Carol:
Our House is a Very, Very Fine House
I’m not by nature an adrenaline junkie—that’s the term, right? I don’t go for those X-sports like bungie jumping from the Brooklyn Bridge or flying on a zip cord through the canopy of a Brazilian rainforest. Once Marc signed up for an X-Treme Day Tour in Costa Rica; he came back to the hotel exhilarated but stinking from his soak in a volcanic mud bath. I had opted to stay behind and read Bel Canto on the hotel balcony. When I imagine a dream adventure, it is almost always about traveling somewhere distant, isolated and beautiful where I can have Un-ventures .
After my year of study abroad in France, I would often dream about returning someday to rent a little apartment overlooking the Cote D’Azur, maybe in Antibes. I had seen a woman there once, standing on the small balcony of just such a place, enjoying the breeze on her face and watching the people below stroll along the stone promenade above the rocky shore. The image of her white shirt and sun-tanned face next to the faded turquoise shutters of the balcony door is still vivid in my mind after 40 years. I wanted to be that woman…in that place. I still do.
After my year of study abroad in France, I would often dream about returning someday to rent a little apartment overlooking the Cote D’Azur, maybe in Antibes. I had seen a woman there once, standing on the small balcony of just such a place, enjoying the breeze on her face and watching the people below stroll along the stone promenade above the rocky shore. The image of her white shirt and sun-tanned face next to the faded turquoise shutters of the balcony door is still vivid in my mind after 40 years. I wanted to be that woman…in that place. I still do.
 |
| The Antibes Dream |
My imagination adjusted to the reality of getting married, having a job and moving to southern California. I started dreaming about having a cabin somewhere in Mexico. I was a fan of Jack Smith’s columns in the LA Times, and he would often write about his ongoing, frustrating but comical experiences building a little beach house in Baja California. He eventually turned it into God and Mr. Gomez, a 1974 book that Marc gave me as a gift, signed by the author after a lengthy wait. Jack Smith’s detailed catalogue of mishaps and delays did not deflate my dream of my own little beach casita with turquoise shutters.
When we actually traveled to Baja California in 1986, on several occasions we pulled our old motorhome into isolated beaches along the Sea of Cortez The only other signs of life were the sand crab trails leading down to the water and the sound of lowing cattle behind a sand dune. Just watching the fish jump out of the water and listening to the waves was enough to make me feel content.
After years of 10 years of living within easy distance of the Pacific Ocean, we moved inland to the Arizona high desert. We bought a small plane and started taking trips down to the Bahia San Carlos on the opposite side of the Sea of Cortez. Although we found an affordable hotel with its own protected beach, I still dreamed about having our own tiny little house away from the tourist areas where the condos were bunched together and noisy. I took a little peek at the real estate ads this morning. Apparently, the Mexican government designated the Sea of Cortez and the “Mayan Riveria” to become “the axis on which the country’s tourist development would hinge… and will consolidate the Sea of Cortez as a world-class tourist destination” (Source: Mi Casa-Su Casa Realty Group). So much for my dream of a little retirement casita in Mexico.
After years of 10 years of living within easy distance of the Pacific Ocean, we moved inland to the Arizona high desert. We bought a small plane and started taking trips down to the Bahia San Carlos on the opposite side of the Sea of Cortez. Although we found an affordable hotel with its own protected beach, I still dreamed about having our own tiny little house away from the tourist areas where the condos were bunched together and noisy. I took a little peek at the real estate ads this morning. Apparently, the Mexican government designated the Sea of Cortez and the “Mayan Riveria” to become “the axis on which the country’s tourist development would hinge… and will consolidate the Sea of Cortez as a world-class tourist destination” (Source: Mi Casa-Su Casa Realty Group). So much for my dream of a little retirement casita in Mexico.
 |
| The Mexico Dream |
I haven’t totally given up on the idea of my dream adventure. With my husband inching towards retirement, building our own little get-away home sounds even more appealing. And, I have found the perfect place already. A small house, durable materials, low-maintenance yard, privacy wall. Now if we can just find exactly the right piece of property, nothing large mind you.
 |
| The Retirement Reality |
Megan:
In my more dramatic moments, I tell people that the reason I quit the job in the prison was because I felt like the evil was seeping into me.
