dogs with a hose, the shock of the cold water instantly freeing them from their entanglement. Then came the crescent wrench bargaining. We had no cash, and Phil, a mechanic who valued tools above all other wealth, handed the proprietor a large rusty wrench in payment for the gas fill-up. This system of barter was not appreciated by businesses, including the toll booth at the Golden Gate Bridge, but Phil was committed to it. In those days, when you pumped first and paid later, or, in the case of the bridge, paid after crossing over, it was possible to pull off such an exchange, but it did not make for good relations. The threat of a businesses calling the police was ever present, but somehow we avoided that fate.

After a 2 night retreat to peaceful Pacific Grove and an overnight at Katie Lutz’ ranch-like sanctuary in Morgan Hill, I’m back in Oakland to spend time with my son and to rendezvous with Bay Area Threshold Choirs. My visit with generous Katie and her husband, Rusty, was pure delight, and resulted in plans for a reunion for the Aromas Threshold Choir on my return at the end of the week. 

I received some concerned responses from followers after my last post that I would like to address. Firstly, I want to be clear that I am fine, and that I expect challenges as I make my way through unfamiliar territory. The challenges are a valuable piece of the adventure and provide opportunities for reflection and growth. In this case, facing my anxiety about the possibility of joining the homeless RV dwellers on the streets of Oakland makes me acutely aware of my “privilege”. My comfortable, cheery little home on wheels provides shelter, mobility, and choices, things that the 3,000 + homeless on the streets here do not have. Having my needs met puts me in the category of the “haves”, in a place where the “have-nots” are such a visible presence. The guilt that comes with my privilege also makes me feel at risk for theft from those who are so needy. I suspect that were I to join the ranks of RVs parked on the streets, I would be treated as part of the group, not an outsider. 

After describing the horrific humanitarian homeless crises in Oakland, I want to point out that culturally rich Oakland has a lot going for it. The fact that the homeless scene is so visible is testimony to the political activism that Oakland is known for. Homeless encampments that occupy busy streets and intersections shout, “We are here, you can’t ignore this”. This community does everything in the open. Oakland is the birthplace of the Black Panthers and provided fertile grounds for the Occupy movement. I appreciate that in this city, minorities and the thriving LGBTQI community have a voice.

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My son, an artist and foody, left Santa Cruz for Oakland 10 years ago, drawn by the vitality of those scenes and by the diversity. In addition to its proximity to all things in the Bay area, sunny Oakland offers infinite choices for authentic ethnic foods, cutting edge music (think Melanie DeMore and Oakland’s One Voice Circle Singers), powerful written and spoken word, street art, spectacular crimson sunsets and views of the San Francisco skyline, the sparkle of Lake Merritt at night, public transportation, the romantic soundscape of trains passing, the Grand Lake Theater, the coliseum, the wilds of the wooded hills, and majestic Mountain Cemetery, the resting place of so many, including my “shero”, Ina Coolbrith, the first Poet Laureate of California in 1915. Neighborhoods of California Arts and Crafts style homes are reminders that Oakland was once the gateway to the American Dream for those who came for jobs on the trains, in the port, in manufacturing and in the shipyards. Remnants of that abundance, the fruit laden orange trees visible in the modest yards, brighten winter days and contrast sharply with barred windows and trash littered sidewalks. 

It would be Weds, January 2, before I could talk to a mechanic. In the meantime, my son and I celebrated New Year’s day with Dim Sum in Chinatown and then Kel drove me to closed auto repair locations in Oakland, Fruitvale and Alameda, so we could look for a garage that was large enough to accommodate the Roadtrek. Kel was leaving for LA in the early morning hours of Jan 2, and although I could manage maneuvering out of his gated backyard, there was no way to navigate the alley that was just inches wider than the Roadtrek and back the van into the narrow gate and the security of his locked backyard, without his assistance. Once I left the sanctuary of his yard, there was no going back. If I could not find a garage to do the repair, I would be on the street. If I had to park on the street overnight, I would join the ranks of the 3,000 + homeless who live on the streets of Oakland, something I wanted to avoid. 

