Maybe I didn’t fight hard enough. I gave up too easily. I could’ve been like Francisco Bongo Bong whom I met on the pedestrian walk in Granada, and made art pieces and bracelets to sell to tourists. Tourists love bracelets, knit hats, scarves, textiles, and purses. I sort of know how to knit and weave. I opted out, so here I am back in America.
I regret I left my room a mess. There are long days of clean up work ahead of me. As Stevie Nicks asks in Gold Dust Woman, “do you know how to pick up the pieces and go home?”
I don’t know the answer. As I expected before I left I am now hooked on the idea of traveling. This weekend I went up to Santa Barbara. Reintegrating into America ain’t EZ. When I got off the train I expected the taxi drivers to bombard me with taxi solicitations. I kept holding my backpack really close to me. My guard is still up. Everyone looked so affluent and clean and white. My brain cannot process how I feel about this. There are trash cans, recycling cans, and compost piles. Everyone is eco-friendly. Conscious. Taking health supplements. It doesn’t feel real though.
Right now I am at my parent’s house in Menifee, CA. This too is a mind fuck.
From the Press Enterprise, the Inland Empire’s regional newspaper, “The Inland Empire is fourth in the nation for food insecurity, according to the nonprofit Food Research and Action Center in Washington, D.C.” This is far from Nicaragua and far from Santa Barbara. This is the byproduct of having lost touch with what people in Nicaragua still understand, and what people in Santa Barbara are fighting to get back to. The simple act of growing one’s food. Currently in a landscape which resembles much of what the rest of America looks like, a nonstop parade of Wal-Mart’s, Chic-fil-a’s, and ampm big gulps, I am reminded of why I am making myself live at home for the next few months.
My parent’s backyard is a small weed filled parcel in the middle of a tract-housing neighborhood. Right now it is full of cinder blocks, forgotten gym equipment, and weeds. Although it seems simple enough, I know what I want to accomplish will be monumental. I want to transform my parents backyard into a little garden. A little garden which will hopefully provide my parents with a reason to keep their blinds open instead of closed, maybe make them spend a little more time outside, and mostly maybe make them eat some more vegetables. At the next level, I’d like them to understand why I want them to shop at the farmer’s market instead of the stores they go to get their groceries or get them to compost. I can’t have any expectations for the garden though.
At the least I will have fun. Nothing makes me feel more satisfied than watching a plant I put into the ground grow. I’ll even start a few plants from seed. As the roots of what I sow take hold I’ll be obligated to stick around and grow out of what makes me uncomfortable. I know everything is OK, but sometimes I manage to get caught up in my mental constructs.
As for this blog… the journey is far from over. I enjoyed the process of transferring what I experienced into the written word to share with friends. I’d like to keep writing, but I feel that maybe I need to start new blogs for new pursuits and keep this blog open strictly for travel abroad. I look forward to leaving again very soon. In the meantime, I want to continue doing what I was doing in Santa Barbara here in the IE. It’ll be more of a challenge, but it’s how I want to be living. Later this week there is a meeting about starting a food cooperative in Riverside. There’s also a couple small bicycle advocacy outfits. It’s all about planting seeds. You’re born, you eat, you poop, you grow. you used to eat and poop out seeds and make things grow, but now we poop into clean water. anyways our poop got messed up somewhere in there and got nastier than dog poop. Enough about poop.
Time to plant seeds. Eventually something will come out of it, even in Menifee, CA.