Hello from Cappelli Ranch in Somerset, CA;

I just finished a very long post and then did not save or publish it . . . damn!! Perhaps I can write it again, and maybe it will be a better post. The past three days I have been on my own, venturing out only when I chose to do so, and spending most of the time on the hill here at Marco’s doing school work, managing my second semester classes, cooking when I was hungry, and keeping the fire going to manage the temperature in the house.

To have this much quiet over a continuous period would have been overwhelming and frightening to me at one point of my life; that is no longer the case; I have thoroughly enjoyed the solitude. I am reminded of other times in my life when I experienced such a sense of aloneness . . .  When I was in Europe in 1980, I contracted pneumonia and headed back to the states from Barcelona on my own. Ironically, the title of the interim class in which I was participating was "Auguries of Loneliness" It was not until this evening that I wondered if it were connected to William Blake’s poem, "Auguries of Innocence." Was I innocent back then? Perhaps . . .  even though I had been in the service and I did not feel that innocent compared to many with whom I was attending Dana College, I was still a non-traditional student. What makes us traditional or non-traditional? Who decides. I do not think I am innocent, or even naive any longer, and as noted in earlier posts, I have lost most of my idealism. Perhaps, I still cling to a sense of sentiment.

William Blake’s poem states:

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

While I am the only person left in my immediate family, the grain of sand and the wild flower preceded me and will most certainly follow me. Tomorrow it will be 11 years since I sang at my father’s funeral and then followed by presiding at the commital service for him on that cold January day. It is also my cousin, Joanne’s 77th birthday. She is like a parent to me at this point. They have done so much for me at various times in my life. If my grandmother were alive, she would soon be 96. She has been gone for over thirty years. That is amazing to me. In fact, that would be half of her living life ago.

Tonight shortly, I will be driving in the fog to Sacramento to return my rental car to the airport. I will meet Marco and the rest there and return to the hill here to spend my last remaining days. It has been a wonderful visit. While I have not seen everyone I thought I might have, that has been okay. In some cases, they are out of town for the holiday; in another case, it has not been enough of a priority for them. I am reminded that I was once told "you have time to do whatever you choose to do". I think it is true. If it is a priority enough, you will make it happen. The result has been more solitude and having the discipline to get some things done for next semester. I have a lot left to do, that the time will pass more quickly than I wish. And so it has been . . .  returning to Marco’s there has been a sense of place. I am reminded of Tara who came to visit me and was in this very room before we headed back to Wisconsin at the end of July 2007. I am reminded of coming to visit following my motorcycle accident and doing with with Marco at Miraflores. It has been fun to see the changes and yet experience the familiarity. Place is a combination of memories and expectations; of repetition and commencements; it is the ability to hold on and let go in the same moment. Today someone told me that what I caused them to do was think outside the box. I think that is a good thing. Place is having the box, but also having a willingness to move beyond it.

So with a certainly wistfulness, I am giving up my place and solitude in a few hours. I will move among the community of people I am fortunate to be part of . . . to create a sense of place once again, I will do what I enjoy . . . I will cook dinner for everyone. I will tell you more about that next time.

Thanks for reading.

Michael