I Don't Mean to Bum You Guys Out

Do you want to hear some mind-blowing stand up comedy?  Go to Louis CK's site and download the audio of Tig Notaro's gig.  I heard about this through Linda Lou's blog, and you can go there for the background information.

This woman just got diagnosed with breast cancer.  And she talks about it on stage.  And it's funny as hell, and beautiful, and tragic. 

Ecstatic Dreaming

I woke up from an ecstatic dream in the very early hours this morning. Crying, shaking, joyous, my heart pounding with the power of it. It took me some time to calm down.  I drank a lot of water. I held myself and let a hot river of tears come. Recovering from knee surgery, I wondered if the dream had been inspired by pain killers, or "just" me, or the divine. Then it came to me: it doesn't matter.

I dreamed of Kali, who is usually portrayed as a dark goddess of destruction, but who is also interpreted to be a loving mother. Post-dream I read up on her and learned that she is a very positive force in the universe, spreading wisdom and striking down ignorance.

"The goddess of destruction has begun her dance in our life to tell us that it is time to face our fears. Without losing the "fear of Kali" we cannot think of achieving her. Fear is actually the manifestation of the self-focused ego. When we lose fear we overcome the baggage and restrictive structures of our self-focused ego. Once this happen, then all that lurks ominously, either buried deep in our unconscious mind or close by in our external environment can be stared in the eye and brought into the light of consciousness. By doing this we lose the fear of the dark forces and the limitations set by the self-focused ego. We start speaking the undeniable truth and we start living the real life represented by our inner self." 

 ~ Karishma J. Anand

The entire dream was about losing my fear and limitations that my self-focused ego has held on tight to for so long.  The evening's vision was filled with loss: homes burning, people dying, people leaving me, me leaving me.  At one point, my frantic fight to gather up the basic utensils of life at a thrift store: bowls, pots, spoons, fabric.  I couldn't hold all I wanted in my arms, and inevitably everything would fall to the floor in a clattering shattering mess.  People from my life would float in and out, and we would talk about life, love, and loss.  One long-ago friend offered to loan me, interest free, all the money I could ever want: money to buy my freedom, money to live my life however I chose.  I couldn't believe her generosity.  The evening before she was to give me the money, her house burned down with everything in it -- including all the money I could want.  Burnt to ashes.  Her life, her things, my hope for the future of my life -- gone up in spectacular flames.

So much of the dream was a kaleidoscope of color and noise - a rushing tunnel through which I was sucked and spun, completely helpless to direct myself.

In one scene I was sitting on a porch with a couple of friends, looking out over a deer filled green meadow -- a paradise of trees and water, fowl and mammals.  I could stay here forever, I thought.  This is where I want to spend my days.

In a whoosh I was sucked back into the vortex only to come into the body of an ancient guru who was dying amongst his people.  He was covered with flowers, and had a serene yet exuberant smile on his face.  I became him in his dying, and was lifted by thousands who ran through the street carrying our body.  Now, here's a real subversive part of the dream:  here I was this ancient wise man in death, reaching out to the crowd and fondling everyone I could!  I was touching chests, nipples, penises and vulvae in a race to bring each person to ecstasy as I was being carried along.  People were having their la petite mort as I was having the big one. 

End of scene.

Drugs? The Divine? Who Cares?

Moving On

It's been a year since I ended my marriage.  We are now moving into our new home.  I'm exhausted from schlepping small stuff to the new place, and my knee is causing me a lot of pain even though I am being (pretty) good about not lifting heavy things.  We do have 'professionals' coming, so no worries on the really big stuff.

As I begin this new phase, my friend's father is transitioning out of his place on this earth, in this body.  He is a dear sweet man, whose body is just plain tired of this life.  So, I'm moving my silverware into a drawer, and a memory of Bud pops into my mind.  I brought him a heavenly chocolate cake for his birthday several years ago, and he was delighted.  At that time, I hadn't met him before.  But I was invited to a party which was held, in part, to celebrate his day.  So I went to my favorite bakery and got something extra decadent.  Yum!  I secured my place in his heart with that simple gift.

