bodie revisited   13 comments

Posted at 11:20 pm in Uncategorized

For several weeks, I’ve been determined to get back to writing on a regular schedule, but it seems that life has a habit of getting in the way. A bit over a week ago, I came down with a pretty nasty cold. Thanks to meddlesome demons, almost simultaneously, Sabrina developed a urinary tract infection. Picture me, lying in bed practically comatose with exhaustion, while every hour on the hour, Sabrina insistently pokes her nose in my face or nudges at my hand, trying to get me up to let her out. Fortunately, a friend and neighbour referred me to a local vet – Dr. Behney at the Cochise Animal Clinic – so the next morning, I took Sabrina there for tests and treatment. She’s been on antibiotics for a week and seems fine now. Of course, when things start to go wrong — well, it’s been my experience that one or two things going wrong soon trigger an avalanche. After arriving home from the vet appointment, Sage was racing around the garden, in a display of health and vigor that was probably meant to make Sabrina feel even sicker than she already was. As she came to a grinning halt before us, I noticed a fine stream of blood spurting from a broken front claw, up onto the white fur of her hind legs. By that point, I was feeling so beaten up from getting Sabrina to and from the vet appointment that I really did not want deal with the situation. However, there was no one else to take charge. So, we sat in the garden while I cleaned and bandaged her foot, while all the while, she yelped in fear, not due to pain, but at the frightening sight of a pair of scissors, bandages and medical tape. Picture me, sicker than a sick dog, single-handedly struggling to restrain and calm a terrified wingnut while trying to bandage its foot.

From there, things continued to go downhill. A couple of nights later, my throat was so sore that I put a big tumbler of water next to the bed. After taking the dogs for their evening walkabout, I saw a nocturnal moth fly in the door as we entered the house. I reached for my camera which was sitting on the shelf by the bed. The camera strap caught the tumbler of water, spilling it onto the keyboard of my MacBook which was turned on at the time. Horrified, I shouted “No!” but the water disobeyed and continued to flow through and between the keys. I recall hearing a small popping sound and seeing a flash of blue light in the area of the fan vent. Immediately, I knocked loose the magnetic electrical cord, flipped the computer upside down over a towel and gave it a shake, and then removed the battery. I guess the only fortunate thing in all of this is that I had recently bought an iMac, so had a back-up computer on which to look up information on what to do when you knock a drink into a Mac. Perhaps not too surprisingly, there are dozens of posts about this very topic on the Mac forums. I spent the next hour or so removing the hard drive and taking the casing of the MacBook apart — not with a tiny Phillips screwdriver, as I didn’t have one — but with the tip of a very pointy little paring knife out of the kitchen drawer. Three days of drying in the desert air, and the Mac is running fine again after assembly. Unfortunately, the battery is kaput, but I had a spare that was bought for the trip, so all is well again. I started feeling somewhat better yesterday. Sabrina seems to be over her infection. Sage’s toe seems none the worse for the wear. I guess things are back under control — at least for awhile. However, I think that’s probably part of the problem with how things are these days. All of the above wouldn’t have bothered me too much back when Don and I were a team, but now that he’s gone, problems seem to pile up faster and higher than before, and I realize that’s what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life, so better make the kind of plans that don’t depend on things going right or smoothly.

But I digress. I meant to write something about Bodie, and so I will – momentarily.

Before writing this post, I went back to last year’s post describing a visit to Bodie, California. The first paragraph is as true today as it was then:

From the outset of this journey, there was never a true “plan” of where it might lead, or when it would end. As I sit here writing this post, I can’t tell you what comes next after I leave southeast Arizona in mid-March. The only certainty is that I have to cross back into Canada by mid-April — that’s the limit for visiting the U.S. without a visa allowing for a longer stay.