The only times I have experienced uncertainty on this journey are the times that my van is out of operation. With my van inoperable, I faced the realization that I am not that different from the hordes of homeless in Oakland. In addition to 2,000 or more tents and tarps in makeshift homeless shantytowns, hundreds of sad looking RVs line the streets of Oakland, all surrounded by garbage piles that are shoulder high. It appears that every inoperable RV in the state of California ends up sheltering homeless folks on the streets here. I would have no problem finding curb space to pass a night in one of Oakland’s industrial neighborhoods alongside other “campers”, with no worries about being cited for parking illegally, but the prospect terrifies me. How ironic that I would spend the last 10 years working to house the homeless, but don’t want to spend one night parked on the streets with them.  I don’t identify with the homeless living on the streets, and sadly, I admit that I see them as “other”. I believe this is the root of the homeless problem. If we did not see them as “other”, would there be so many people dispossessed and unhoused? 

In addition to the usual problems faced by those with little or no income, a housing boom in Oakland is replacing low rent homes with new construction. Of 6,982 housing units under construction as of 7/31/18, only 6% are considered “low income” housing, which can mean a single person can qualify with up to $40,000 annual income. This does not include most of the folks on the street. When you consider that the new construction is replacing the only affordable housing that existed in the Bay area, it is no wonder a housing crisis has developed. An investigator from the UN called the homeless situation in Oakland cruel. Occasionally you will see an outhouse in larger homeless encampments, one outhouse for more than 100 people. No running water is available, and the tarp cities are nearly buried in garbage. In response, the city has built 3 fenced enclosures with 20 gardenshed shelters in each. The sheds have 2 beds, a deadbolt lock on the door and no cooking facilities. The homeless population displaced to construct the tough shed villages far outnumbers the number housed in the enclosures. What is happening on the streets of Oakland is a nightmare, but it is said San Francisco is even worse. 

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On January 4, my van is fixed by a shop in Fruitvale, where the waiting room TV reports on the Government shut down. I ask the Mexican shop owner what he thinks about Trump’s wall and he tells me his story of being deported by mistake and how it took 6 years and 3 attorneys to get back to the US. He thinks that immigrants have been criminalized. He also tells me he respects Trump for being a good business man. His English is good, his work is satisfactory and reasonably priced. I arrived at 7:30 AM hoping to be the first one at the shop since they were too busy to see me when I called at 8:00 AM on Jan 3. Mornings feel like Mexico in this neighborhood where brightly colored umbrellas mark the location of street vendors selling tacos, tamales and fresh squeezed orange juice on the sidewalk. The road itself, a main artery in the Oakland Coliseum neighborhood, is badly potholed, and 1 block off the main road, homeless tents line the streets as far as the eye can see. The tent dwellers have been here awhile, some have a collection of potted plants at tent entries. This feels like a place the city has forgotten.  

I climb into my repaired van, thank the mechanic, and leave town because I can.   

I fully admit to being one who chooses the rough road. Each day brings a lesson in this year of traveling I have chosen, with many of those lessons reminding me again that I have not chosen an easy retirement. On leaving Santa Cruz to return to Oakland, I could choose to head north along the coast looking for a place to park for the night along the way, or head into the Santa Cruz mountains to spend a night in the redwoods. Knowing I would be leaving the California coast heading towards Florida in a few weeks, the magic of the California redwoods won out. Following Siri’s instructions, I ended up driving rough mountain roads with pot holes, hairpin turns and downhill stretches that made my brakes smoke as I headed toward Big Basin State Park. When driving a 12,000 lb. vehicle like the Roadtrek, downhill stretches and potholes like this wreak havoc on the brakes and suspension. Just last week, squealing brakes brought me back to the shop in Monterey that had replaced the Roadtrek’s entire front brake assembly in May, but they could find nothing wrong (except for the engine belt replacement that cost $600). The winding mountain roads had intensified the brake squeal and triggered a squeal on turning the wheel. Here I was, alone in the mountains with car troubles on a Friday evening at the onset of a 4 day holiday weekend. Yikes. I am totally unnerved by the sound of metal grinding on metal, but I had no choice but to continue driving until I found a suitable place to pull over for the night. After a long drive, I found a small pullout with two sheltering redwoods, and passed a fitful night wondering how I would get back to Oakland without causing major damage to the brakes and suspension. 

