A Chance for Change

Building a life is a blend of hard work and varying luck; building a fulfilling life takes some imagination as well. We do what we can with the building blocks we have yet there are no guarantees. The principles, priorities, and projects we create a life from are seldom constant so it’s just as important to be ready to deal with loss as it is to be willing to let go. Sometimes, the only way to improve a situation is to change it entirely. A steady improvement of circumstances is certainly the goal though not always possible. It’s the choices we make in the face of loss or when facing a dead end that really matter. Whatever our situation, it’s up to us to make the most of it. If opportunity knocks, it’s up to us to answer. We must take a chance to make a change.

“There are two primary choices in life:
to accept conditions as they exist,
or accept the responsibility for changing them.”

— Denis Waitley

My Hunny and I have run the gamut of fair to middling circumstances, living paycheck to paycheck and making positive moves as opportunities arose. We went from apartment to townhouse to owning our own home only to end up selling it when the work dried up. We moved, started over, moved some more, and were rebuilding when the crashing economy led to Dave’s first layoff. Suddenly moving again, we chose to simplify – having always pared down to essentials with each move – and redefine “essential.” Having let go of the material, it was time to let go of a life filled with quantities rather than quality. Focused on survival but missing the mark, we nearly worked ourselves to death with ever increasing hours and continually decreasing health.

image via InspirationBoost.com

I’d dealt with chronic illness throughout my life and I could no longer pretend it shouldn’t affect my choices. If all change starts with the choice to take a chance, one choice I needed to quit making was the chance I kept taking with my health. Quitting my job meant starting over yet again but we had nothing left to lose. Perhaps we should’ve moved home to San Francisco then but a different opportunity knocked, we answered, and new experiences are never regrettable. Our circumstances had much improved by the time Dave was laid off once more, as I strove to reclaim what health I could in a studio we loved. We were, however, in a town we’d never be happy in with nothing to hold us there. It was finally time to go home, and thank God we did.

“The greatest accomplishment is not in never falling,
but in rising again after you fall.”

— Vince Lombardi

Always determined to bloom where we’re planted, we chose to take root where we’d flourish. The expense had kept us away long enough and aspects of living in San Francisco make up for any relative hardship, from its public transportation and healthcare to the diverse culture and moderate weather with so much in between. As a spoonie, such benefits are life-giving and allow me to have a more active life here than has been possible elsewhere. The debt-free healthcare proved life-saving within a year of making the City by the Bay our permanent home when three decades of Endometriosis nearly ended me and led to three surgeries in under three years. My Hunny and I have spent the past year recovering – financially for him and physically for me.

“Failure isn’t fatal, but failure to change might be.”

— John Wooden

Now that this final geographical move to the one city we’ve both loved since childhood has improved our quality of life, we’re ready – and almost able – to improve our living situation. Repeatedly rebuilding has left me grateful to have a home at all but unwilling to settle for mere survival. We’re in a residential hotel and the conditions here exacerbate my own compromised condition. Moving to the city gave us a fighting chance, and moving within the city will allow me to keep fighting. Unless we’re making progress, we’re facing stagnation and the time has come for taking action. Faced with the need to move despite limited resources, I’ve taken a bold action and started a crowdfunding campaign. I’m determined to thrive, not just survive, and this is my chance.

“Don’t worry about failures, worry about the chances you miss when you don’t even try.”

— Jack Canfield

The Dorey Constant

I was your little shadow

Before reaching equity with Momma
Or recognizing my soul in Grandma
There was you

What could’ve been treated as tagging along
Used instead as a chance for me to belong
There with you

Anything done had fun to be found within
Nothing was mundane, especially when
There were two

You were my first best friend

Tasks as games, errands became adventures
Logic as puzzles, bedtime stories offered cures
Walks as archaeology, flies were fishing lures

I was your little brown eyes

Leaving me no doubt I was exceptional
While ensuring everyone felt special
That was you

Peacemaker who took everything in stride
Supportive, and confident without pride
That is you

Finding hope with a quiet determination
Knowing letting go may be the solution
That’s me too

You were my universal constant

© Dorian Dorey Rhodes 31 July 2014

The sign outside my grandparents’ mountain home displayed my family name

Being able to say “me too” when it comes to my grandparents reassures me that I’m part and parcel of their living legacy.* Those two simple words keep me connected to them, and specifically remind me that Granddad loved “me too.” That deceptively simple phrase was how he responded to “I love you” when one of his girls called him at work. Although he was clearly just keeping things professional, there was a sense that he felt too deeply to risk getting personal. He warned me any time I cried that, if I continued, he’d join me. Seeing me cry was enough to make him cry, and not saying “love” at the office hinted at the real possibility his voice might crack if he let himself say it. He laid the foundation for the most important lesson Grandma taught me, that our choices also affect those who love us. My Granddad was the first father I ever knew, and the best man I could ever hope to know. He exemplified what it was to be a good man yet not by being a man’s man – veteran, engineer, and mountaineer that he was – but by being unabashedly accepting, caring, and creative. Don Dorey proved that real strength comes from within.

As a tomboy and his namesake, my connection to Granddad was strong. When talking to himself (which the best people do), he called himself Dorey and my nickname was Dori so those private dialogs always seemed to include me. We’d take on challenges together and “Get it right, Dorey” or answer the tough questions like “What’re you doing, Dorey?” Grandma was concerned I’d take it personally when he was frustrated too but I’d seen him sign his name, “GD Dorey,” often enough that it was clear who he meant when he swore to himself: “Goddamn Dorey.” Rather than teach me conceptual lessons of right and wrong, Granddad shared more relatable truths; cussing is a privilege earned with age, lying is only for Liar’s Dice, gambling is reserved for Solitaire, drinking is intended for meals or Sock It To Me Time and, like most things, is more enjoyable in moderation. With him, I learned a deeper appreciation for those around me. While Momma inspired me and Grandma reflected me, Granddad gave me a sense of place. As a Dorey, his Dori, I not only belonged but could share that feeling through the ready acceptance of others he personified. Without him, I’m disconnected from a universe he gave meaning to.

