I Miss You, Leonilda, When You Don't Call

This was written in March of 2011, when we were trailer park managers in Prunedale, CA...

I think I “get” Leonilda at unit 18.

She reminds me of one of my long lost relations from the hills of Sweetwater, Tennessee.

Perhaps one that would likely slam the cellar door when she saw me comin!

At times, she reminds me of one of the women on the television series, Big Love.

One of the sister-wives that lives out on the compound, wears her hair long, her bonnet tight and has her hands elbow-deep in cannin' apples before winter done hits.

Leonilda doesn’t like me and I understand that.

Last spring, when she called to let me know “someone” was shooting at her because the side of her 1979 mobile had fresh bullet holes in the skirting, I did in fact burst out laughing.

I didn’t mean to.

I was just lacking in the self-control department in that moment.

Then there was the time she called to let me know “someone” had been trespassing in her carport and left a cherry pit in the crack of asphalt near her back door.

She informed me she hadn’t eaten cherries since high school when she got sick on ‘em, so therefore, she knew it had to be a trespasser.

I sent my partner to investigate that situation and she did in fact locate a single cherry pit in the exact location as Leonilda stated it was.

As a trained professional, I know that I need to show restraint, as well as, compassion but as the years roll on, I find it a bit of a challenge.

And Leonilda knows it. She ain’t no dummie.

She can hear it in my voice, see it in my eyes and that’s exactly why the other night when she phoned and I answered, she immediately asked for my partner. She don't want to talk with me anymore!

I put on my sweet, soft-toned, sympathetic voice and offered my assistance and willingness

to meet her every need. After all, isn't that what I get paid for?

She asks if we had received a package in the mail that belonged to her.

I told her that I hadn’t checked the mail today but I would go right out, check and bring any mail that belonged to her, right down. Mind you, Leonilda and her brother, Leo (No lie, that's his real name) don’t live next door to us. They actually live on the other side of the park, so why we'd have her mail is beyond me, but I question nothing.

She informs me that it wouldn’t have been in today’s mail. “Someone” took it a month ago.

(RIGHT, LEONILDA! LIKE I HAVE BEEN HOARDING A PACKAGE OF YOURS FOR 30 ‘EFFIN DAYS! OR THIS "MYSTERY SOMEONE" IS OUT TO GET YOU, YOU PARANOID WEIRDO!)

Breathe in. Breathe out.

After a mini-Zen-breathing exercise, I find my polite button, press it, and tell her that I haven’t seen any mail of hers, but if there was a tracking number, perhaps the post office could attempt to locate it for her.  But Leonilda feels quite strongly that our postal service does not lose packages and that “someone” either stole it or is holding it.

Hostage I suppose.

Holding it hostage for some kind of trailer treasure ransom that I’m sure will allow us all to buy Boardwalk AND Park Avenue, maybe even all four railroads.

My partner’s jaw never clinches like mine in these situations.

I remember one late afternoon last summer, I phoned Leonilda because I received a call from one of her neighbors reporting she was getting ready to spray paint her mobile with a small hand-held sprayer, not an industrial. The neighbor was concerned the paint would get on his unit.

Before I could explain the rules with regard to painting the trailers at our park, she asked me this, “Can you please call back later… I’m drunk right now.”

That's when I "got" Leonilda.

I actually clung to a tiny, thin thread of commonality in that moment.

I wished her a relaxing afternoon, hung up the phone and poured myself a strong one.

It doesn’t get any better than this, people.

-tpg

Just Me; Bitter & Sweet

Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.~~Rumi

                                                                                                                                                                              I'm on hiatus this week.  The pause will be bittersweet.
I suppose I look at life that way. Every time I take out my notebook and raise my pen up in preparation of jotting a notion or impression, I find myself right smack in the middle of this torturous dichotomy.
You look out a door. You see a newly opened, scarlet peony.
Its brilliant petals are magically arranged in perfect symmetry.  You stare into its center and you wonder how you could ever doubt that there was a Creator.
Right next to it, lies an injured sparrow.
She is slow-moving and weak.
You want to save her, like you want to save the spiders on the bathroom wall or the dog being drug around town on too short of a leash.
You pour yourself a piping hot cup of emerald sencha, all the while the sun is streaming in through a window behind your shoulder. The warmth makes you think of summer days from your childhood.  Seconds later, passing by that same window that filled you with so much joy,
is a dilapidated man.  His eyes are hollow and dull. He's pushing a shopping cart with one hand and holding his pants up with the other.
For me, life is constantly like this: a dichotomy of the bitter and the sweet.