Repairs are complicated when you sleep in your vehicle, even more complicated when your vehicle is too big to fit in the bay, or on the lift, of most repair shops, and this was a holiday weekend when few mechanics were working or answering the phone. I packed up early in the morning, prepared my coffee and breakfast in a park in Felton, and headed for refuge in my son’s backyard in Oakland for New Year’s Eve and for the long weekend. 

How I love holiday traditions, and although this was a pared down Christmas (3 strings of Christmas lights in the van), I was able to spend it with family.  My son, Kel, prepared sumptuous meals for me, as he has for many years now, my granddaughter honored the tradition of making a gingerbread house, and my great grandson, Vinny, who is now taller than I am, carried forth the tradition of smashing and eating the gingerbread house. All is well in my world. 

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I headed to Santa Cruz to join the Santa Cruz Threshold Choir on 12/27. The Tuesday afternoon practices are held in the Bransiforte Library community room, a practice space provided to the choir at no charge. I spent 3 glorious days in the Santa Cruz sun, taking in the surf, the golden sunsets and sleeping in the driveway of a gracious choir member. Shondeya and I shared deep conversation and papayas seasoned with lime in the mornings. It is such a joy to get to know Threshold Choir members as I travel. When I asked about what Threshold Choir means to her, Shondeya shared how important “belonging” to Threshold Choir is to her well-being. We discussed how being part of this organization offers not only the opportunity to provide meaningful service, but also provides a valuable bond with the other members. As single women, we agreed that there is great comfort in this alliance. In the hospice training I took nearly 10 years ago, we were asked to consider who would be our support system if we should become ill or incapacitated and that is when I realized that my Threshold sisters were my support system. This was a revelation to me, living far from family, and knowing how difficult it would be for family members to come to my aid, I felt extremely vulnerable before this realization. My heart is forever filled with gratitude to Kate Munger, whose brilliance and dedication birthed this opportunity to provide the service of singing at bedsides, and who also set the tone for this network of caring for each other. 

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I returned to Pacific Grove in time for the 4^thTuesday TC practice with the other 2 long time members of the choir. So sweet to be with my Threshold sisters singing songs we know and working on new material. I brought Portland’s “When Soul Meets Winter” that has been spinning in my head as winter approaches, and shared some of the “Great Ideas” picked up from choirs I have visited. I also passed on one of the Napa Valley CDs I was asked to present to choirs as I travel. Suzan Kelly, whose home has been our practice location for most of the past 10 years, graciously allowed me to set up camp in her driveway.  Being able to see my dear friends in Pacific Grove fills my heart with love and joy. 

On my return to Pacific Grove, I sent out an email invite for a solstice beach bonfire to singing friends in town.  As it turned out, solstice fell on a spectacular full moon night that was clear and warm(ish). The giant waves and high tides that had pounded the coast subsided that night and the beach at Asilomar was accessible for the first time in over a week. I have facilitated celebrations of summer and winter solstice bonfires on the beach for 12 years now and I so appreciate the friends who are willing to join me in all conditions, cold, wind, and fog, to observe the turning of the seasons (being central Californians, we don’t do rain, and have moved inside to the fireplace at the Asilomar Social Hall if it is too wet). Observing the rhythms of nature, whether it be a meteor shower, equinox, or a sunset, is a way to be connected to the natural world. Many find that the world wide web has opened the world to them, but looking down at a computer or phone screen can reduce the enormity of the world we live in to the size of a small rectangular box. Looking up at the sky, observing geese flying overhead with dedicated purpose, clouds passing, the glow of the full moon, can be sacred acts of devotion. 