In memory of G[eorge]D[onald] Dorey, my G[od]D[amn] Granddad:
Don Dorey, you are missed and we are better for knowing you.
October 1919 – July 2014

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*Dan Fogelberg embodied what it was to be a “living legacy” and the phrase always reminds me of him. (post to come)

San Francisco calls to me.

The City by the Bay invites you in with historic landmarks and remarkable architecture but asks you to stay with openair artistry and café tables. It’s a city built for walking; just as you haven’t really had coffee until you’ve had a quality roast brewed well, you can’t truly appreciate San Francisco from a car.* Its sidewalk cafés and alleyways, its unexpected parks and street art, the artisans selling their wares along with the more planned popup happenings make outings an adventure. There’s always a farmers’ market or craft fair, with food trucks and impromptu entertainment to be found. From Peace Plaza in Japantown to the thrift stores in the Mission District, from free museums along the Embarcadero to interactive music stores and bookstores in the Haight and North Beach, there are new discoveries to be made throughout the different neighborhoods. Each journey through this diverse mecca is as interesting as the destinations it offers.

“I left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me
To be where little cable cars
Climb halfway to the stars!”

— Douglass Cross

Growing up in a small town, my many walks never abated my wanderlust. There was nowhere new to go, and not enough happening in the few public spaces there were. This is why California’s Central Valley kids spend their time in vineyards, drinking – which would almost seem poetic if they weren’t raisin vineyards. Given my rebellious spirit, it’s just as well that I grew up with so few options yet I never felt at home there. The one redeeming quality my so-called hometown has is its proximity to other places; mountains to the east, the ocean to the west, and San Francisco to the north. Escaping every chance I got started with high school road trips and became impulsive getaways that continued from the other direction upon moving to Oregon with my Hunny years later. Magical Mr. Mistoffelees, a furbaby who’s since crossed over his own bridge, would purr with me as he stretched along the dashboard in front of me when I could no longer resist a drive to the city. I’d inevitably have to turn right back but even the shortest visits left me feeling more myself.

The San Francisco skyline as seen from Treasure Island by Dave Rhodes aka my Hunny

My Hunny and I share a deep love for this welcoming city. He spent his childhood Thanksgivings here and was initially stationed at its now defunct ship yard when he joined the Navy out of high school. San Francisco was our go-to getaway, we celebrated anniversaries in the Theatre District, birthdays at Mason Street Wine Bar, and New Years in Union Square; the city itself has been our vacation home. My draw to our Sanctuary City goes beyond the nostalgia or shared memories and runs deeper than the undeniable affinity it inspires. The concept of home can be a difficult one yet ultimately speaks to belonging. My grandparents’ cabin provided the only real sense of home I had but, for all the love felt there and as much as I love that mountain community, I was nevertheless out of place. This mountain girl will always love nature but thrives on the inherent energy of human activity – I’m a city girl at heart. Born across the bay, my connection to the Bay Area has always been strong despite not growing up here.

“No city invites the heart to come to life as San Francisco does.
Arrival in San Francisco is an experience in living.”

— William Saroyan

I don’t remember my first visit but, for once, the lack of memory isn’t due to my damaged brain as I was in utero. I’m a product of the Summer of Love; my mum dared dream of a more fulfilling life born of that promise and moved north that year. The following year, I was born. Proving the impact of environment, even via the womb, I became a neo-hippie far removed from my pre-birth days at Haight and Ashbury. Momma had long since returned to the Central Valley, leaving her hippie days behind as well. Before her return though, during that uneasy time living just outside the City by the Bay, any chance to cross the bridge became a saving grace. In turn, while I was growing up stifled in central California, trips to this city of my heart were my salvation. As my Hunny and I created some of our best moments in my city by the bay, it proved the one constant in our nomadic life and nowhere else have I ever felt at home. Even my brother, without such a formative association, made a home here for a time. So – despite being very different people on vastly disparate paths – my mum, brother, Hunny, and I each found salvation across a bridge or two on a peninsula that defies description. San Francisco is hometown to none of us yet a home of sorts to all and, best of all, finally my home.

“Somehow the great cities of America have taken their places
in a mythology that shapes their destiny:
Money lives in New York. Power sits in Washington.
Freedom sips cappuccino in a sidewalk café in San Francisco.”

— Joe Flower

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*An open-top bus works though.. Tours, street cars, and trains will help you discover the walks you want to take.

A Bit of the Mountains

My mum’s in the mountains with Granddad just now and, though it’s incredibly hard not to be with them, a small ziplock bag makes me feel closer to them. Sometime back – no doubt Momma’s last visit to see her Dad – she sent me a care package, including this surprise ziplock from Granddad. He was purposely sending me a bit of Camp Nelson, the closest thing I had to home growing up and a tangible connection to him – the closest thing I had to a dad. Nostalgic at a glance with its wee pinecone and selection of acorns, unzipping this seemingly simple bag transports me as he included Bear Clover* in it.. This fragrant plant is also known as “Mountain Misery” yet one whiff leaves me anything but miserable. Nothing quite smells like Bear Clover; it smells like the mountains!

A peek into my drawer of necessary things:


A closer look with too much reflection

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*Bear Clover is a plant that grows in abundance in the Sierra Nevada mountains, known as a sort of ‘catnip’ for bears.