The hammering on the cottage beside my house has been suspended while local government permission to do the work wanders through a paper forest trail in the county building downtown on the San Lorenzo River. I envision the people who own the power over me taking long walks along the river at lunch time while smelling the wild lilac, gazing at the bright yellow scotch broom that stands out tall along the river bank this time of year, maybe stopping for a beer in one of the outdoor tavern gardens to discuss their promised pensions, while my building crew and I wait, and try to second guess their decision to give me permission to re-do this crusty old building on my property. But it finally feels like spring here in the Santa Cruz Mountains and I know I must constantly remind myself to be grateful and thankful, especially when the times and the circumstances tempt me to toss out my sense of the beauty of life.


A phone call from the fellow managing the building project this morning, in which he tells me that the permits from the local government come in stages, and enough permission has been given to begin, or rather re-begin the project, in serious earnestness. I have always considered government actions to be pitifully slow, shallow, and ill-informed, whether at the local level or in the nation's throne and war rooms. Watching my meager building project go through all of its steps of approval is, to me, laughable. I feel like I'm watching a small parade through the middle of town in which the paraders do not understand why they march, but keep their feet moving according to the tempo of the drum beat. I feel subjected to such small and trite processes that have been dreamed up by others to control me, when, if they understood enough about me to really try to reign me in to their way of thinking and living, they would barge in on my evening bonfires under the dark skies and try to mask my view of distant galaxies and the explosions of falling stars, which I witness at midnight. Then I would truly feel the effectiveness of the government's efforts to control me.

The Revolutionary War was planned in my great grandfather's (several generations removed) (http://www.crockertavern.com/history.htm), and here his grandson, after generations of living in freedom, must succumb to the local bureaucratic mess, and without even the offer to share a beer with me. The natural question for me to ask is what the powers-that-be will be doing in another couple of hundred years. But I'm pretty much apolitical, because I think people who pay too much attention to politics and government action are being duped by the money people who mistakenly think they are hidden and try to control all. No matter how much I rant and rail and take sides against what I see to be the opposition, the fact of the matter is that the opposition has been just as badly fooled as me. I've watched these past few weeks who it is that benefits monetarily as I go through this dance for building permits, and have some understanding in how this permit process has evolved over a long period of time to ensure that varied interests can partake of pieces of my income.