A week without The Cousin and Sweet Pea is restful for sure, but it's accompanied by a twinging ache at the thought of not seeing their little mugs.

When I first started writing this blog, several years ago, I didn't call it a blog.  I called it a "friendship email" and I sent it out to only my email contacts: family and pals. It was a weekly rambling consisting of a roller coaster of subject matter that ranged from politics, religion, poverty,human rights, animal rights, love, peace, No Nukes and other current and relevant topics of the day.  More importantly, I wanted all recipients, especially those that lived faraway, to know I was thinking of them and sending a "shout out" of love.  Then, someone said to  me, "Why don't you write a blog?" The question left me feeling like a Stegosaurus emerging out of a cave. What the f*@ck was a blog?

When the blog was created, I suddenly found a voice.  My 7.5 years as a trailer park manager in Prunetucky, California, seemed to be of significance in the most insignificant way.
For sure, it was downright hysterical to many of my friends, and far more satisfying than
whirled peas to others.
The feedback came in droves.  I began to realize that although we all can offer up exchanges of life's bitter and sweet, the truth of the matter is, we all desperately need laugher.
Reminds me of a bumper sticker I  purchased on one of my adventures in Austin, Texas:
"Laugh Until Life Makes Sense."
I think I've talked about this mantra before. I wrote a blog once upon a time about these 5 words of wisdom. http://trailerparkgirl-vfern.blogspot.com/2012/04/laugh-until-life-makes-sense.html

Laughter has saved my ass on more than one occasion.  This blog also. Writing, in general, has saved me from the fires of hell, from the dark dungeons of depression, from beating myself up with the "self-critical stick", from getting my head bashed in by an angry "hater".
Because with writing, in any genre I choose, I am able to talk, cry, pray, shoot off my mouth, and yes, even laugh without getting into a fist fight.

This week has gripped me with sadness, as the news of a special friend's death came last Tuesday.
Sometimes "family" comes in the form of "non-bloods" and that is certainly the case with this
86 year-old woman who, while we sat together in her living room years ago, asked me to call her "Auntie Arl".

Auntie Arl was the sister of my Auntie Ferrol.  Talk about two peas in a pod! These gals phoned one another every single night at 6:00 p.m. sharp for more than 4 decades. Can you imagine?
We all knew not to call either of them between the hours of 6 and 7. To most outsiders, it was inconceivable how two people could have so much to talk about every night at 6. Especially in the last 10 years, when both of them stayed pretty close to home each day and kept their activities to a minimum.  But I understood them.

They talked about golf, health articles, exchanged recipes from cook shows, recent doctor appointments. They each sipped a glass of their favorite Mountain Rhine boxed wine throughout the conversations; never diving too deep into emotions.

Rituals carve deep imprints into our hearts. My mom and I shared the ritual of calling each other every Sunday morning for at least the last 10 years or so of her life. It wasn't until after her death, that I appreciated how sweet that ritual really was.  For many years following her death, I hurt every single Sunday morning at 9:00 a.m.
These are the things in life that stay with us; cut deep like broken shards of glass and form both the bitter and the sweet.
Growing up, I didn't see Auntie Arl like I did my Aunt Ferrol. But in the last 10-20 years, she had been a regular part of my life.  I hold many, many memories of conversations about reincarnation, discussions of politics, shared meals at her favorite Chinese restaurant, Chester's in Camarillo. My partner and I also made ourselves available to change her light bulbs, clean out the top rows of shelves she could no longer reach, recycle her batteries. I recall a drive we took down a main street in Camarillo. The center of the street was lined with dozens of old Jacaranda trees, all the most stunning shade of purple.  Auntie Arl was so pissed off that the city she loved recently voted to remove the trees. "I can't understand how they can call this progress" she griped.

One of the final things she said to me happened on a visit at the hospital just a couple of weeks before she passed away. I bent over to give her a hug and a kiss on her cheek.
She grabbed my arm, and because she was getting frail, she struggled to get the words out.
She said, "Take care of her"  referring to her sister.
"You know I will."   I said back.
And as I walked to the door, I turned, our eyes meeting, and I blew her another kiss.
This one was a funny, overly dramatic, big one!
I will always remember the smile on her face, just like I will always think of her when I see a
Jacaranda tree in bloom.

But everything has an end. Luckily, even sadness.

