at 61

at 61, i  live in a town amid:    old hipsters   the nouveau riche

hippie-identified youth     friends i love and friends that i still love

who have mysteriously slipped away…

i live in a walking town, as less people walk…..a town of politicos,  rastafarian loving, skateboard riding-kids      of surfers and seniors   readers and herbalists

musicians, artists and poets       generous organic farmers and backyard gardeners

bleeding heart, left-leaning radicals   coastal beach-goers, and

those who stand on downtown’s friday street corners with signs advocating war’s end

flashing peace signs at passersby        while on the opposite corner, flag waving vets

in uniform, salute the cars and beg us to support the troops

and for awhile, the women in black stood silently   their wordless-ness

speaking volumes of pain and loss    their dead children’s faces reflected in their eyes

with tales told   of a country, war-torn and unknown to us before nine-eleven…

at 61, i live in a town filled with new mamas with  strollers equaling the old-timer’s rents

a town of young families      of generations of old commune dwellers from “the day”

a town of “visionary activists         growers and smokers    expresso lovers…the healthy and the not so           a town of so much….

the entitled    the humble    the holy  the searchers and spiritual    the homeless, freezing this season in the bushes  by the lagoon or at the park’s edge in the hills, next to multi-million dollar acreage…

i live amid those who had the foresight to buy homes

when these once-pristine and magical land was filled with the beauty of

blossoming gravenstein apple orchards, instead of today’s

fields, now decimated         as every available acre is lined perfectly

with row after row of dollar signs vis a vi— vineyards..

ah, the coveted and often visited “wine country”…..

whine country….

at 61, i live in a town once affordable for renters

a town once dog and human renter friendly       a town once without traffic jams and snarls

a town that felt so different than the one i attempt to wade through, see and feel today…

this holiday season, i saw my town reach its tipping point

watched its “hipness” fade into a caricature of what once was

saw in the many faces encountered    a mantle of smugness    anger and frustration at the world    and at each other        a town’s once-quaint and cool vibe, diminished

a town’s “coolness” now forced and faked….

i heard and felt the daggers of self-righteousness     abject entitlement   arrogance

suddenly, out from the shadows and directly into my eye

marched those whose need to feed their fragile egos

they strangled  me      with their half-baked theories and misinformation

choked me           with their desperate need to have an online or public forum voice

spewed  their dangerous   pathetic versions     of what they think they know

at any cost, right or wrong   damning any brave or crazy enough to gently attempt to correct their glaring errors!

at 61, i find myself         not angry or enraged in this hour

instead                 saddened    even surprised and wondering

how i missed this transition of a town in a county north of marin

(marin, a place i once truly thought of as “home” –forced instead to settle in this town once upon a time…)

how did this happen, i have to ask…or did i just stop paying attention

as the tides turned and this town morphed and changed into this?

where  to now, i wonder     at this stage, will the adage of home is where the heart is

be able to satisfy and contain me until the end?  will i be able to stay and stomach the falsehoods of this town, now immersed in this newfound,   pseudo hip for hip’s sake?

or will another place    another day….capture me in its warm embrace

and invite me to weather the impending storms of graceful aging?

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About lindalou5150

as exercise or exorcism, i write...for the eyes of others, for my eyes and heart only, for the love and the rage, i write...to release the gamut of emotion...to tell the truth and say what's often thought but not written...
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