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I want to dedicate this poem to my friend Keith Bunney, who so many times took the time to call from Alaska, and other wondrous places, to remind me to look up at the moon.

Connected

Look up my friend, the moon is calling. The distance between us  evaporates  each time we gaze at the same miraculous moon. Know that the sky  and the earth  connect us all.

Sonoma Creek crossing Warm Springs Road, Glen Ellen

On my last night in Glen Ellen, I was invited to participate in a lively gathering of solstice singing with 30 members of the Valley of the Moon and Santa Rosa Threshold Choirs. It gives me such joy to find that friends from other parts of my life in Sonoma Valley have joined Threshold Choir. Knowing that these amazing women now share this commitment and know the magic of blending voices together to sing in service, and the bliss that comes of “heart knowing” the repertoire of sweet Threshold Choir songs. This was a singing party, and together, we sang the solstice songs that we had practiced at the beginning of the month.  When we had sung our way to the end of the solstice song booklet, we were in no way ready to stop. The singing continued with an “after party” of singing more songs that we all know and love. Because we share so many songs, I was hoarse long before we ran out of material. 

I’m filled with gratitude to have been able to spend time with my dear friends in Sonoma and Glen Ellen, and for the kind support that Margie and Ritch, Lin Marie and Annie provided while I was there. I moved to Glen Ellen in 1989 because my high school friend, Cynthia Carr, always made me feel so at home when I visited her there. That wonderful “coming home” feeling continues, and is even more appealing now that home is harder for me to define.   

On the way out of Sonoma, I made a quick stop to return the bedroom slippers I had absconded with after visiting my long-time friend, Ann Hollister. I was first introduced to the guest slipper offering in October of this year, at the home of one of my new Threshold Choir friends, Maria Simon. A lovely basket of slippers sits at the entry of Maria’s Portland home, where guests remove shoes and choose a pair of slippers to wear. I am impressed by the kindness of this act, the offering of warm cozy slippers. It was amusing to find the fun holiday slippers offered by Ann were still on my feet after I left her home, somehow squeezed into my boots on top of my sox. Annie was surprised that I would return the slippers instead of keeping them, but I wanted them to go home to their rightful owner and be available to delight her next guest. Besides, there is no room in my tiny house for anything extra, not even a pair of slippers that fits into my boots unnoticed.

Sudie Pollock, the director of the Napa Valley Threshold Choir, is very excited about my journey, and when I contacted her about visiting a practice, she organized a lovely potluck gathering to welcome me. The accomplished choir shared their spectacular original bedside songs and even sent me off with 25 beautifully recorded CDs of the their songs with the request that I gift them to choirs I visit. Their welcome made me feel like a long lost sister who had returned to the flock.

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Choir members had questions about my journey, and I shared the song that moved me to claim my wild self, retire from my nonprofit work and leave my home in Pacific Grove. The song I think of as my theme song, “I’m a Wild One Now”, was written by Naomi Littlebear, and first sung at a Rainbow Festival in 1980. I heard it sung as a call and repeat song led by a spritely young songleader, Kyly, at a Song Village campfire 2 years ago. 

Let the sun shine down and warm my bones 
Let the birds and the bees come and take my clothes 
Cause I’m a wild one now made of wind and rain 
I’m wild and I ain’t going back again.

Let the moon shine down and cleanse my soul
Let the wolves and the owls come and tend my coals
Cause I’m a wild one now made of stars and dreams 
I’m wild and I’m part of everything.

Let the stars shine down and cleanse my heart
Let the beaver and the bear teach me of their art
Cause I’m a wild one now made of fat and fish
The tending of the wild is my greatest wish
The spreading of the wild is my greatest wish
The healing of the wild is my greatest wish.

A recording of this song can be heard at: http://singingalive.org/2016/10/20/im-a-wild-one-now/

http://singingalive.org/2016/10/20/im-a-wild-one-now/