I had that idea – that the “evil was seeping in” -- a few different times while I worked there – and it sort of became an excuse in my mind for some of the ways I found to cope with the stress. Anyone who has worked in that sort of environment – high stress and dangerous – whether it is a prison, or the military, or juvenile detention, or law enforcement – there comes a point where you think the only people who understand are the people you work with. And the only way to cope with too much stress, too much danger, is to act too much in other ways – too much drinking, too much exercise (never my problem) too much anger, too much sleep.
I mentioned to one of my library officers about my fear, but she was offended by the idea. “If you feel this way after 3 years, what does that mean for me? I’ve been here 10.” And there were others who had been there for 20 or 30 years, had spent the majority of their lives in prison, on purpose, doing a job that no one appreciates and no one understands.
But, unlike me, they had lives outside of work, spouses and interests unrelated. In social situations, they were used to lying about their jobs -- claiming to be an electrician, or the accurate but vague “civil servant.” I could say, “I’m a librarian.” But I had the feeling that there was an unspoken just in there – I’m JUST a librarian. So, I always followed it with the qualifier, “at the prison” because it was novel, because it was interesting, and because I felt like I was owed some sort of recognition for working in such a miserable environment.
But what I didn’t mention was that it was my dream job. That because my supervisors didn’t have the same clearances that I did, they rarely came into the prison. That I was on my own, in charge by myself, isolated yes, but this was MY LIBRARY and to this day, the idea that I have been replaced grates on me. By the end, I was so ready to leave, so exhausted and used up and sick of it all. But even now, nearly 10 months later, I still have dreams about MY LIBRARY -- the way I did when I began working there.
A couple times in the past few weeks I have a thought – it’s the end of the financial year, I hope they remember to… don’t forget the… what are the stats like? Has attendence increased or decreased? Is it inappropriate to ask that them to send me a copy of the end of year report? I’m unemployed now, but despite the "evil," I did some good there – made quantifiable, justifiable progress. I want to know if it held up. I want to know how it’s going. And sometimes, even though I wake up in Arizona, with Milo curled into my back, I still have a moment while still half asleep and I’m planning the day – planning what needs to be done in MY LIBRARY .
But, unlike me, they had lives outside of work, spouses and interests unrelated. In social situations, they were used to lying about their jobs -- claiming to be an electrician, or the accurate but vague “civil servant.” I could say, “I’m a librarian.” But I had the feeling that there was an unspoken just in there – I’m JUST a librarian. So, I always followed it with the qualifier, “at the prison” because it was novel, because it was interesting, and because I felt like I was owed some sort of recognition for working in such a miserable environment.
But what I didn’t mention was that it was my dream job. That because my supervisors didn’t have the same clearances that I did, they rarely came into the prison. That I was on my own, in charge by myself, isolated yes, but this was MY LIBRARY and to this day, the idea that I have been replaced grates on me. By the end, I was so ready to leave, so exhausted and used up and sick of it all. But even now, nearly 10 months later, I still have dreams about MY LIBRARY -- the way I did when I began working there.
A couple times in the past few weeks I have a thought – it’s the end of the financial year, I hope they remember to… don’t forget the… what are the stats like? Has attendence increased or decreased? Is it inappropriate to ask that them to send me a copy of the end of year report? I’m unemployed now, but despite the "evil," I did some good there – made quantifiable, justifiable progress. I want to know if it held up. I want to know how it’s going. And sometimes, even though I wake up in Arizona, with Milo curled into my back, I still have a moment while still half asleep and I’m planning the day – planning what needs to be done in MY LIBRARY .
No comments:
Post a Comment