Somehow, I thought that, a year later, I would have a better idea of “what comes next” but it seems not. Lately, I’ve been searching for signs that there has been progress of some sort. As is the case with so many things, from the inside, it’s sometimes hard to tell. The only quantitative indicator I have is that last year, around this time, I believe I was going through about two or three boxes of facial tissue a week. This winter, I’m still on the first two boxes since arriving in November. The extreme sadness and distress of last year has gradually morphed into something else. Even the fairly intense anger that I have lived with for months seems to be giving way to some other state of mind. I’ve been trying to figure out how best to describe it. Perhaps puzzlement and a certain degree of indifference? Yes, I find myself puzzled about how I got here, what I’m supposed to do next, where to go, why I continue to exist while Don doesn’t, and a bunch of other conundrums. The indifference part has to do with not really caring about finding those answers. The only thing I can say for sure is that, each morning, I get up and carry on. I’ve read enough other widow and widower’s blogs to know that all of the above feelings are pretty normal and often persist for many years. As most have said, you don’t really ever get over the sadness and loss — you find a way to make a space for these feelings and eventually learn to live with them – sort of like having a flock of ravens perched here and there in your house. You get used to their presence and sometimes begin to forget that they’re there, but then one of them hops onto your shoulder while you’re cooking dinner or brushing your teeth and it all comes back. Anyhow, once again, I’ve digressed. Back to Bodie.

As some of you may recall, last year’s visit was made under less than optimal conditions. The weather was cold and windy, with the odd snowflake swirling past. Sabrina elected not to get out of the van, so I left her snuggled up on her comfy sleeping bag. This year, although there were a few patches of snow in the shade, the air was still, and the skies sunny and blue. Both Sage and Sabrina eagerly waited for me to clip on their leashes so that they could leap out of the van to explore the town. We set out down the path past the big iron boiler and other relics of the town’s mining days. It felt a little like I was passing by old acquaintances.

“Oh, yes, I remember you. I met you last year when I was wandering about feeling shell-shocked. Well, I’m back for another look around.”

I was actually surprised at how much I remembered. The cardboard egg carton sitting on the kitchen table of a derelict house – I knew it would be there even before I walked up to gaze through the rippled glass of the window. A trio of oil can lids nailed to a weathered board. Loops of black wire and white porcelain insulators dangling from the side of a tin-clad shed.

The photos from this visit are different. Perhaps it’s because they were taken with another camera. But, no, it’s something more. To these eyes, the world no longer looks the same.

Written by bev on January 11th, 2010

13 Responses to 'bodie revisited'

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  1. Bev, as appealing as places like Bodie can be with their starkness and odd histories, they can be sad and lonely, too. And I think they tend to encourage one to draw inward into one’s own shell. That can be therapeutic, perhaps, but it can be isolating. Don’t go too far into Bodie. I think you might find it refreshing to go into Tucson or head east for a bit and find Silver City, NM. Or go farther, perhaps to Big Bend and spend time in Lajitas. It seems to me like you may be tired of this particular journey, if only for awhile. Maybe a break from it would make the remainder of the journey more appealing. I may be a worry wart, but do take care of Bev. Forgive me if I’m over-analyzing this post; that’s what I sometimes do best.

    John

    12 Jan 10 at 12:15 am

  2. I like the way the photos capture the loneliness of Bodie and how your personal story flows in and out of the old buildings. I especially like the second photo, and can’t explain why I see so much hope in that magnificent sky. Maybe it’s the way the clouds look like wings to me and full of promise that could lift all the lonely spirits.

    I wrote a poem once many years ago, shortly after my father died. The last few lines went something like this. In truth they say you are now everywhere. Yes, everywhere, everywhere… but here.

