in which dreams are formed

 

It was only a few minutes, nothing really to speak of at all – but for those few minutes, that brief moment this past Wednesday – I was home again. Where I feel best, where I feel I belong – with 454 cubic inches of motor singing its sweet, throaty song next to me in the driver’s seat of my motorhome.

 

Wednesday, 6:30 am and the alarm on my phone went off, my eyes barely opened as I lift this hellish thing off of my dresser and be certain I touch ‘dismiss’ instead of ‘snooze’. It’s not a noise I wish to hear again. Of course, the night before I had found the rare parking on Hyde St. which *didn’t*  have street sweeping this morning, but they were unable to start my girl the day before and needed the space for a 50 foot trailer that was coming in. Not expecting to find such ideal parking I promised that I would be there at 7:30 to move her…

It’s been a while – perhaps well over a month since I’ve been to the East Bay, as with fuel prices and bridge toll it’s not a trip I can make too often, and besides, except for just opening the door and sitting in her, there was little reason to go visit my motorhome.

I felt her welcoming smile as I opened the door and stepped inside again after so long – it was like visiting a dear old friend. Some may understand this; those people whose vehicles become, after a time, much more than just something to use in order to get around in – they become, in a way, a part of you. Part of your history, part of your future, part of dreams both realized… and yet to come.

I climbed into the driver’s seat – *my* seat – and sat there for a minute or three, just looking out the windshield with my eyes closed, imagining the roads we would someday travel, then with a bit of massaging and a small simple trick I turned the key and her heart roared to life, a deliciously low rumble as her blood was sucked up from the oil pan and started circulating again, feeling her strength & power as I pressed lightly on the accelerator pedal, checking the gauges to be sure all was well and, after far too long, moved the lever on the steering column to that sweetest of letters: ‘D’.

DRIVE.

I didn’t go far, just out the rollup door and around the building to the other side, but it was still a sweet little spree and reminded me of what I had been missing.

In those few short minutes, I was home again.

 

Perhaps some may think I’ve gone off the deep end in writing about a motorhome with such romance – words that are usually saved to paint poetic images of and for loved ones of the more, shall we say, *human* nature, and well, perhaps I have – but dreams are still dreams, regardless of what form they take or the way in which they are realized, and Serenity, my motorhome, is the way in which my dreams not only are formed – but can also become a reality.

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Piece by Peace (or, MotorHeart)

A smile crosses my face as I wake to the sound of birds hopping around on the roof of my motorhome, playing in the tree above me and chirping like they’re gossiping after a Sunday 10am mass at church.

I’d forgotten about this, and I’m in ecstasy.

It’s my fifth consecutive morning waking up in my beautiful home, my comparatively huuuge full sized, unbroken bed, my cabin in the woods, my beach house; my sanctuary, and finally I have found a spot on my favorite street to park in San Francisco, aptly named Treat.

I’ve been chipping away at my to-do list, and adding new things mechanical, aesthetic, and both almost as much as I check off others. Some things necessary but not requiring immediate action such as giving the electrical system a really good look, labeling active wires and doing away with unnecessary ones with so in the future if anything goes awry on the awroad I can fix it with little headache, larger tasks like painting it (mostly) white or ripping out the couch and putting a booth in, (creating more floor space while still having a guest bed), re-carpeting & re-upholstering to rid it of the lovely ‘80’s hotel-room peach motif, and things that are completely ludicrous such as figuring out how to make it fly or float, or installing a hot tub on the roof.

It feels So Damn GOOD to be able to work on her again I never want to run out of things to do, and as she’s twenty six years old, I’m a good mechanic and I have a damn good eye for design, (something I’m not too humble about) I doubt I ever will.

Piece by piece she’s coming together; I’m doing as much as I can to save my last $5 & change for just a little bit more food since that not only is good for a certain thing called hunger & keeping up my energy and health, but I need to take almost all of my dwindling herbs with something in my belly. I could go to Maitri for meals, but that either means giving up my space and using the last of my fuel, or taking the bus for one $4 round trip leaving me even closer to completely penniless and her all alone with most of my things inside, as I would want to take advantage of the time there to shower & pack more.