His daughter was married this summer, and I spent a good amount of time with Bud sitting in the shade and watching the crowd dance to Mumbo Gumbo's swinging tunes.  He was so content, and so proud of his daughter, who was marrying her love (another woman!), and Bud was just a proud papa. 

Back to the packing I go, and as I pack and move and arrange the trinkets of my life, I am thinking of Bud, and his family.  I am grateful that hospice is helping them, and keeping him comfortable.  My head is spinning with the finality of it all:  we plan, we get on with life, we fall in love (or not), and then wham, our time is at an end.  Hello big beyond!


Bud, I am wishing you a good journey.  Wherever you are going, we will all follow eventually.

Enjoy Every Sandwich

Once again, JJ is hosting a fabulous giveaway on her blog. It's a $25 Visa gift card as well as two copies of the book Enjoy Every Sandwich. Enter the contest here. Watch the video and be inspired! Even if I don't win the contest, I am getting this book.



I have known two people who died of esophageal cancer. It is not pretty. One fellow, my young, healthy, vibrant cousin died within weeks of his diagnosis. The other, my former father-in-law was a life-long smoker and heavy drinker. He fought hard, had surgery, chemo, the works. He never believed it would kill him, but kill him it did. He had the most surprised look on his dead face. I remember the hospice worker saying how peaceful he looked in death -- I thought, "No, he looks completely terrified and surprised." I closed his eyes and that helped. Yeah. Death sucks.

So it is particularly beautiful to see how the author of Enjoy Every Sandwich approached his dying: beautifully and gracefully. May we all be so blessed.

Meditation on Grief

Serendipty. I just saw Rodney Crowell in concert, and ordered his book "Chinaberry Sidewalks," a memoir of his life and his complicated family. He thanked his friend and former wife Roseanne Cash for her help in writing the book. Last night, I received a link to this video by Roseanne. A friend who lost her husband of 33 years to cancer sent this link along. She's an old friend from high school, and she is working her way through terrible grief, and in so doing, she is sharing her experience.

What a gift.

We all know grief. We all know the helplessness, the feelings of loss, of aloneness when someone we love dies. I have learned from my own grief that the universe is infinitely larger and more complex than I could have ever imagined. And so is life.

Loss leads me, usually, to the sense that I must get on with this business of living. Life is too short to waste. Too precious to be bored. Too miraculous to be complacent.

Death has been a great teacher for me.

Amazing Grace

It's a balmy 72 degrees today.  The firewood was delivered and the wife and I have been stacking stacking stacking.  Tug thought it fun to grab small pieces and run off with them.  That's our lil' pit for you.

Pinto beans and ham have been cooking all day in the slow cooker, and I just put a batch of corn bread into the oven.  If only the fog would come in and make it seasonal and appropriate to enjoy this hearty fare.  (P.S. it did)

News today that my friend's husband passed away yesterday from his 8 month bought with cancer.  I wish she lived closer so I could take her some of our dinner.  Married for 32 years, they were.  I was closer to her then, and her wedding was the first amongst my friends.  At the time I thought they were too young and I didn't really understand why anyone would want to get married.  They have 2 daughters, and have lived a good life together.  Now she is heartbroken.  Now she must sort out her life without her soul mate.  I can't even imagine.

Tonight I'll light a candle and remember how important love and family is.



The tragic consequences of life can be overcome by the magical strength that resides in the human heart.  from the novel "Bless Me Ultima."

Parting

In one day, I find out that one friend's sister is deathly ill and in the hospital, and another's husband had to be taken by ambulance to hospital last night.  Both in their early elderly years.  What does Rick say to Ilsa in that famous parting scene?


It doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you'll understand that. 


Hill. Of. Beans.


Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow.    Juliet.


When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.


Kahlil Gibran

Shirley 2000 - 2010

This is our baby, Shirley. Cantankerous, bitchy, a love-bug, a loner; one of the softest coats you have ever felt. Shirley died on Wednesday Sept. 1 after feeling very poorly for 5 days. She had a wound that abscessed so we took her to the vet and had her treated. We had her isolated at home so we could monitor if she was eating or drinking. She didn't seem to be. However, on Tuesday she perked up and sat on the windowsill to soak up the sun. A very positive sign.

