I frequently seem to be in Sausalito when I'm getting closer to my teacher... but not getting there. I'm forever scouring my own dreams for the symbolism in there or the clues in there as they relate to my Zen thing, and Sausalito has come up a few times. I used to be a working fool. I worked my butt off at a very fancy law firm for a thousand years, but at nights I worked and played, and for a while lived, in Sausalito. In many, many ways, that's where I belong on this earth... even though they have crusted it over with so much commercialism and snobbery since Sally Standford finally died. It was built by lumber barons in the late 1800s, but it was primarily populated by prostitutes, bohemians, artists, writers, musicians and really smart people who needed refuge from the herd. My grandmother was one of those who took refuge there. Everyone but the prostitutes has been pretty much chased north over the decades, but there is still a staunch core of weirdos who come out late at night, usually to the bar with no name to be together. When I get the chance, I try to join them.
Anyway, I was in Sausalito again. I was my new thin self and returned to darn hale for my age. I was wearing this tight black top that I'd turned into a minidress and was strolling around sort of befuzzled because it had been so long and I was scanning for the changes, looking for the spots where I could just be as I am, just be being as is, find that thread, or razor's edge, again and be on it. This involved being able to just smoke if I felt like it, and there are so many rules and laws about smoking now and the place had been turned so completely into expensive shops that it was almost a huge mall, not really a town with a main street anymore at all. I made sure my mini stayed covering my butt, but I finally just lit up where it seemed most open to the air, but put it out fairly quickly again. Soon I came across a bunch of kids loitering in some grass that was barely out of the fancy goods laden walkway, and I could see they'd been smoking.
I thought that my dress was too uncomfortable and that I wanted to go get more comfortable for this and started back for Goldie Honda, where I'd left her parked just North of the main part of town. As I approached I saw this truck, this truck of the guy who stalks me, tries to nab me every time he sees me. He's a stranger, but one I know from his signs by heart. I ran to my car, and even though I'd parallel parked on the side of the street, after I got in I was parked side by side with this truck on a side street just around the corner from where I'd gotten in. I was getting away anyway. He hadn't blocked me in, and he was laughing that he was going to chase me down, that I wouldn't stick on the easy to drive highways and be forced off onto the back roads trying to elude him and he'd get me there.
Number One: I would in fact drive to the nearest police station.
Number Two: I would drive wherever was most direct to get law enforcement.
Number Three: If I'd decided to to things his way, I'd have beaten the snot out of him because I can drive those roads faster than you can drive on the freeway and he'd have been dead off a cliff or into a tree if he tried to keep up with me.
I woke up then, and grouchy that I did not merely glare him into a shriveled prune of his own violent intent instead of even becoming frightened at all. I am completely out of it. And must do better.
[I also dreamed that Netanyahu did something that pissed off Obummer so badly that he withdrew all our aid and called Israel our enemy.... How out there was that!]
The end part there, about Netanyahu, is wonderful!
ReplyDeleteThe truck reminds me of the Linkermobile. It was the same model, a sweet baby blue with a white top. Its owner was one of my closest friends at the time, however he had a serious problem with alcohol. I don't ever recall seeing him without a beer or whiskey in hand.
Anyway, on winter day he decided to drive up to Flight Strip - an old, nearly abandoned resort and private air strip in the Sierras. He was friends of the owner and stayed there in the cabins from time to time.
On the way in from the main road he got stuck in the snow and walked the last mile in to the place.
After spending the afternoon drinking in the bar he and the owner decided to go pull out the Linkermobile since it was starting to get dark.
They hooked one end of a 100 foot long cable to the owner's truck and the other end to the Linkermobile.
Mind you, this is in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. There are huge pine trees all over the place, in fact a stand of Sequoias is about three miles from there. The road into the resort is winding and narrow.
The resort owner then put his truck in granny gear 4 wheel drive and began pulling the Linkermobile down the road. Soon he came to a 90 degree right turn and rounded it. The cable swung over to the side of the road and wrapped around a 3 foot diameter pine tree.
My friend started hitting his brakes, trying to stop, as he was being pulled directly into the tree. It was no use, unable to see what was going on, the owner just kept on going until the cable snapped when the Linkermobile was wrapped around the tree.
My friend is the only one I know who got 3 DUIs in a one week period. Two were Sacramento and one was in Los Angeles. (The second DUI was the LA one)
Both court case for Sacramento came up before his LA case. The judge in Sacramento told him that since his third offense was only his second conviction he couldn't send him to jail, if the LA case had already been a conviction he would be spending a year in jail. The LA judge told a similar message, that since his their conviction was only his second offense he lucked out of jail time. The DMV however suspended his license for two years and gave him a hefty fine.
The last time I saw him was about a year after that. He had moved to LA. One day this old 1947 Dodge flatbed truck pulls up in front of my house. The thing looks like a disaster waiting to happen. Fenders half rusted off, flapping in the wind. The stakesides held on with Bungee cords, tires so bald the steel belts are showing through. It came rattling to a halt with a loud backfire. The driver's door swung open and out jumped my friend with a Budweiser tall boy in his hand! We spent the afternoon together before he headed off to Oregon to plant trees. I've never heard from him since.
He probably lost it on a turn.... Should've gotten a Honda Prelude....
ReplyDeleteActually he did loose a Buick that way. Someone else was driving, but the car was his replacement for the Linkermobile. Lost it on the road up to Flight Strip at a hairpin turn above Oxbow on the American River. They were returning from a bar in Forest Hill at 2:00 in the morning and went wide on a left hand turn. My friend realized they were going over the edge and opened the door and jumped out. Just as he was exiting, the car went over the edge and the top of the door frame hit him in the head. He woke up sometime later in the manzanita about 50 feet down from the road.
ReplyDeleteHe called and called for his friend and heard nothing but silence.
Sure that his friend was dead, bleeding from a head wound, he stacked a pile of rocks to identify the spot and walked back to Forest Hill to call for help.
He arrived back at the site with the Sheriff at about five in the morning to find his friend almost up to the road after dragging himself up the 600 foot extremely steep hill with a broken arm and nose.
Didn't break him of the drinking and driving thing, though.... I hope he's so busy planting trees that he just lost touch.
ReplyDelete