The main thing that is looming over my head and creating undue stress is the desperate need for a good tune up, and that needs to be taken care of ASAP. It’s one of the very few things that I prefer and want to have done by a professional, at least the first time. Until then she’s running rough, with black smoke billowing out of her pipes polluting grossly and drinking fuel like it’s an ice cold Pabst or fresh lemonade on the Playa. A good tune would fix that.

I have a beautiful vision of pulling up to the DNA Lounge on the 10^th with her purring like a kitten, and  right now, it’s only a vision, and my disability check doesn’t come for seven days, which is an eternity right now.

The chirpy-hop birds have taken flight somewhere else and I have a relatively full plate of things I want to work on today, so time to put Clotho to sleep and get my own ass out of bed.

Good morning, beautiful life… and thank you for letting me stick around.

One year & little more…

 

The 6th of this month marks an entire year I’ve been at Maitri, & I’ll be damned if I spend it here. Been doing as much work as I can afford to to shed the mothballs from my motorhome & get her running well and *safely* again, as safety doesn’t come third where this is concerned. Desperately wanting to, at the minimum, head out to Ocean Beach for midnight & sunset walks for the weekend, as well as hitting the archery range while there. Much needs to still be done on my girl though, & unfortunately they’re the things that cost; changing all the fluids, tune up… doing as much as *I* can to save $, but not sure if I’ll actually be able to escape safely, even for that short distance, without forfeiting scratch that should go to herbs. Wish me luck. Spending the weekend at American Steel to continue my work.

 

 

As unoriginal as it is, I believe that I’ll name her ‘Gypsy’, as of all the names I have thought of over the months for her, there are few that have such a beautiful ring while still portraying the feeling of the open road and a wanderer…

Another day, & away

Another day similar to any other comes and goes, in my room with the door shut, in bed or in my robe. The only differences are more interruptions, that damned song they sang to me at lunch, and as always, wondering if she is alive and if so, wondering if she wonders what happened to the child she gave life to on a new moon, forty four years ago. Perhaps, if I ever found her or she, me, my birthday might mean something more.

I was always a lonely child. I was not the child my adoptive parents wanted, not the one that they bought. I was too quiet, too intense for them and their mundane outlook on life. Parents want to see something of themselves passed on to their children, like they got with my sister – she didn’t question, got good grades, went to the same college my mom went to. It comforted them –  but no amount of therapy could make me into who they wanted me to be, once I began to think for myself. They did their best to feed and clothe, and were wonderful at that – but I don’t believe that they love me. Not in the true sense of the word, whatever that is. I was alien to them. Now, even my sister, who I thought was my friend, has forsaken me.. The last time I saw her was for Christmas eve dinner, a couple months after I came to Maitri, and I felt too sick to stay. After  promises of coming to visit me from her, my brother in law drove me back here – and though she lives only a few miles away, I have not heard from her since.

No, my family now is the people I have met along the way, and I use my birthday to have the smallest excuse to gather them together. These are the people I love. These are the people who I am proud to call my family.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It’s been almost one year since I arrived here at Maitri. I think that I’ve watched the same amount of people die as I’ve seen get better and leave; I haven’t kept track, but I like to think that I’ve seen more get better.

There is no such thing as peace, quiet, or serenity here. Not in the sense that I need at least. I keep my door shut but that does little good, as my room is nothing of a sanctuary. Now that my health is improving I feel the road calling me more and more, feeling desperate to drive, to find a place somewhere that I am not known, park in a campground somewhere, in the mountains or on the beach, and be able to just sit and watch the sunset, or go walking aimlessly in the woods. That is the healing that I need now – along, of course, with all the herbs. I need to escape.

I applied for one of those internet loans yesterday and was approved for a couple hundred dollars, which will help me get my motorhome ready for a good drive. I realize that will screw me financially for next month, but at least I can hopefully get her tuned up and ready to roll with that little money, as there is no way I can afford all the herbs I need and that with the money I have after fees here. I tried to cut back on some herbs but quickly learned that wasn’t a very bright idea. Been trying to eat the food here as well, but that doesn’t really work either. The night sweats came back, and I feel my liver wondering what the hell is going on.

I need to get out, if only for a few days. I am not built to stay in one place for so long…