    robin andrea

    12 Jan 10 at 10:26 am

  3. John – You’re in no danger of over-anaylyzing this post. Don’t worry, I won’t go too far into Bodie, and I do occasionally go to Tucson – not yet this winter, but I have to make a trip over there for the day sometime in February. Bisbee is a pretty alive place though – I’m told it’s a bit like Silver City, which you’ve mentioned. But unfortunately, yes, I am tired of this journey — I think that all people who lose someone close to them, eventually reach a point where they say, “Enough, I want everything back the way it was. This stupid game has gone on long enough. Putting me through all of this hell hasn’t “taught” me anything that I didn’t know already before all of this happened, so we can go back to how things were before life went to hell in a handbasket.” There is no reward for weathering a year, two years, five years, or however long, without your partner. You get truly sick of it after awhile. On a widow’s blog that I occasionally read, she put it so well — she wishes she were like Superman and could fly backwards around the earth very fast and reverse time to before everything was taken away from her. Unfortunately, there’s no going back, no matter how weary you are of dealing with grief and of trying to carry on alone. However, make no mistake – I do carry on. Looking back on the past year, returning home to get my house sold was a Herculean task — Don and I had discussed selling to move east and I had even started working on getting things in order in 2007 before he became ill — but there was so much to do. I feel I’ve accomplished much, but so what? The house is sold, the money is in the bank, but now what? I’ve recently bought a new computer and some software that I’ve always wanted to learn to use. This winter, I’m doing just that – learning to do some new things and, who knows, I may launch a new business when I get back to Canada this summer — or I may go off doing field work with biologist friends who have invited me to tag along. I don’t really know. I keep feeling like I should buy land and build a house or renovate an old farmhouse, but when I really analyze this desire, I realize that, at some irrational subconscious level, my mind is thinking that, if I can just build a nice enough place, everything will go back to the way it used to be. My “vision” of that place includes the return of a person who can no longer join me there. It’s all rather deflating. Widows and widowers will probably be able to identify with all of this — I read it on their blogs too. As some have said, it’s an exclusive club — one that none of us want to belong to, and where the price of joining was all too high.

    bev

    12 Jan 10 at 11:31 am

  4. robin – Isn’t that an incredible sky? That day, I was very conscious of how the sky was “making” many of the photos and had an effect on my shooting. That isn’t always the case, but when it happens, it’s kind of exciting. This year’s trip to Bodie did feel different than my last. Returning to familiar places offers some platform on which to draw comparisons — and I suppose that’s why I have revisited certain places during my travels. I’m very conscious of how I feel in each setting, and that gives me some point of reference for studying where I’m at on a journey that lies outside the borders of any map I’ve ever known. I remember those lines from your poem and they are so very true. — everywhere , everywhere,.. but here.

    bev

    12 Jan 10 at 11:43 am

  5. Bev, I hope you are feeling better, and that Sabrina’s paw is healing up nicely – Spencer did something similar last week, and it took three of us to hold him while the injured paw was bathed and bandaged.

    The photos in this post are sublimely liminal, and they take my breath away – absolutely gorgeous, and just what I needed to see today.

    CAte

    12 Jan 10 at 5:56 pm

  6. Cate – After a rather chaotic week, things are finally getting back to normal. I hope Spencer’s paw is healing and that the injury has turned out to be uneventful. Dogs can be so brave, but also such babies. I find the collies very brave once they get a bit older, but as puppies, they are very wimpy indeed. I’m glad that you liked the Bodie photographs. It’s a wonderful place for anyone who is interested in photography .

    bev

    13 Jan 10 at 1:49 am

  7. Bev, I was so happy to see another post from you as I was beginning to get worried, but thank goodness the three of you are on the mend after your illnesses and mishap. Your inner and outer journeys continue to hold me enthralled, and the photos of those old buildings in Bodie brought smiles to my face. I find the first one particularly beautiful, as I like to capture unexpected reflections whenever I can.

    I still haven’t mastered my new digital SLR, so my point-and-shoot camera usually travels with me so that I can slip it into my pocket for protection from the cold. I keep thinking I should take an SLR course, but I actually like trying to figure out everything on my own… especially since my ‘mistakes’ usually turn out to be lessons that don’t cost anything.

    I hope you discover the road that will answer your question of ‘what next’, and that you find a sense of peace when you travel along it.

    Marni

    13 Jan 10 at 8:43 am

  8. “The only thing I can say for sure is that, each morning, I get up and carry on.”

