DEPARTURES

First it was my father-in-law, March 16th.  Then it was the mother of one of my favorite clients, June 10th. Then my former mother-in-law, June 16th. And today, the father-in-law of one of my husband’s best friends.

We have entered that narrow passage of time during which our parents and elder relatives are disappearing into the mist. We’re all walking to the water’s edge, waving good-bye, as the tide recedes, and while it is out and we stand quietly, eyes on the horizon, we say to ourselves that we still have time to do what we need and want to do. But although the tide has pulled back from the shore and is moving away from us, lulling us into a state of calm, in our deepest selves we know that the direction will shift at some point, and the tide will eventually return, taking us with it.

Strange thing, mortality. In a few more months I’ll turn 57. When my dad was 59, he had open-heart surgery, a quintuple bypass. When my mom was about ten years older than I am now, we began to notice early symptoms of Alzheimer’s. And ten years after that, she was dead. Four years after that, and dad was gone, suddenly (thank god) stricken with what doctors refer to as a ruptured “triple A”– an abdominal aortal aneurysm.

My husband’s friend’s mother-in-law had been suffering from dementia for years, something the family had not been able to acknowledge. So her recent rapid decline in health–multiple UTIs, a heart attack–seemed to me to be clear signs of impending death. But even I was shocked to hear that she died this afternoon, less than a week after being discharged from the hospital. Thinking back on it, those medical events were surely distinct indicators that her body was shutting down. She was done. I’m sad for the family, but relieved for her. It must be something like being born, but in reverse. The powerful forces that push us into the physical, material world return for us, albeit invisibly, to pull us out. It’s hard work.

Blessings on all of these recently departed souls. And meanwhile, we must do our best to tend to the work of the living, with all of the loving-kindness and mindful awareness we can muster.

Peace to all.

 

 

MARKING TIME

I knew this day would come, another brief measurement in the short years of our lives. This morning as I was scanning through the Sunday paper, I turned a page and there was the article I knew I’d read someday. My former mother-in-law had died. Because she had worked as a reporter and editor for this very newspaper (among other things), her death warranted a full article, chronicling her life and times. It was impressive. There were quotes from her husband, now a widower, and a brief mention of their children, among them her only son and my first husband.

He and I no longer communicate, by my request a few years ago. This is not because there is enmity between us, but perhaps because our efforts to maintain a friendship (albeit long-distance) became too difficult for me. Seeing him a few times over the years when he came to town to visit his family made me very happy, and almost immediately after each encounter, very sad. Although we both moved on with our lives and eventually remarried after our brief and early marriage, and each attained happiness in these second unions, meeting with him for even the short times we were able to left me with a bittersweet feeling that was sometimes overwhelming, even painful.

So on this occasion, following the loss of his mother, who loved him very much–only son, and all–I want to say something to him in recognition of this difficult milestone, but am uncertain whether I should. And what to say? Except perhaps that he and his family are in my thoughts, that I know what it feels like to lose one’s mother, and when one loves a parent who dies, there is a strange sense of disconnect and loss, as if one has been unmoored from a lifelong safe harbor. I remember thinking over and over after my mother died that there was no number I could call to hear her voice, there was no earthly place where I could go to see her again. And yet for months that was all I could think of doing. I wanted to sit and talk with her.

Maybe that’s all I need to say to him.

TIME

About a year ago my husband and I started building an art studio in our back yard. We live in a small California bungalow-style house built about 100 years ago, and although it is generally big enough for us (we’re small to average-sized people), it isn’t big enough for our respective avocations: musician/singer-songwriter (him) and artist/writer (me). Much of the front bedroom serves as an office and music storage room for my husband, and there is always plenty of music/sound equipment to trip over on one side of our living room. I have much of my art supplies stored against one wall in the front bedroom, but no real working/painting space. The stop-gap measure has been to set up an old computer table against the windowseat on the southern side of our dining room, with one small cart filled with art supplies, and whatever else can fit either under or on top of the table. This leaves precious little space for me to actually paint, and my paintings have been expanding in size as I have become more confident about what I’m doing (primarily abstract acrylics).

