Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Wooly Bugger

Wooly Bugger in January
Failing Ice
Murky Like Mine Tailings
Pooling Pond
Silver and Gold
Not Yet Spring
In the middle of our driveway is a wooly bugger clenched tight like a ball of black and orange bristles. I think of fly-fishing, of spring to come. Tucked away in the glove compartment of the Blue Goose--our truck--a patch of sheepskin clutches an assortment of fake feathered and furred wooly buggers waiting for the rivers to melt, then slow down for renewed evenings of fishing.

Elmira Pond is milky with melt. It is mid-January and the pond is the color of Idaho's mining heritage--silver and gold. Reeds shimmer like golden sticks, standing broken and bent in icy pools of murky silver. The water is the color of tailings from a silver mine, the thin muddy leavings of ore. If only my pond were truly full of silver and gold. I start humming the Barenaked Ladies tune, "If I had a Million Dollars."

Despite the pools and presence of a wooly bear caterpillar, it is not spring. The wind most likely blew this not-yet-an-Isabella-Tiger-Moth out of its hibernating hidy-hole in a rock or pine bark. I feel like this little creature and want to curl up in a ball of my own, ignoring the winds and winter birds that might want to dine on my flesh. I don't have a million dollars.

Neither do I have insurance.

Writing doesn't pay well enough to afford monthly premiums--yet. Not to stand at the edge of Elmira Pond and wash my feet in delusions, but writing can pay off. All my career I have used the skill to benefit employers. Now it's my turn, trying to balance paying clients, writing $25 articles, building a platform, connecting with readers and crafting stories out of words as they bubble up from the well. I make almost-enough. Almost. So close to the peak I can sense the vista beyond.

Life is simple for a wooly bugger. Eat, hole up, sleep, cocoon and emerge as created to be.

Foolish to be a writer, I suppose, but I always was stubborn. Defiant to what one "should" do, I birthed babies at home, graduated from college after turning 30, moved to tight-rope places without a safety net, left high-paying jobs to work at lower-paying jobs just because the latter was more meaningful. I eat raw garlic to ward off vampires, werewolves and high-blood pressure. My husband doesn't mind my breath; I make him eat the pungent shards, too.

Come to think of it, if I were that wooly worm I would not be balled up on pavement, waiting for a predator to devour me. No, I'd be shaking a wooly fist at ravens and shuffling off to find a better way to live. That's why I'm here in no-town Elmira--to write, dig in the dirt, stalk blue herons and whistle to osprey. It's a better way to live and I will make it work.

So, I don't have insurance. I can remedy that.

Five times now I've attempted to navigate the government site and five times I've been kicked out of the system with a reference ID. Okay, insanity says I try a sixth time.  There are other companies signing up people for insurance, but I'm super-skeptical of being scammed. Been there before. Lost a house. Won't trust again. Yet, as one of those blessings-when-you-need-it, a Mills cousin from Tennessee sent Todd a link. Now, fingers crossed that we can get insured by February 3 and increase some writing income to cover the premiums.

February 3 makes me want to rethink the wooly bugger position. Last night I was denied the appointment because I admitted to the office administrator that I have no insurance. Despite an urgent referral from my nurse-practitioner, this medical center informed me that I would have to pay cash the first visit. I explained if I had that kind of cash, I'd have insurance. Her response was, "Call us back when you are ready to make the appointment." Click went the line.

Of course, defiance surged and I was ready to run around the entire perimeter of Elmira Pond, shouting, "I'm free, I'm free! I'm cancer-free!" After all, I couldn't possibly be in the midst of a health crisis if I can get denied required procedures. It makes me laugh at the pink-slip in my purse, the free certificate for a mammogram that the clinic gave me. While I was puzzling over why my breasts need to be plated, squished and dosed with radiation when the "c-scare" involves my uterus, it occurred to me that the detection test is unnecessary. After all, it's merely detection. So what if it's free; I can't afford to have any form of cancer now that I know treatment can be denied.

There is dignity in being who you were meant to be. Not all wooly buggers get to emerge from the cocoon. I can feel mine still sticky and wet, gripping me like silk constraints. Maybe the wooly bugger prefers to be on the menu for birds rather than to face the hardships to come and that's why he's balled up; given up. To achieve purpose, sometimes it feels like you have to struggle against the cocoon. Or maybe we never get that far, avoiding the difficult phase, avoiding the gaze of others who might misunderstand why we would ever wrap up in constraints, avoiding the explanations why writing satiates my soul, my dreams, my restless fingertips.

Because if I struggle to be who I was meant to be, I'll fly out of this sticky mess and flutter the gossamer wings of a writer. With a million dollars.


12 comments:

  1. Charli - may your world right itself and all be as it should be, so that YOU can be the writer you are meant to be. Hoping all works out for you health-wise and insurance-wise.

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    1. Thanks, it will work out. Isn't that the blessing of being a writer? we can express our fears and frustrations, yet breathe in the beauty in the smallest moments around us. Words are gracious and powerful. They give us voice.

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  2. BTW, I have to tell you that I am 'stuck' musically in the 60s folk music era of 'The Kingston Trio' and 'Peter, Paul & Mary' (because I love it) and my son, a musician, 'educated' me on the Barenaked Ladies tune, "If I had a Million Dollar" (and he has sung it for me). Otherwise, I would have no idea what your reference was...LOL.

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    1. Too funny! It's kind of a catchy tune ans somewhat folksy...but you are stuck in a worthwhile musical era.

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  3. Speechless because this was so wonderfully written.

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    1. Funny how these moments come to pass...just as I was about to delete the wooly bugger photo and write about milky water, suddenly the wooly bugger took on all my frustrations and I just let go with the words. I used to be afraid to do that until a wise writing mentor told me that we write best when we dare to write into our truth.

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  4. Sweet friend, no doubt you'll be knitting yarns with wooly buggers silken words for years to come. Peace for you is my Prayer.

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    1. Oh, Ruthi, if your prayer for me is peace put down those knitting needles! :-) Actually, this is a very witty line you have poetically crafted and I'll agree to knitting yarns with words! Thank you!

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  5. To be able to flutter these gossamer words when in the midst of such uncertainty is a tribute to your extraordinary gifts (and grit). I continue to pray for you and hold you in my heart. Peace, my friend.

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    1. Life is uncertain yet we have fooled ourselves into false securities. It is when we dare to cocoon and dare to be Ren-Women and dare to take up our voices that the uncertainty loses its importance. Thank you for your prayers and peace.

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  6. I am sitting here trying to absorb all that you have revealed in this one short post. I am definitely having some very mixed emotions. First, I want to scream about the insurance debacle, but then I want to cheer for your determination and resilience.

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  7. you sure sound like a writer to me!
    this whole insurance thing is a bunch of crap....and yes, that is my opinion.

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