Sticks

Today is Easter.
The Easter bunny was a hit.
I got up to greet my late (as in tardy, not dead) soon-to-be-ex-husband to pick up our daughter for Easter festivities at Gramma and Granpa’s.
When they left I cried.
I got in my car and drove to Madera Canyon to pick up sticks.
Seriously. I’m picking up sticks to make biodegradable public art.
I drove the wrong way for about an hour before I realized I was heading back to Tucson.
There were rows and rows of pecan trees.
They’d all been shorn and stacks of glorious sticks lay by the side of the road just beyond
a barbed wire fence.
When I was younger, I would have ignored the fence and taken as many sticks as I wanted.
It felt wrong, being Easter and all.
I finally made it to the gateway of Madera and the Sheriff was turning people back.
Too full.
I asked to use the restroom and was allowed to park in the lower lot.
There in front of me were piles of sticks.
Mesquite sticks
Beautiful sticks.
I took as much as I could muster. I say muster because I haven’t been eating much.
I tend to feel like I’m going to pass out.
An older man that I thought was a forest ranger was watching me.
I said “Are you the ranger?”
He said “Oh, no, no I’m just out enjoying the day.”
I said “I thought I might be in trouble.”
“I’m not collecting kindling. I’m working on an art project.”
He said “Oh, what kind?” (For some reason old people say Oh? a lot.)
I said “I’m building structures out of wood and twine. All biodegradable.
I want to build big structures out in nature or in a busy part of downtown and just leave them there.
I don’t know why, I just feel compelled to do it.”
He thought that was right dandy. He’s a retired architect and his late wife (not tardy) was apparently quite the artist. He helped me load my car with my pile of wood and sticks. I should have photographed him.
I was nervous.
Stupid brain.
We exchange numbers and addresses. He didn’t have any need for email.
I pondered how to send him pictures without email for quite a while when lo and behold, I realized I could mail prints to him.
We both had a good laugh about that one.
He invited me to Easter dinner, but I declined. It probably would have been interesting, but I was anxious to get building.
On the way out I saw a beautiful hawk.
It was sitting by the side of the road.
I pulled over to photograph it just as it took off.
It disappeared. It was gone. Just silence.
I turned on the radio and Little Bird by the eels came on the radio. It was beautiful. And just having seen a hawk disappear. Oh, I don’t know – I’m a line drawer. Here’s another one. I stopped at McDonalds’ for a soda. It was $1.07. That’s all I had in my wallet - $1.07.
Then Lou Reed started singing Jesus on the radio.
“Jesus, help me find my proper place
Jesus, help me find my proper place
Help me in my weakness
'Cos I'm falling out of grace
Jesus
Jesus”
It’s a Velvet Underground song.
It’s a new recording with 5 Guys or something like that.
I’ve been pretty lost lately.
Everything was speaking to me.
But I couldn’t speak to me.
I wanted to build my structure – art - thingy.
I couldn’t figure out where.
I drove all over downtown, by El Tiradito a shrine to a murderer (where I was married incidentally). I was going to ask a friend if I could build it outside her coffee shop, but she wasn’t there.
I drove home deflated.
I signed back onto Facebook.
I hang my head in shame, but I have deleted most all my old friends.
The urgency to build the art thing was prodding me like some weird electrical impulse. I drove to Reid Park. There were three million Hispanic families barbecuing for Easter there.
Nothing felt right.
I made myself stop and eat some sushi.
If I’m going to eat it might as well be worth it.
I came home and unloaded the large pieces of wood.
The trunk is totally full of sticks.
I will find a place to build it.
I will find a place of my own.