Greetings from NORCAL

Dear Family, Friends, and Fans:
Greetings to you all from Park Delta Bay.  Pardon this blanket one-size-fits-all missive.   I’m trying to get the word out to everyone about how I am and where I am as expeditiously as possible.  Whether you’re already in-the-know or not, I’ve included everyone in the BCC list that I think might want an update on my status — the scoop on where I am and how I got here.
But let me start with a simple:  Hello, from beautiful Isleton, California.  I’m here!  I’m nearly settled.  I’m a bit overwhelmed with the newness of it all.  But I’m feeling genuinely blessed and fortunate to have successfully relocated.
I could not have done this without a few people whom I would like to thank for everyone’s edification.
First and foremost:  Rick Diamond.  What can I say about a man who on the strength of four-month’s acquaintance, spends two weeks packing my home and my office, and helps me drive 1800 miles to deposit myself in a new living space with no more incentive than my thanks and a few left-over bits of furniture?  Not to mention allowing the boxes and bagatelle which didn’t make the cut to hang out in his living room awaiting his return, and in his basement on an indefinite basis.  If you know Rick or met him in the process of this move, you know how calm he is.  That serenity has sustained me for the last month through arduous and uncertain shenanigans.  Thank you, Rick; no words could quite convey the depth of my regard for you.
Many people joined with the affable Mr. Diamond to enable my smooth transition.  I’ll list them in no real order of importance or occurrence.
My sister Joyce Corley:  Flood duty; neuroses management; office-packing; decision-second-guessing; and general angel-in-the-wee-small-hours.  My sister, my friend.
Katrina Taggart:  Showing-up-and-pitching-in — last minute variety, strong, persistent, enduring.  And touching-Facebook-post of the Year award; tears flowed in all quarters.
Abigail Vogt, her fella John; and their friends Liz and Sam:  Piano-moving, kitchen-packing, and hugs-when-the-demons-roared.  Abbey, I cannot thank you enough, my dear, for being there at exactly the right time.  You made a very tense day when the devil bleated at my door into a bearable brief interlude.  Not to mention, single-handled packing the hardest room in the house!
Paula Kenyon-Vogt and Sheldon Vogt:  Everyone knows, I would not be alive if these two amazing people had not held my hand through a fiercely difficult year.  That said — my porch got cleaned, organized, beautified, and newly-railed because of them.   Paula spent six hours cleaning behind the cleaner whom I had already paid to clean and who did not (clean, that is) despite being paid.  It must said, Paula held me through some heart-wrenching hours.  Sheldon built the rail; made my live-edge cherry table; drove me to Polo to meet with the builder; and showed up whenever and wherever anything needed repairing, lifting, juggling, or finagling.  You K-Vs, you have my heart.
Chris Taggart and Ross Taggart:  The father and son duo who appeared at the eleventh hour with calm, persistence, good-natured willingness to work, and enterprising ideas about how to get bulky boxes where they needed to be and other annoying problems solved.
My son — Patrick — well, I won’t embarrass him too much, but suffice it to say that Patrick listened to every doubt; encouraged me to dream; and willingly spent more than his available PTO cleaning out the basement and sorting boxes.  Thank you, son.
Lots of people helped in amazing ways over the last few months.  Season Burnett:  The throw you made for me will be featured in the Facebook live that I’ll do next week.  Katie Elliott and Janette, along with Colleen:  Thank you for the Rotary going away girls-night-out.  Elizabeth U-C and Brenda:  Ditto for the “last Chai-Shai Wednesday”.   Dr. Karr and her nameless husband:  Yard and deck lights posted; garage cleaned (twice); Corinne-toted-around; moral support given.   Pat Reynolds  listened to every uncertainty and flat-out believed in me as no one else could have done.  Tricia Scaglia found the electrician and sewer guy extraordinaire; she also took me to lunch, dinner, coffee, breakfast, and new levels of stability, not to mention providing an office-away-from-Suite 100.  Ruthie:  the painting you gave me really touched my heart.  It has to be shipped for safety but I’m saving it a spot.   I could continue without relent, because I have some amazing friends, a marvelous family-by-choice and an awesome family.  The support which you’ve all given me has gotten me to where I am.
Which is:
Home:  922 West Brannan Island Road, Isleton, CA 95641.
My KC office address is: 3675 S. Noland Road, Suite 113, Independence MO 64055.
Official “work” forwarding address:  PO Box 669, Isleton CA 95641
My phone numbers remain the same:
Home — 816-444-0170, cell 816-520-9152, work 816-753-5556.
And they all ring to my cell phone, of course.