This morning she raced out of her room and out to the back yard. A good sign? Turns out, not. I found her hours later, lying on the deck, obviously not alive. Poor dear. Poor dear.

She was a fiend, and she peed where she shouldn't; she destroyed furniture and carpets by tearing at them with her sharp claws. But then, she would snuggle up with us in bed, push her head against our bodies and hands to ask for touch, thank us with a steady purr, and sometimes drool with happiness.

This is the downside of loving creatures so much...they do leave this earth, and it is heartbreaking.

In Loving Memory

Tell them I am tired.

Tell them I can't keep

track of them anymore.

Tell them I love them all,

down to the tiniest,

wiggly toe.

Tell them I am

grateful for everything.

-Jane Wilgress, July 8, 2010, as told to her daughter Charlotte.

Jane was laid to rest on Wednesday, joining her husband John who died 60 years ago. Her body was in a coffin made by her son, Ollie, which was simple and elegant. Much like herself.

93 years is a good long life. Her grand daughters took it hard. All the older folks were pretty dry eyed, having seen tragedy many times. Jane's death was not a tragedy, it was a victory. You couldn't help but be happy for her. She did it her way, on her own terms, with family around her in the house she has lived in for 50 years. In her final days, she was visited by many members of her family, and by her friends, all crowding around her bed in the tiny back bedroom; all welcoming her to the next world, encouraging her to come be with them.

A grand life. A beautiful send off. Well done, Jane.

Remembering Ryan

On the anniversary of Ryan White's death, a republican politician shows just how cruel and evil man can be. And I thought I couldn't get any more disgusted. Just look what this GOP ass-wipe has done.

It's difficult for me to believe that 20 years have passed since Ryan's death. Ryan was a severe hemophiliac who contracted HIV from a blood transfusion at the tender age of 13 and died 5 years later. His was a remarkable story. His sad predicament was parlayed into an opportunity to advocate and educate about HIV and human dignity.

Remembering you fondly, Ryan.

Writing Down A Life

I have been given the task of writing Glen's obituary. Some things I discovered while gathering facts:

Margaret and Glen have been married for 71 years, not 69.

Glen was born in 1915 in Missouri.

He was the oldest of 9 children.

When he was a small kid, maybe 10 years old, he hopped a train with one of his brothers and traveled to either Texas or Iowa (facts still pending) to work on a dairy farm. (Can you imagine this happening nowadays?)

He served in the US Army, first as an MP in the Philippines in 1934. A 19 year old boy from the heart of the country, plopped down in Manila.

He lost a brother at Pearl Harbor, who was newly enlisted, and on the Arizona. He lost another brother in the Philippines.

There are many photographs of him throughout his career in the Army. He looks like a movie star, so trim with a rugged square jaw and eyes that say, "Don't cross me, bud."

He served in WWII and went into France about a week after the initial invasion.

I remember a story he told us about being in Korea, on the 38th parallel. It was either Christmas eve or New Years eve, and his US Army comrades and he spent the evening with Russian soldiers drinking vodka and having a jolly time, despite the fact that no one spoke a common language. I love the fact that the lines were blurred between 'enemy' and all became 'friends' if only for that evening. I like to think that is what we all yearn for.

Go here for today's post on Foto Fiend.

The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth-
The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity.
-- Emily Dickinson

For Margaret, who lost her love of 71 years today. Rest in Peace, Glen.

The Gift

This pillow was a gift to me from the children of my friend, Laurette. After her passing, after her burial here, back at the house they gave this to me. It was stitched by her father-in-law, sewn into a pillow by her mother-in-law. I had it with me (perfect back pillow for driving) when I went to her grave site today. I thought it perfect to photograph it with both their names on the headstone -- the pillow that was stitched for them over 50 years ago, by Lazlo's parents, placed upon their graves. The full circle of their wonderful lives. Lazlo died in 1977 when I was a callow youth, unable to absorb the enormity of his passing. He had been a regular overnight guest in my family's home, traveling the way he did in his architectural practice. He had escaped Hungary before the 1956 revolution. He was a dear man, who enjoyed life and took so many under his wing. Cancer took him when I was 20 years old, and he was only 56 years old. Laurette lived a good long time after that, and she carried on admirably. Had an entirely new life and came into her own after raising 3 children and being a diligent and loving stay at home mom.
Sitting at their grave today, I had a good cry. A cleansing release of loss. A gift that lifted a heavy weight from my chest. A blessing. Even in their death, they keep giving such divine gifts to me.

