A morning full of signs.

meaningless...or meaningful?

Photo by Quentin Bounias on Unsplash

Sometimes you think that you’re just gonna go to a new Farmer’s Market — check it out, grab some garlic and potatoes, boom, boom, boom — and be back for the workday at 11am. Cruise the highway, slide into another state, then buzz back. Easy!

Often it goes this way. Indeed, the majority of the time.

Then there are days like today that remind me that life is one big, grand adventure. In fact, I commanded my subconscious mind while driving to bring signs of that very same idea: life as a grand adventure rather than Groundhog Day.

Insert raccoon. But not yet.

Whenever I leave my nest — in whatever state, in whatever home — my senses immediately heighten. So much so that I pop an L-Theanine just to calm down and not go into panic mode. I’ve often laughed over the fact that my friends see me as this explorer of sorts — and I am — but the ones who really know me understand that I do this in part to mitigate anxiety over leaving home. I love new places — the excitement, the anonymity — and it always scares me. For you astro bugs, my Venus is in Cancer, which makes it a challenge to get up and go. That’s why my many travels and moves have created the idea that home is wherever I am and of course, wherever my animals are.

I always have a choice. Never leave home and do the same routine — or challenge myself with the new.

Even if it’s in the form of a tiny Farmer’s Market 50 miles away or a Pilates class, which I loathe but say I love Pilates! all the way through crunches. My subconscious mind doesn’t care if it’s true or not — but makes sure I love Pilates!

So as senses heighten, I pay attention to signs more than normal.

1st sign: an early morning dream of an eagle grabbing a Canadian goose from the sky as the goose tries to bat it away. I say, Oh, shit! and run to the field to watch the battle. There’s nothing I can do. The eagle wins. Traumatizing to watch, but everyone has to eat.

2nd sign: Determination card from Prism Oracle as the energy of my day. Hm, I think and leave it to marinate.

3rd sign: My super thick winter gloves in a little crate in the back of my car when I place the cooler down. I wonder if someone rifled through — unlikely — b/c the crate is not where it usually sits.

4th sign: I glance to my left when driving up a country road and see a guy sitting by a mechanic’s home garage. Hadn’t noticed before b/c it is never open.

5th sign: A dead baby owl on the road. Always makes me sad.

6th sign: An outraged dude in a truck rides right up my ass as I drive home — and I’m not a slow driver. Unusual in the state I presently live in, as they are very polite. I slow so he can swoop — definitely do not want his energy or take it personally — and he races past. I send him calm so he won’t kill anyone or hurt/beat animals once home.

These all may seem like meaningless, innocuous things — but not to someone like me.

If indeed the world we experience is the one we draw to ourselves, then something is up.

About 4 miles from home, an animal is slumped on the side of the road as I pass. At first, I imagine it’s a dead barn cat, as there are a ton and often road victims. Then I notice the plastic jug.

What the hell?

I pull into a gravel road and go to inspect. The creature is still breathing, its neck stuck in a small plastic milk jug as the sun beats down. A baby raccoon.

I go right into panic mama rescue mode and tell myself to calm down because the last thing I need is a raccoon bite. Cue the winter gloves — which I promptly forget, of course. Yet this isn’t a one woman job. I grab my knife and poke a hole in the jug to lessen the pressure because I can’t pop it off as the raccoon tries again with its little paws.

Shit, shit, shit, I mutter and run to a neighbor’s house. Nope, not that one my intuition says, so I run to the next.

Excuse me, I call out. I’m your neighbor. Can you help me? A raccoon has its neck stuck in a milk jar.

I’ve lived in this culture long enough that the word neighbor — even though no one knows me on purpose — has great affect. Plus, everyone is armed so even if perceived as slightly frantic, I’m definitely not a threat. Another reason to thank God I’m a woman.

There is no way I’m going to leave this raccoon to die. Especially not from a human made problem!

Immediately, the neighbors come to help — a burly dude and his son with thick gloves and scissors. In a few seconds, they pop the jar off and the raccoon thanks them by hissing and stumbling towards them.

But it’s safe and harm averted. Or so I think.

Hey, you just got your good karma for the day! I laugh. They must think I’m such a nut — “karma” — but they are happy to help and walk back to their house.

I turn around, visualizing an amazing smoothie 5 minutes away — and see the raccoon crawl up my tire into the engine. Nice and warm and safe.

Shit!

Determination card in play, I race to the neighbors and pop the hood. I think it’s still in my car. Smoothie images are quickly replaced with those of rotting raccoon, torn wires and general devastation of cash. He checks out the engine, looks under the car and said he doesn’t see anything. Indeed, it seems the sucker had taken off.

He’ll drop out soon enough. I wince at the general he but figure it isn’t time to correct the gender balance of raccoons.

And I know better. That raccoon is up there somewhere.

I turn the car around. The screams begin a few yards away.

Fuck!

I stop again in the middle of the road and run out, hoping there isn’t a bite waiting for my exposed ankle. No sign of raccoon. Ugh. I feel terrible. Here we are, trying to rescue it — and it’s dying under my car! The eagle grabbing the goose!

The garage.

I race to the doors — still open — and say, Hey, do you have a lift? I think there’s a raccoon in my engine. I explain the situation.

Sure, he said. You a neighbor?

Yah, I said, Right down the road. For now.

Never seen ya before, he replies. I’ll help ya out.

He lifts the car and we both take a look. It is a cat-sized (normal cat, not mine) raccoon, so I figure we’ll see at least a tail or eyeballs. After a few bangs on the base and another engine check, he declares my car raccoon-free and refuses any money.

I get home at 10:45, praying that the raccoon is alive and know my cat will chase it from the house. In her territory, she does not play!

So let’s hope there is one living — if not slightly hairless raccoon — causing mischief tonight, far away from my engine.

What about the angry dude in the truck? you might ask.

I suppose that can also be seen as Determination. That dude was determined to get to his destination, even if he plowed us all down in his rig. Ironically, he did use a blinker once at his road — like I mentioned, great drivers. He’s a sign of every time I had road rage and thought the world turned only for me. He’s my frustration, anger and helplessness. He is also a reminder that men have many facets — like women — and they are the ones who primarily help in a situation such as this. The majority of my interactions in this particular state have been 99% with men — many gay, but not all — and that is a strange world for me to roll in, as I prefer women in every sense of the word.

But I choose to see my life is one big, great adventure — and it is learning to appreciate and value what men have to offer, despite difficulties with them in the past. Maybe it took a raccoon stuck in a milk jug to understand this in a greater way.