The tiny house has been parked on Lot G8 in Park Delta Bay.  This place is trying to cultivate one whole section which will ultimately be tiny houses.  It has ten now.  There are also RVs, campers, and trailers among the long-term residents.  One whole side of the park is vacationers or short-term parking, some who are in the Delta for work on short assignments in various industries.  It’s a lush, large park with mature trees located basically at the confluence of the San Joaquin and Mokelumne Rivers.  (RAD:  It’s the SJ in front of the park, not the M; I was mistaken).  I’m located about 77 miles east of Oakland, about 50 miles southwest of Sacramento.  I don’t have a job yet and I’ve been spending money like a fiend, but that’s my next big effort.  It will happen. I believe.
I’ll also be in KC three or four times over the next five months for trials or hearings.  I’ll try to see everyone at some point.  I have no idea when I’ll get to the Lou next.  You are all welcome here.  You can sleeping-loft-it, rent a cabin on site, or bring your own RV/camper.  The rental fees are fairly typical of the area.  There is also tent-camping.  There’s a pool, tennis courts, a nice shower / restroom building, and an off-leash park.
And that brings me to Little Girl:  Due to her age and cancer, Patrick and I, in consultation with Noah’s Ark, decided that it would be too much for her to make the trip.  The Taggarts are fostering her.  We hope she will continue to thrive, but we know that they will take good care of her for however long she has left.  Thank you, Taggs.
So:  Tiny living.  I love it already.  I’m calling my new home, “Angel’s Haven”.  Anyone who knows me will understand.
I’m thrilled with the house although we’re still in what Rick tells me is “the shakedown cruise”.  My builder did a really nice job of creating what I wanted.  It has a sleeping platform on the first level, a five-foot high on one side / 4-foot high on the other writing loft; a traditional sleeping loft for guests across the way; a nice kitchen; and a pretty bathroom.  Yes, it’s got a composting toilet.  That will enable me to eventually go off-grid.  It has electric heat, propane cooking, and on-demand propane-powered hot water.  With the two lofts, it’s about 313 square feet.  It has some internal issues but between Rick’s mad two-days of work and Joe the park handyman, I’m hopeful of getting those resolved.  They aren’t too major, things like calking not fully sealed, leaky faucets, and the washer not level.  Some of that results from moving a 24×8.5 trailer with a house on it, cross-country pulled by a pick-up.  Props to Kevin Kitsmiller of Country Cabin Village for seeing my vision and executing it.  And a huge hug to his angel wife, Kim, for her calm and continued support of this project.  We’ll get the kinks worked out, the universe willing and the creek don’t rise.  Joe will be building a deck so that I can have a rocker and safe steps.  Until then, he’s loaned me a set of temporary steps.
Speaking of creeks:  There’s a lovely one behind my house, and a huge weeping willow that puts me in mind of my brother Stephen.  One of his favorite GD songs, featured at his memorial service, was Brokedown Palacewith these haunting lyrics:
Fare you well, my honey, fare you well my only true one.
All the birds that were singing are flown, except you alone.
Going to leave this brokedown palace,
On my hand and knees, i will roll, roll, roll.
Make myself a bed in the waterside,
In my time, i will roll, roll roll.
In a bed, in a bed, by the waterside i will lay my head.
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.
River going to take me, sing sweet and sleepy,
Sing me sweet and sleepy all the way back home.
It’s a far gone lullaby, sung many years ago.
Mama, mama many worlds I’ve come since i first left home.
Goin’ home, goin’ home, by the riverside i will rest my bones,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.
Going to plant a weeping willow,
On the bank’s green edge it will grow, grow, grow.
Sing a lullaby beside the water,
Lovers come and go, the river roll, roll, roll.
Fare you well, fare you well, i love you more than words can tell,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.
Maybe it’s the season, or the approaching anniversary of his birth on Christmas Day but  I miss my brother  Steve more and more, not less and less.  I think he would like this place.  It’s close enough to the city to give him that shot of urban fire which he needed; but it’s the quiet country, like the land which he walked on his last day with us in this life.  Fare thee well, Stevie Pat.  I loved you more than words can tell.  I will think of you when I see the willow rising above me, by the creek with its simple footbridge and its gently flowing water.
Patrick plays guitar on the lower level while I sit in my loft writing.  Christmas nears.  If you haven’t read my ode to this holiday, you can do so HERE.  I’m thinking of each and every one of you.  I’m wishing you joy; and peace; and the warmth of love to surround you.  Wherever you are, this day, on Christmas, on Hanukkah, on every day that dawns and every day on which the sun sets, know that somewhere in NORCAL, there’s a Missouri Mugwump holding you in her heart.
Be well.  I’ll see you on the flip side.
Mugwumpishly tendered,
Corinne Corley
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