Where's that darned "off" button?

Once again, here at the crossroads between the living and the dying. Another old one hanging on to life, while those who love him worry and wonder what the next few weeks, or hours, hold. Grandma says she never knew it was going to be this hard.  She's 88.  They met when she was 16. That's a lot of years.

I heard that song, "Old and in the Way" the other day on the radio, and it resonated.  Not that he's in the way, just that one becomes what we call "useless" and certainly helpless when you're trapped in a breaking down 93 year old body.  The hard part is yet to come: his actual passing.  Hard to believe it was just a month ago that Laurette found her way through the veil.  Now grandpa is poking his nose through.  Up one day, and down the next.  

We're mostly mute.  Stunned.  Not looking forward to what comes next.  I have this mantra in my head, "help the living, help the living."  And that includes the living that are passing on shortly.  And those living who feel the sting of loss.  

At the nursing home yesterday there was a sweet, tiny old woman in a wheelchair, who asked me if I could call her daughter and let her know where she was.  She was hard of hearing, so speaking with her was difficult.  But I listened as best I could, and put my hand on her shoulder to reassure.  She had a remarkable face - old and lined at the edges, but the cheeks, nose, and around the eyes were smooth as a baby's.  Her eyes were luminous.  She glowed.  A beauty.  A confused and vulnerable woman getting through her day as best she could.

Aren't we all?

What A Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong

Loss

No hawk overhead this morning.  The birds are singing, and the gentle jets of the hot tub can be heard.  The dogs are snuggled together on the couch and the cat just padded by.  N. is home from her long night of work, and off to her bed for rest.

I went to bed at 6 pm last night, and slept the whole night through.  I've been hoping that L. will visit me in a dream, but so far, no.  I've been trying to feel her spirit, sitting quietly, letting memories unfold.  But she's just gone.  After 88 years, this one-of-a-kind woman is somewhere else now, slipped away to something else...who knows what?  

She wanted a mass and funeral in Monterey, and that she will have.  To be buried with her husband on the peninsula that was her home for so many years. 

What a strange and mysterious thing death is.  I feel small and insubstantial because of it.   Words begin to come from me, and they sound trite and cliche compared to the enormity of my feelings.  So.  Back to silence.

Saying Goodbye

L. and me, on our canes, after our then recent surgeries.

My dear friend, L., is on her last days. I'll be going up tomorrow for my bi-weekly trip, but it will be very different this time. She has taken no food for 5 days, and no liquids for 3, according to her youngest son. The news, while expected, is shocking to me. She is the come-back kid. She is unconscious now, no awareness even when she is cleaned and moved about.

I'm on the edge of tears, and yet. It is her release, her freedom, and I am glad for that. I just want to be with her, my 88 year old friend, my psuedo-mom, the woman who saved me from insanity many a time, the woman who has maintained the social graces even in her recent dementia.

Oh, the tears have come.

Post script:  our sweet angel is gone - finally left that awful bed she's been trapped in for 6 months.  She died at 10:35 this morning and I received a phone call from her son shortly thereafter.  I'll stay put - no need to drive up there.  Her spirit is everywhere now.

Watching the World Go Round and Round

Though my video skills are lacking, this was quite a lovely drive up Hwy. 280 to Burlingame. A 70 degree afternoon with great blue skies and emerald green hillsides. Good jazz on the radio was the icing on the cake.

Driving up to see my friend, who, this time, did not know who I was at all. No matter. It's what is going on in her brain right now, it's all a part of her process. I have this vision of us walking through the woods - her thoughts like little bread crumbs that she tosses randomly off to one side or the other. I'm scrambling behind her, trying to catch the crumbs that I can, pick up ones by the trail that I can find, laugh at the absurdity of it all. She turns around and looks back at me with an impish grin on her sweet face. The breeze is blowing, and the smell of daffodils fills the air.