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In a Funk in Hemet
I’ve been in a funk lately. I have it scheduled on my google calendar to watch for seasonal depression this time of year (and not let it sneak up on me like it has in the past) and I think it’s happening even when I live out in the desert where the sun shines. The mornings are foggy lately. Sometimes it burns off to be a bright pretty day and that cheers me up but I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling I had when I first moved here. I still love it here. I’ve just been feeling stagnant. Maybe I just miss the Bay Area and Matt.
I still get up and attempt my daily routines. I rescued a lizard that had gotten stuck in a metal trash can. He was so cold in the morning that he stayed on my lap until he warmed up. Then he scampered off without even saying goodbye or thank you. I like to think he remembers me but he probably doesn’t.
It IS pretty here! What is my problem??? I think someday I should organize an artist retreat in the spring so morning people like me can go sketch flowers or desert life. I wish I had a sketch club out here but no luck so far. I do have a book club that meets once a month for snacks and not reading books.
Inky makes life better. He makes my nose stuffed up in the morning but his purrs are worth it.
I was out in the back yard taking pictures of my Barbie dolls when I heard my mom tell my dad that I was off “playing with my dolls.” They think it’s cute. I think I’m a little pathetic. I don’t play with them per se… I just pose them and take pictures for instagram. Is that more grown-up? Who knows. I have such a weird life here. I’m half retired. I’m half loser. I clean houses for money and I cook and clean for my parents. I goof off with dolls and do hobbies when I’m not mopping floors and cleaning catboxes like Cinderella. I miss my kid who used to be my full-time job but she’s off being independent and wonderful. I don’t know…I just feel lost.
Mmmmm… springtime orange blossoms, the scent of my childhood.
It’s been gray lately. All the images above depress me. I’m not bored of the desert, I still love it but I feel stuck. Not having a car makes me dependent on other people and I feel like I’ve lost hours and hours of freedom. I miss my car. I really loved her.
Bug did surprise me with an early Mother’s Day date when I was in Orange County. I was so surprised when she showed up with the prettiest Trader Joe’s bouquet and a little pink tote bag. I am spoiled.
One project I’ve completed lately is this letterpress tray – shadow box painting job. I read somewhere that these old letterpress letter trays will be the most coveted interior design piece in 2025 and I thought, hmmm! I’ve seen them over the years and never really felt the need for one but once I saw that article, it haunted me. I priced them on eBay and Facebook Marketplace and they seemed expensive. I told my friend Tamie and she hunted down a bunch of them for me. Now I’m owner of seven letterpress trays! I didn’t want to paint them, they are so charming in their old wooden patina but since I have so many, it took some of the guilt away. So now I have a place to keep all those tiny toys that seem to magically collect around my computer monitor. I’m not sure it’s really my thing but I do love miniatures. I need to cut out some of the boxes so my Lego figurines don’t have to lay sideways but the funk has kind of taken the steam out of my motivation.
Hopefully next post I’ll be back to my happy self.
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There’s a free calendar at the end of this post.
I don’t even know where to start with this post. Everyone asks me how I’m doing, and I make up some bullshit story about “healing in the desert” because it sounds good. But I’m here because I have nowhere else to go. I couldn’t cut it in the OC anymore, and since Bug moved out, it just didn’t make sense for me to deplete my retirement by paying rent on an apartment I couldn’t afford. So I packed up and moved home to my parents. It was a huge relief to give up finally. I’d been fighting it for what seemed like forever. I was hustling every side job I could find, borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, borrowing from friends, knowing I’d never be able to pay them back…I was getting rejection letters every day from jobs I’d applied to months before. It was hopeless.
My mental health has taken a blow, but there is a little bit of truth to my bullshit story about healing in the desert. I feel the sun out here. It gives me hope. I am solar-powered, and every time I feel the sun on my face, I breathe in and out more easily.
When I lived in Costa Mesa, it was foggy every day. I was close to the ocean but not close enough to walk. The ocean came to me in a big bank of fog. My apartment was dark. I know it looks bright in photos, but it isn’t. I tried to make it pretty and appreciate the ducks and the trees in the neighborhood… but when it was too cold to sit outside, I felt like I was living in a cave. The low popcorn ceiling, the few windows on only one side, and the cloudy days blended into a dark mood that wouldn’t lift.
Coming here has been a breath of fresh air. I feel so lucky that my parents live in the prettiest part of an otherwise depressed town. They are on the outskirts of Hemet in the low hills. The horizon is vast. As far as I can see, I see rocks and hills and shrubbery, and the skies go on forever. There isn’t any fog. Just dry, cold air. It’s the high desert; right now, it’s very dry and chilly. But I grew up here, so it’s sentimental. I am a desert child.
Every morning, I wake up super early and watch the sunrise. I’d go for walks, but the coyotes are kind of creepy out here, so Cody and I stay close to home until it gets light. I was sitting in the vines of dead raspberry bushes in a raised garden, but my dad built me a little platform. I love being around my dad because he’s super handy and has every tool you can imagine. I can’t wait until summer when we have a thriving garden.
But right after I got here, my parents left for Texas to take care of my brother, who had hip surgery. He had some complications and is in some pain, so they are staying with him until he heals a bit and gets settled. I miss my parents. I feel like I’ve been out here alone for months, even though it’s only been a few weeks.
The power went out for three days to make things even more challenging. I’m not mad about it, though, because SCE is taking all precautions so that the high winds don’t knock down wires and start fires. Where my parents live in a high-risk fire area. When I see the devastation in Los Angeles as I scroll through Instagram, I am thankful for all these precautions. I miss my dad, though. Trying to find my way around in the dark was scary, as was figuring out how to turn the generator on and hook up the refrigerator so the food inside didn’t go bad. Afterward, I felt like such a survivor. But the dark did get old quickly. There isn’t much worth doing when the sun sets at 5:30, so I’d go to bed and sleep. Then I’d be up super early and start all over again.
I cooked my food on the gas stove (thank the Lord my parents have gas!), read books, and one day drove to the library to do some work.
Then, magically, on day three, the power turned back on! It was so amazing and wonderful. I think I felt like how people think crawdads are the most delicious food they’ve ever tasted when they’ve been starving for weeks. Crawdads are not delicious. Well, not to me, anyway. LED lights in the kitchen aren’t impressive either until you’ve bumped around in the dark for three days. Then they are the best invention ever!
The winds are still whipping around, so I brace myself for another outage. Until then, I’m typing out a blog post and dropping a calendar for you to proof!
This is just for you, Cathy: a free calendar. Please proofread it and let me know if there are any errors.
***UPDATE TO ADD NEW CORRECTED CALENDAR***
I am planning on taking this blog down this year. I’m in the process of copying and pasting it into a digital document for Bug and her cousins so that it will be up for a while. I’ve got twenty-plus years of content to copy and paste. Maybe I’ll want to keep going by the end of it, but I’m ready for a change. Secret Agent Josephine has lived her days. Thank you for reading all these years. I’ll keep you posted on Instagram.
xo
