Peace, and whether I exist

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This blog post says I claim to be David Bowie's first American fan. It sounds so dishonest, put that way. And yesterday I got e-mail from someone concerning the Big Book of Unschooling who said "This is the downside of internet - for all I know the Sandra Dodd could be a fake? "

I feel so solid, and I share so much of my life (and my saved letters) with the world that it stops me in my tracks for people to express that they doubt my veracity or my existence.

Back to that David Bowie letter, it's getting me a fair amount of mail, and I'll start keeping links to it on the page where I keep it, too, but haven't done that yet. The first "discovery" of it (though I've had in on my site for years) was this:

My real name is David Jones.

AmericanSongwriter.com made a mention: David Bowie has received a lot of fan mail, but he used to be a lot better about getting back. The blog Letters of Note, which featured the fun Joe Strummer missive on Bruce Springsteen, has posted a 20-year-old Bowie’s lengthy response to his first fan letter, from 14-year-old-Sandra Dodd. (Really, I was 14-year-old Sandra Adams. Keith was 11 year old Keith Dodd, in Alamogordo, and we were ten years from meeting.)



The farewell to 2009 item for today is Peace, and was worded this way:

December 8 Moment of peace. An hour or a day or a week of solitude. What was the quality of your breath? The state of your mind? How did you get there?

Why does "solitude" need to go with "peace"? But I do know how I got there.

Keith made a wooden gate from our back yard into the alley. The first photo of the wooden gate I found when I went to look was this:



The alley itself isn't "peaceful"; cars go too fast and there's no curb on our wall side. It's always a bit spooky to open the gate. But going out that gate aims me toward 180 degrees of useful places and things: A park. Kinko's. Kinko's dumpster, where I get good cardboard tubes, and boxes, and foam board to use for things. The flower shop where Holly used to work. Hollywood Video, where I can get a movie anytime. The Credit Union, right across Juan Tabo Blvd. A grocery store I like. And when I've gone to one of those places, and I come back, I touch that gate and it is home, and it is love, and it is where Keith lives and takes care of me, and where one or more of my kids might be. Our dog is usually waiting inside, knowing that if someone goes out there on foot they haven't gone far, and will be back soon.

When I saw Kirby in September even though it was a very busy several days, there were a few moments when I stood touching him or held his hand, or leaned on him, and felt how strong and grown he is. I smelled his hair and loved him, even though he's not a little boy anymore. I was at peace with my son. We got to that peaceful place by not screwing it up. We got there with love. (And I'm grateful to Flo Gascon's Good Vibrations Conference for literally getting us there, in the same place, in September 2009, and to the Sorooshian family for letting us stay at their house the night before and driving us to San Diego.)