    “To these eyes, the world no longer looks the same.”

    You and Sabrina and Sage have been in my thoughts as I checked your blog over the past few weeks. I imagined you resting, doing what needs to be done each day and gathering your thoughts. What a relief to hear that the additional turbulence in your life has passed.

    I remember looking at your Bodie photos last year — feeling the chill in the air in the midst of an austerely beautiful place that had been abandoned — and I especially liked the photo of the rusty oil can lids. Richard used to collect rusted things he found in and around Half Moon Bay and make mobiles with them. I can picture him delighted with everything that remains in Bodie. Bodie does look different a year later. To my eyes, the sky is charged with astonishing energy.

    As I was reading your post, a video I watched at Loren’s beautiful blog (“In A Dark Time”) came to mind. I’m not sure why, but it speaks to me as a widow who is also getting up and carrying on each day. Astonished. Like a rolling stone.

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XquE0jlUtU

    am

    13 Jan 10 at 2:06 pm

  9. I love that top pic!

    Laura

    13 Jan 10 at 10:16 pm

  10. I like how your pictures capture Bodie’s compelling air of solitude. I’d love to see it at this more somber time of year. I hope that you are finding Bisbee to your satisfaction. I have become friends with a couple of guys who live there, and visited during last summer’s Arizona trip. I like its funky, slightly derelict atmosphere.

    DougT

    14 Jan 10 at 8:35 am

  11. Marni – I own or have owned several point-and-shoots, and they’re a lot of fun to work with. My most recent photos have been shot on Canon D10, G10, and G11 models (I just gave the G10 to a friend to play with for awhile). The D10 is a waterproof camera and takes nice shots — all of this year’s Bodie images were shot with it. Last year’s were shot on the G10. I’ve considered getting a DSLR, but for my insect photography, I’ve always like the small size and intimacy of cameras such as the Nikon CP4500, and these little Canon models. I rarely ever read the manuals, but am one of these people who is constantly experimenting — I like what you wrote about preferring to learn to use the DSLR on your own — that would be me too! We’re doing okay, although Sabrina had a relapse after coming off antibiotics. She’s back on them again as of yesterday and looking better. I’m hoping she will be okay. She’s an older dog now and at that age where you worry that any illness might be the last. I don’t feel that I can deal with that just now, but hopefully I won’t have to for awhile yet. Take care.

    am – I just watched the Don McKay reading that you mentioned in your comment. Yes, “astonished”. Sometimes, I feel like “petrified” – wild and incompetent,
    you have no house. Who are you?
    As you know, the tone and mood of these journeys is ever-changing. One day, I am petrified, but the next, I am a rolling stone. The sky at Bodie was, indeed, “charged with astonishing energy”. I shot a few photos that were even more so. Perhaps I will post them somewhere and put up some links this week.

    Laura – I very much love that same image. It’s very much what I consider a “standalone” shot. Could be any place or any time.

    Doug – Last year’s visit to Bodie had a very different feel – somber – due to the almost white skies and the cold wind and traces of snow. It would be interesting to go there in mid-winter. I imagine the sound of the wind, and of metal and wood creaking and bending. I would probably want to record that (knowing me). Regarding Bisbee, I like it here very much. I spent last winter here as well and it is really beginning to feel like “home” to me – perhaps as much as any place I’ve ever lived. It does have a unique atmosphere. I’m constantly seeing neat or fun things around town — it would take more than a lifetime to get to know every corner of this place as it is so full of visual surprises. I hope to keep coming back in winter for as long as I am able.

    bev

    14 Jan 10 at 10:24 am

  12. Nice write-up last year… I posted a link to it on http://www.VisitBodie.com – thanks for keeping the interest and excitement of Bodie alive!

    Bodie

    25 Jan 10 at 7:32 pm

  13. I do believe all the ideas you have presented for your post. They are really convincing and can definitely work. Still, the posts are too short for starters. Could you please extend them a bit from next time? Thanks for the post.

    michel jiron

    1 Apr 13 at 10:22 am

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