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Costco, Hoarding & the Infinite Source of Love Stories

That last entry, “The Private Door Swings Open“, found its way to the Archives because for the first time in these 40+ days of blogging, I felt like I had nothing to share.

Reflecting on my Sunday, there was no way I could bore you with the details of my wearisome (and non-sustainable) tour of “big box” stores.  All I could think to write was how I spent more money than I had on things that I needed.   Like socks for Jeb at Kmart, toilet paper at Home Depot and olive oil at Costco.

Profound in the mundane?  It seemed profundity could not penetrate a mundane of such proportion.  My ‘everyday’ inspiration hit a big, bonus-size, writer’s block right around the Costco member counter.

At the beginning of this year I took a writing workshop with Kim Stafford, where he assured us that the creative well is an infinite source.  You don’t have to worry about running out.  No hoarding necessary.  Share your work and let it flow, trusting that more will follow.

During the workshop I wrote “The Private Door Swings Open” and I’ve been stashing it ever since.  Go figure.

So yesterday when the muse offered nothing but a Home Depot receipt for cockroach traps, I suddenly felt compelled to share the “Private” piece.  It seemed fitting in that the story took place just about year ago and  I will soon be returning to Big Sur (though not to see the rocket scientist).

art by Jessica Dofflemyer

That time in the cabin was an oasis in the desert.  From it came watercolor paintings and love poems.  It inspired a long-distance love affair that spanned continents.

I share it here because I think it’s a great story…and it’s time for me to let it go.

No need to hoard it.  There’s an infinite well of epic life experiences yet to be had.

I’m sure I’ll tell you all about it…

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

The Private Door Swings Open – a Letter to Lulu

Hi Lulu,

You are my witness, you know, and I want to tell you about the Big Sur getaway.

You remember… the rocket scientist from India that I met at Esalen. I know I told you about our meeting.  The three hours talking in the hot springs, my fingers pruned beyond description.  Soaking in every word he spoke I was entranced in the steam and moonlight.  We stayed up all night – watched the sunrise colors in the sky – then parted ways and said goodbye.

Only I made my way back to Big Sur to meet him.

He had picked the sweetest cabin for us next to Castro Canyon creek and it became our haven for three nights and four days.  In the mornings we would wake and look out the little window – white framed panes and bevelled glass – right by the bed.  The cabin was nestled flush against the hillside beside a cedar tree, huge and lush and towering.  The morning sun would sprinkle in through the skylight and illumine the raw wood walls of our tiny room.  It was a little chilly but beneath the covers we were warm.

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer

I would venture out of bed and plant my feet on the thick, deep red, oriental rug to start the electric tea kettle.  Cue up my favorite iTunes playlist and be DJ for the morning.

“Have you heard of Katie Gray?”
“No, hon, I don’t think I have.”
“Ok, listen to this one…”

We were half-dressed and making coffee, dropping chunks of orange chocolate in our mugs, adding spoonfuls of white spun honey and peeling the tangerines I had brought from my grandfather’s tree. The lavender I cut was sitting by the bedside table and every once in a while that beautiful, prince-like, Indian man with deep dark eyes and full lips would look at me with such adoration and kiss me on my smiling mouth.
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You Are the Masterpiece

photo by Jessica Dofflemyer

art 1 |ärt|
noun
the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power

art 2
archaic or dialect 2nd person singular present of BE.