The world is crazier than most people know. But I know. I was a clinical social worker for forty years. I am a witness. I retired from social work to write about the sad, the mad, and the savage; with whom I have spent most of my life. I have decided to translate these stories into fiction, because, as a co-worker once said, "You couldn't make this sh*t up. No one would believe you."

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


There was a bear on my porch last night, and I begged him to take me home with him. He refused. He ate my hummingbird feeders, scattered my garbage, and left me to my mortgage.

Okay, I shouldn’t have had hummingbird feeders on the porch, I know. But to tell the truth, I won’t miss them. I’m sick of hummingbirds; they’re probably the meanest little shits in the universe. All they ever do is fight.

Okay, so the bear won’t share his cave, the rich won’t share their tax cuts, and I want to be elsewhere at least 23 out of 24 hours a day. If I could have a fantasy life, it would be as an adventuress. A word that was once an insult to a "lady" is now music to my ears. Here's what I would do:

I would live in a bus that runs on veggie oil and have no mortgage. I would fill up in the back of restaurants and flip a bird to every gas pump I see. If the neighbors are crappy, I'll move. And all my unpaid medical bills will have to go to general delivery and I'll pick them up....someday. 

I would try to meet other adventurous boomers and live an exciting life. You meet the wierdest people on the road, thank God. 

Sometimes when I come home from my average day to my average bills and my non-existent retirement account, I think of Jane of the Jungle, the heroine of a book I'm writing. This is how she lives:

              Two men pointed at me and ran toward me. People on the street parted for them and watched them pass fearfully. Whatever their identity, they appeared to be much feared in the community.
            God, was I lost. Alone in a terrible neighborhood, unable to speak the language, kidnapped, almost raped, and blonde for the love of Jesus, blonde. What was I going to do? The street quickly cleared and all hope of help died in the happy anticipatory stares of the onlookers hiding in doorways and behind parked cars. The bad guys were getting closer; there was less than a block between us and they were coming fast…
            So I shot them. I just didn’t know what else to do.

I want to be able to fight trouble. I don’t want to always be facing the kind of trouble no one can fight: rising costs, decreasing means. I want to retire the way Jane did: live in a bus and wherever you park, that’s home. Live on next to nothing. If you get sick, use the public services you spent a lifetime paying for. But if you’re that free and comfortable, I’m betting you won’t get sick for a long, long time.

1 comment:

  1. Hey Jane !! Rave on......or is that Rage On?? I just loved the excerpt; send me book. Sis