misplaced mama

Girlfriend Jeanette speaks of Bliss. I have come to a greater understanding of my true bliss these past couple weeks. My bliss is in the journey.

I am a gypsy.

Nomad.

Traveler.

I am not good at staying in one place. I get itchy. I get bored. I find a million zillion reasons why the place I am in is no good for me. Too hot. Too cold. Too small. Too big. Grumpy people. Phoney People. Too expensive. Not quaint enough. Trees not big and green enough. Trees too big and green. Long Winters. No winters. Wet Spings. Dry summers. Colorless Falls. No money. Too much wealth. Conservative. Hippy-dippy. Bland architecture, Ostentatious building. And as this blog is aptly named Misplaced Mama, I continously feel misplaced when I am sitting still on one spot on Earth.

Is all this back and forth business because deep down I am just an unhappy girl? Wanting, longing, wishing? Searching for something? Unable to just be and enjoy where I am? I am one of those types always thinking the grass is greener. brighter. softer?

I don’t think so. At times I would have given into that theory (because believe me, sister, I have heard it over and over again) but not anymore. Not now. How could the deep contentment my children, my mariage, my arts bring to be leave me in longing? Could they?

Nope. I’m just a mover. An explorer. I long for adventure.

Nowhere I ever stay for long periods of time are bad places. But in my heart the really good places are the ones I have yet to see. Those places my toes long to sink into the dirt.

I have been roadtripping with my girls for almost 2 weeks. We flew into Orange County, CA. Spent a stint in LA. Celebrated a wedding in Upper Ojai, CA. Back down to L.A. Now we are settled back in Ojai until July 5th. This is our adventure. To live together in a place that is not the usual home, but home all the same. We get to practice our daily routine but with added goodness like goat feeding and ocean going. River walking and mountain climbing. Small town people watching. I get to rise with the sun as the rooster crows and smell a smell much different from Pheonix. It’s part sage and mustard plant part kitty litter that I am suppose to change. Part coastal salt and part horse manure. I wake up to a horses neighing outside the bedroom window. I get to drive a long and windy road into a town. A town unlike my own, where people walk and hold hands to the market. Where dirty feet and ragged jean bottoms are the norm. Where most all kids are in slings. Where strangers come up and introduce themsleves. And the grocer in town sells local everything…from beef to strawberries. Bumper stickers like “CoExist” and “Goddess Bless the World” and “Impeach Bush” are plastered on hybrid cars or old VW’s. Is this better than what I am used too in Scottsdale, AZ? No. (granted I will say I feel more comfortable with who I am here and even though it seems I may come from the same star as the people of Ojai Valley, I am definately earthly worlds apart in many ways…to live here you pretty much need 7 figures and that is not a leisure class I am part of) It is not better by any means. It is just different. New to me. Would I be this excited to explore and experience Peoria, Il? Yes. Yes. Yes. Witchita? Yes. Tulsa? You bet? Spokane, ID? Italy? Duh.

I am sure I come from a long line of gypsies. The twirl of skirt and the indifference to dirty hair must mean something. The traveling and writing bug in me is getting a big phat universal gift. Though it’s not as easy as it was— traveling alone with 2 kids under 3 years in unfamiliar territory is never easy—and at times it has been downright hard, EXHAUSTING, LONELY, to parent alone and on someone else’s landscape is downright frightening to me, but still it boils down to simmering bliss. To move, to smell, to dance to a different drum. To be in a space that is not mine. To meet new people, moment to moment absent of a past but with a promise of future connections for a widespread community. I get to add fresh people and experience to my golden treasure chest of life. And in the end, I know that my girls will benefit. They light up when a chicken comes up to them for a pet. They have no fear of big animals, grumpy ponies, horned goats or howling coyotes. Mia scales the river rocks like tshe manuevers the cushy playgrounds of Scottsdale. They will always have an impression of what a mountain black moon feels like and now they know that stars dance across skies in banners and streaks. They feel the movement of the earth under their feet and I am sure they have picked up on the excitement of what their mama feels. At any moment that I feel it is not in their best interest, I am outta here. Until then…this is my bliss.

Do I miss my home? My husband? My dogs? My spider free bed? My friends? Yes. But they are there, always, solid as mountain granite, their voices singing to me in this mountain breeze, supporting me and inspiring me to follow these dreams of flowing and writing and breathing in different air. It is in my blood to move. Movement brings me bliss. I am enjoying these moments of surrending into the unnknown, remembering the cushy bed of home and the tanned arms of my partner. But I also keep the globe close by wondering where my next venture will be.

To be this inspired is to truly breath. To feel this utterly exhausted is to live. There are goats hungry for acorns and hay. Horses that need some scratchin’. A garden that needs moisture in this intense mountain heat wave. And fresh Salmon from Moro Bay picked up at the local farmer’s market that needs cooking.

Ites! Blessings. For real.