~tpg

It's Just Another Day

Sometimes in life you've just gotta take a few risks.  We might stumble, crash, get our index finger stuck in an electric socket, but if we don't take chances, tell me how rich and interesting can our lives truly be?
I'm reminded of this and so many other lessons when I watch this kid.  As syrupy as this might sound, she's one of my greatest teachers on the entire planet.  She constantly reminds me to take risks. (though I break a sweat).  She reminds me to laugh.  She reminds me to dance when the music starts to play.  Oh, we have our moments.
We squabble about a few minor issues, such as nap time and playing near the heater grate, but isn't that all part of this thing we call life?  Sweet Pea and I differed about her climbing these cement steps.
I wanted to allow her a few moments of independence without jeopardizing her safety of course. I also wanted to get the shot.  The part I couldn't snap was her "toddler tantrum" when I disrupted her climb as she was approaching the "danger zone".  Boy was she p.o.'d at me for taking her off the peak.

"Climb every mountain."

I think this last week with the "Dynamic Duo" centered around a couple important "themes" and certainly those themes could be referrred to as "lessons."

Risk-taking and pushing ourselves to our own personal limits was definately one.  Sweet Pea pretty much does that 24/7, whereas The Cousin needs some encouragement.  

Which is where I come in. 

Sweet Pea takes the world by the balls.  The Cousin is an observer.

Think about the people you know.  Think about your own-self.  The world is surely big enough for all of us; the "ball grabbers" and "the observant ones", eh?

"I'm in the zone."

The Cousin is a rare gem.  She's a thinker.  She is inquisitive about the world around her, yes, but she doesn't jump off buildings or dive into trash cans like Sweet Pea.  She sits back and watches, accesses, puts the tip of her big toe in the pool to test the waters, never her whole foot.  But she makes her mark just fine. She insisted on wearing her hat inside out with the tag in front. Hey, that's cool with the nanny!  Her eyes lit up when she figured out how to hold the chalk on its side and "shade" rather than "write" with it. 

In addition to the lesson's of "risk-taking" and "pushing limits", "lack of privacy" was a biggie last week as well; 

Specifically, mine.

Sparing y'all the nitty gritty details, let's just summarize the day by saying, the nanny had stomach issues of the unpleasant kind.  It's not a cake walk when you don't feel well and have to make several trips to el bano, all the while caring for 2 toddlers. Welcome to my Wednesday. There I sat on the toilet. And there they both stood, side by side, less than 10" away from my sorry self, just staring at me.  

"What are you doing, Bal La Lee?" The Cousin inquired.  "I need to poop. I have a tummy ache."  

"Pooh Bear poops." she responded.  "Yep. Everybody poops." I say. She then runs to her room and returns with a Winnie the Pooh book, opening it to a page where deer poop rests in the snow. 

By this time, Sweet Pea has positioned herself even closer to me and is patting my leg.  "Girls, can you wait for Valerie in the other room?" I say like an idiot, as if they're not babies.  The staring continues. Suddenly, I let out a familiar sound. The Cousin beams.

"Toot! You toot, Bal La Lee!" "Yep, everybody toots" I say.

Moving right along, we take it in the other room to enjoy some of our faves: Clifford the Big Red Dog, Cat in the Hat and Super Readers.  This is usually around the time I look at the clock, notice it's only 9:00 am and say, "Shit." to myself.

"I'm taking one of those Cheerios and there ain't nothing you can do about it."

Just when we thought we finally survived the teething stage with Sweet Pea, she has a mother-of-a-molar pushing through her gums.  It's gigantic! She's reverted back to biting, gnawing and sucking on any and everything she can get her mouth on.

"This is helping."

"Damn Teeth."

"That's a kiss not a gnaw."

The teething solution in 2013:

Okay, I'm old. But what the hell is this? I'm telling you, these girls' moms have all the latest inventions. This is a frozen fruit sucker, bpa-free. Sweet Pea's mom places chunks of frozen mangoes or strawberries in the netted pouch for Sweet Pea to suck on. I really think the damn thing was a waste of money because Sweet Pea demonstrated, at least to me, that she'd much rather suck on the door knob or a computer cord than this cutesy gadget.

The Cousin's language skills are better than many 50-year-olds I know. Each week, she amazes me with 7 or 8-word sentences that begin with words like "Yesterday" or "Actually".  Soon I will have to carry a pocket grammar dictionary just to make sure she doesn't correct me.  

She's one cool kid.  They both are. 

I guess this last week was a simple one for the 3 of us.  Nothing ground-breaking, earth-shattering to report.

No occurrences of mass chaos. Nothing crazy-ass funny that would make y'all fall of your 

chaise lounges. 

It was close to ordinary. Just another day...

~tpg