Once we got the studio framed, the building process seemed to slow down considerably. With an original hoped-for finish date of October or November 2013, I was feeling pretty glum when winter arrived and we still had many major steps to complete. Luckily, my husband is extremely mechanically-minded and good at building, and is also a stickler for details. With the exception of the plumbing inspection early on in 2013, everything has gone quite well. (He had to pull out some pipes he’d glued together and start over with new materials.) We passed the electrical inspection last week, and are doing insulation this weekend. Then there’s drywall, and all of the major construction is done. I still don’t think it’ll seem real for me until I can paint the walls and move my stuff in, but at the rate we’re going, that should be within the next month. Yippeeee!

I need the distraction of setting up the studio and feathering my creative nest. I have wearied of my work as a therapist, and don’t seem to have the mental and emotional energy I once did for it. Have to admit that I fantasize a lot about retirement, but the reality is that is still ten years away, barring an unexpected act of tremendous good fortune or–less fortuitously–serious illness or simply dropping dead. Nor do I have the money or motivation to try yet another career at this point. So onward I trundle.

Meanwhile, I continue to ponder mortality in general, mine specifically, and try to focus on living a mindful life by reminding myself to BE HERE NOW. And that includes when we go back out into the studio this evening and glove, goggle, and mask up once more to measure, cut, and fit strips of insulation. How fun is that?!

THE INSULATORS

Fiberglass can be your friend!

COULD IT REALLY BE COLONEL ANGUS?

I’ve got a Christopher Walken SNL dvd, some of his best sketches as a guest host. It’s one of the things I can watch when I really need to laugh and can’t.

It’s going to be an interesting and challenging new year for me. On the surface of my life, all continues as it has: seeing clients, art-making, the usual goofiness that comes from living in a house with a very smart, creative, high-energy husband who lapses into cartoon talk when he thinks I look bummed. And last but certainly not least is our amazingly smart, silly, high-energy caramel tabby cat, who from time to time teams up with my husband to perform utterly ridiculous acts that are way funnier than I could possibly describe. They both have a way of calling forth feelings of pure and simple happiness on my part. [Latest of hundreds of cat’s nicknames: Fuzzbutton.]

But to the point. Over the last six months or so I’ve been experiencing multiple health symptoms that are neurological in flavor: rapidly increasing forgetfulness; mental fogginess; speech problems; increasing trouble completing thoughts when speaking to others (not all the time, but enough to cause concern); increasing balance problems that have sometimes resulted in falls while walking; at times forgetting what I’m doing while in the act of doing it; significant decrease in mental focus and ability to concentrate and complete tasks. From a diagnostic perspective, what my neurologist and I know so far after multiple tests is that I most likely don’t have early-onset Alzheimers.

And we now also know that there are some lesions on my brain that my doctor thinks are unusual for someone my age. And that they’re located in an area of the brain where multiple sclerosis often begins. BUT. There isn’t enough measurable evidence at this point to strongly suggest that I have MS. The next test would be a spinal tap to see whether there’s anything unusual about my cerebrospinal fluid. Unfortunately, it yields far from conclusive results, and is not considered to be an especially reliable diagnostic tool for MS. So my doctor and I agreed to take a “wait and see” approach for now, and run all of the same tests in a year, along with a spinal tap, to see if anything has changed. Of course if any of my symptoms become noticeably worse, or I develop additional symptoms between now and next December, we’ll go back to the drawing board. From what I have read, diagnosing MS is very difficult, as it has widely varying symptoms in each individual, many of which are not definitive.

All that having been said, I suspect that I do have MS, and that a few of my current symptoms that have been worsening actually started ten or more years ago. So let’s say I have it. Then what? There are medications to help decrease or manage some of the symptoms. My neurologist told me that many or most of them have terrible side effects, and said she would not recommend starting any of them if we think, in one year, that this is the illness I’m dealing with. And guess what? My oncologist also discouraged me from getting on these meds for another reason: in cancer survivors there is a much higher rate of developing new cancers as a result of some of these medications, particularly melanoma and lymphomas. So therein lies my possible dilemma.

YIKES.  : 0

Hopefully I haven’t bored you to sleep with the dreary details of my health problems. I look forward to getting back to my sparky curmudgeonly self and once again making sparky and curmudgeonly posts here. It’ll happen.

Just not tonight.

Peace out.

 

Have You Shot Your Gun Into the Air Yet?

