Finalizing Some Drips

Today, Tony the Carpenter managed a ‪#‎miracle‬. For years, the ADA loo in the hut has been cranky and requiring forever to refill its tank.‪#‎ADA‬ stands for American Disability Act – the toilet manufactured taller for those in wheelchairs or suffering from cranky body joints like my husband’s affliction as an aging man of the sea. I procured new loo innards and within minutes Tony installed certain parts, rejected others, and then magically required it to flush faster than the wink of a toucan.

The lame question of the day is why did i wait so long for an expert plumber? Until now, I never knew Tony C was more than a superior tropical hardwood craftsman. The convenience of a loo, be one on land or sea, is a luxury for too many on this ‪#‎planet‬.

My water source is a pristine spring in the creek on the south side of the finca. It is a drip system to a cool looking holding tank tower i designed to look somewhat like a ‪#‎Balinese‬ drum tower.

During torrential rain the entire creek morphs into a highly raucous noisy state cascading with such force one could propel a jetliner. When I first lived here, during and after rain storms the hidden mt. creek with its two waterfalls – short distance below the hut – sounded like living next to the Hollywood Freeway in Studio City (LA) on a Friday night. The south and north quebradas (creeks) occasionally remind me of when i had to fly too regularly to and fro San Francisco (SF) to LA as part of my duties. I was VP of creative services for the Pacific Rim for a behemoth ad agency.

One foggy morning, I walked into my corner office on the 22nd floor in the financial district in ‪#‎SF‬, looked out the windows into the smog ridden pea soup and considered how much I hated cleverly compellingly selling soap, perfume, booze, airlines, and other fortune 500 crap. I picked up my portfolio case, and some other papers, and walked gallantly out of there, to never return.

There have been a few moments in my life, when a spontaneous response panned out, such was this awakening. If you ever watched the TV series ‪#‎MadMen‬, it is too accurate in its depiction of this horrible scam of a business. My fat ego on Scotch and coke (snow, not the beverage) put me in this unethical creative pursuit.
Grins were all around, as I took the elevator to the granite clad lobby. Unbeknown to me a pool was operating on what date I would pull the cord on my paisley parachute. When I sauntered through the immense glass lobby doors of the skyscraper, I put my London Fog raincoat on and I gleefully walked to my design studio at 833 Market Street. There, work apron adorned, inside the camerawork dark room I put Big Brother and the Holding Company on the turntable, turned it up to full volume, and proceeded to reinvent by life.

I have a filter from ‪#‎Murica‬ to keep small pebbles from entering the water line into the hut, yet, this is the jungle, unpredictable, and tough on human made equipment. Tony C cleaned out all the lines to the kitchen sink and faucet over the bird decorated Mexican sink in the loo. If you are not following the linkage in this story, remember, I am more Jungian than literal.

Gee, now i actually have more than a dribble in the three incoming water sources in the hut. It did not bother me to spend too long a time hand washing dishes. A conservationist’s lesson in Zen is my take on such nuances of finca existence?

JWT sued me, natch. Luckily, I never paid for the consumption of cocaine I snorted up my pert WASP nose. My friends were political attorneys and noisy journos. They provided the white powder, free to moi. As a collective of suits, they also represented me. No monetary settlement was required by either parties (me or JWT). It was a push (a gambler’s term).

Getting clean and ‪#‎sober‬ was the utmost responsible act I accomplished during my entire ranking life. I was a a bloody fixer. Today, I remain a recovering fixer. This means I do not enable others be they ‪#‎POTUS‬, or help a close buddy to carry on their madness of self-defeating self-destructing acts. I tell it like it is.

Yes, I practice a program of ‪#‎recovery‬, yet after 30 years, I am barely conscious of its 24/7 ramification. It fits into my remarkable life like an invisible glove. As AA ers say, it works if you work it.

For those who drink glasses of vino, or one or two tumblers of their favorite alcohol based beverage, or slurp down micro brewery beer, and then no more, your responsible imbibing is not a problem for me. Unfortunately, my consumption was not of this ilk, and eventually the chemicals took control of too many elements in my former life. Today, no longer a functional ‪#‎addict‬, I have not one desire to throw away my sobriety. I also am not a walking temperance union solidified into one female on a crusade. It is what it is, phenomenological speaking, of course.

‪#‎JWT‬ remains an even larger international meta-advertising agency selective in its seductions. The network I established working there is either dead or appear as walking Hermes zombies around their elegant pool patios in the ‪#‎Hamptons‬ and/or ‪#‎Napa‬ Valley estates. Those who opened the escape hatch to daylight and freedom from soul corruption are like me, neither wealthy nor poor. Some of these fine folks are friends on Fedbook, not because of ancient allegiance to JWT, rather, apparently, they continue to find my writing mildly amusing, or maybe there is another betting pool afoot.

It is a program of ‪#‎honesty‬. If you trade up or down for some other crutch you are in denial conning yourself. The ‪#‎Creator‬ wants us to be happy, contented souls not tortured by chemicals and other addictions.

Since the ‪#‎ArabSpring‬, I discovered how ‪#‎Muslims‬, men and women, are of a too similar near different weave of cloth. Not drinking and drugging is not a cross to bare, or a mantra to expound, or five prayers a day to offer. The followers of ‪#‎Islam‬ practice a ‘clean’ lifestyle, just like I do. We both rely on faith where ‪#‎independence‬ is valued encircled in a service above self community. My faith by birth, ‪#‎Presbyterianism‬, is slimmed down to the golden rule as the primary premise.

‪#‎Judaism‬, Islam, and ‪#‎Christianity‬ stem from an identical ‪#‎Abrahamic‬ origin. So, could someone soberly explain why we are at each other’s throats?

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