Every New Begining Comes from A Beginning's End...

I just didn't understand that song. I do now. I purchased a camper trailer in May. The plan was to live in the camper trailer while my significant other and I built a house. But that's not exactly what happened.

I purchased the camper from a man in the middle of a divorce. He had some remaining items in the camper. Jeff and I followed as he drove the camper from storage to his house to empty what remained of a life he once had. A life with his daughters and wife as a family. Kites they flew into the sky at the beach. S'mores sticks to roast marshmallows over the campfire. Sleeping bags the kids curled up in at night. It was his beginning's end.

Once the camper was officially ours, we cleaned the camper and added our own touch to make it ours. Dog bowls and beds, a painting my mom painted of our trip to the Grand Canyon, clothes, dishes and finishing touches. Our camper was moved onto the back half of our property. We were ready for construction. Our beginning.


Four months into construction and our house was moving forward, rapidly. The exterior was done, roof on, windows in.

On August 23rd we went to Rocklin for my brother's birthday and stayed the night. Monday morning we returned home.

Theodore stopped dead in his tracks about 10 feet from the front door of the trailer barking his little head off. The windows were busted. The door was wide open and a shredded bag of dog food was strewn on the ground before us. Walking through the battered front door was quite a sight. The refrigerator door was open, eggs smashed all over the floor, chocolate pudding decorated the walls along with mashed avocado. Bear blood was on the walls at the windows and doors and glass was everywhere.


We cleaned for the next 8 hours. Picked up the trash, swept the glass. We kept the dogs safe. Loaded the cat into a kennel and drove her to be boarded, where she still is today.

Eventually all of the windows were taped shut, the door locked for the final time and the camper was moved off of our lot.

Insurance would make the repairs.

In the meantime, the man I bought the camper from wanted to buy it back from us. He wanted to rebuild his memories in the camper. We were happy for a buyer and awaited the return of the camper to live in to finish construction and then sell back to the very person we bought it from.

For the next six weeks we camped, lived out of our cars, the cat in the kennel and the dogs at my folks. We jammed everything else into our already over-stuffed storage unit. We ate out breakfast, lunch, dinner (we still do this!) Every waking moment hanging sheetrock or working our jobs for money. Working until exhaustion so that we can get out of our cars and into our house. Understanding and appreciating the feeling of displacement. And very thankful that this would be temporary. Our house was nearing temporary move-in condition.

The first week of October, my insurance agent called to tell me the camper was considered a "total loss." A few days later I went to claim the final items that remained. As I stood in the camper at the wrecking yard I couldn't help but be a bit nostalgic. Standing in the "living room" was once a dream that seemed like a lifetime ago. A few odds and ends remained and one final art piece I had tucked away from my nephew. This was my beginnings end.

Welcome Home

I choose very little in my life. While I've done a lot, the choices have not all been mind. This revelation came recently as I was telling someone how I graduated from college as a Conservation Biologist. I did not go to school to become a biologist. I just took classes that seemed fun. About my junior year, my adviser called me into her office to talk about graduating. After careful examination of my transcripts it was decided that I would be a conservation biologist. Graduation: BS in Conservation Biology 1990-something. 

My first job was a fluke. I spent most of my 20's and 30's chasing adventure and my body felt it (especially now, but that's a different BLOG). I returned from 3 or 4 months in Europe kite skiing, hiking, climbing, and traveling with one achy back due to an accident years earlier skiing in Tuolemne Meadows where I slipped a disc. With a ton of skiing while carrying heavy packs it was time to sign up for back surgery. I left my job driving a Zamboni at the Squaw Ice Rink and headed to personal for "light duty". That is where I met Nancy Cushing, wife to the owner of Squaw Valley. I told her I was a conservation biologist (whatever that was) and she said "you're hired" and I was thrust into the throngs of Squaw Valley Ski Corporation! If you were around in the late 90's you would understand and perhaps that makes for another BLOG another time. I loved my job-out-of-college. I was actually working as a biologist! But things changed fast and my dream job became a nightmare when the EPA raided the valley, prosecuting Squaw for violations of the Clean Water Act (not a good time to be the only staff biologist at Squaw). My life was about to change. 

I did a brief stay in Orlando. I thought if I moved all the way across the country I could dump my boyfriend. Imagine my surprise when he showed up at my door a few weeks later with a car full of stuff! A year later he stayed in Florida (got married had kids) and I went home -- back to Tahoe (1st return). One of my friends asked what I was going to do next so I told her: I'm going to rent out my house plants and plant flowers. I did. For two years. I met the most amazing man. He died. And I ran away to Bozeman, Montana. (A side note: you can still see the planters I created and had built hanging in Mama Sake's at Squaw Valley from over 10 years ago.) 

I did not choose Bozeman. I fell in love with a flower garden, bought the house attached to it and stayed. I was asked again what I was going to do with my life. I looked around Bozeman at all of the lawns and thought I'm not mowing lawns so Botanika (my landscaping company in Tahoe) is out of the question! But real estate was booming. So after a 60-hr online class WHAM I was real estate agent. Money grew on trees (it is true, 2004-2006 money did grow on trees). My guy at the time kept saying: it's smoking mirrors. He was right and in 2008 the trees fell and all the money went away, along with my house (a hail storm in August 2008 claimed the flower garden). I climbed into my Subaru with an exercise ball riding shotgun and Sampson holding down camp in the back and hit the road. Everything I owned shoved into a shed at a friend of mine's except what fit in the rocket box on top of my car. Someone said I'd like New Zealand or Colorado. Colorado was simply easier to get to. 

And then I got cancer. I was required to stay within hospital's distance. I never cared for Colorado. It was pretty, but pretty only goes so far. I missed my home, my family and my friends. I felt alone in Colorado and I hated cancer for making me stay. In 2012 I left for Tahoe (the 2nd time I returned). I stayed a month and a month Costa Rica surfing and zip lining with my mom before returning to Colorado to see if things would work with the guy I left there. From 2012 to 2014 I made a choice - to learn everything I could about oncology massage and working with people who are in treatment for cancer, had cancer, or are living with cancer. I absolutely love working with those touched by cancer. I love my patients. I love learning about oncology care, lymphedema, I love working with those getting ready to leave this world. This work makes my heart sing. 

On August 20, 2014 I called my brother to wish him Happy Birthday. He was with his kids and our folks. I got off the phone and cried. I knew that day I could no longer stay in Colorado. When my guy got home that night, I told him I was leaving (and he decided to come too). This year ends with my final return to Tahoe (3rd time's a charm) and my commitment to well being. 

On January 19th I begin grad school where I will get a Master's Degree in Health & Wellness. I have plans and goals and I can see exactly where I want to go from here. I can picture the house I live in, the flowers planted in the yard. I can see my niece and nephew playing in the woods and learning to ski. I see my mom and I romping through the Sierra's talking about how my dad and her met, how my great grandfather sold pencil-drawn portraits during the depression to put food on the table. We will talk about our next great adventure and lament about new aches and pains. My dad and I will talk about my mom and my brother. And my brother and I will talk about my dad.

Life seems so simple and so pure. It has been a long road back, paved with heartache, but grouted in wonderful memories. I would not change my life and the wind I've floated on. But I will say, it sure is great to be home. Welcome home me!

View from my parent's deck.