Happy New Year!  On my block there have been the requisite fireworks along with lots of gunshots. The gangbanger family down the street has been surprisingly tame lately, though I expect to see a police car down there in the not too distant future. But we’ve lived in this neighborhood for almost 13 years, and we know the score. Urban life is a kick in the head. But hey, when all is said and done, we’re all still made of the same stuff, have the same fears, desires, and needs. Welcome to the human race…

So some of my continuing goals for 2013 are the practices of loving-kindness, living in the present moment, and radical acceptance. Though I was raised in the Presbyterian church (can you get more Rainbo bread bland than that?), as I’ve gotten older I have found considerable wisdom and comfort in Buddhist philosophy. It has helped me make sense of an increasingly screwy (and often downright scary) world. And it reminds me what is most important to me: being present for and loving other people. Hey! That sounds suspiciously similar to Christianity. In the end we all have that final date with our mortality. In the meantime, living with good intent and genuine concern for our fellow humans seems like the best way to go, whatever you want to call that.

And now  . . .  with no further ado  . . .  my annual list of goals for the coming year, in no particular order:

1. Practice patience.

2. Talk (and text) less–rediscover the art of real face-to-face conversation.

3. Shock someone by writing an actual letter and mailing it to them.

4. Judge less, humble myself more.

5. Never let go of my rock’n’roll soul.

6. Dance my ass off to aforementioned rock’n’roll in the privacy of my home (don’t want to scare anybody).

7. Keep painting; keep entering art in local gallery shows.

8. Wear brighter colors. (Even if I look good in black, color is the bomb.)

9. Continue ongoing responsibility as Universal Mother to all Cats.

10. Work on mortality stuff. At 55 with a hx of cancer and neurological problems (brain lesions, anyone?), it never hurts to start doing the prep work early. And anyway, none of us knows when we’re going to die, so no sense in procrastinating. This means, essentially, that when I reach the end of my life, I won’t reflect back and say, “I wish I’d spent more time surfing the Internet.”

11. Eat more fresh food!

12. Write more!

13. “Sing songs, ride horses, and eat breakfast.” Actually I pilfered that phrase from a decades-ago tv commercial for a cereal called “King Vit-a-Min”].

14. Quit staying up until 1:00 and 2:00 in the morning.

15. Say hi to and smile at more strangers.

16. Continue working with my doctors to figure out what’s going wrong in my brain. (MS?)

17. Keep listening to favorite music (including my recent obsession with ’80s bands like Midnight Oil, The Church, Depeche Mode, The Cure, Morrissey, Tears for Fears, along with lifelong faves like Mark Knopfler, Neil Young, Lucinda Williams, Lou Reed…etc.).

18. Say goodnight to all the nice people in your blogosphere.  Good night, nice people!

NEW YEAR’S EVE AGAIN?

Been missing in action for the last two years. I guess you could say I’ve been preoccupied with work, art-making, and pursuing a diagnosis for  increasing symptoms of some type of degenerative disease. More about that later.

But something has been stirring in the still-all right portions of my right brain. Lately I’ve been feeling that familiar compulsion to write again. Starting later in the day, perhaps. Time to head to bed.

It’s good to be back.

MY FAVORITE THINGS

Randomly and without categorization:

1.   British actor Bill Nighy

2.  Trader Joe’s Belgian Chocolate pudding

3.  Koh-I-Noor Chromatic Coloring Pencils

4.  Reading The Sun magazine on a Saturday afternoon

5.  Taking mental health days off from my job in mental health

6.  Writer Thomas Moore (the contemporary one)

7.  The dual whir of ceiling fans in the living room and dining room

8.  August days that do not require air conditioning in the semi-desert where I live

9.  Pruning the lantana

10. Solo living room dancing to Dire Strait’s “The Bug”

11. Dire Straits albums, especially Dire Straits, Love Over Gold, and Brothers in Arms

12. Mark Knopfler

13. Mark Knopfler solo albums, particularly Sailing to Philadelphia, Ragpicker’s Dream, Shangri-La, Kill to Get Crimson, and Get Lucky

14.  Connecting with other MK enthusiasts

15.  The movie Stranger Than Fiction

16.  Cate Blanchett in just about any movie she’s made

17.  Joseph Campbell, scholar of mythology and religion extraordinare, radiant being, and lover of life, the universe and everything (may his spirit continue to inhabit, inform, and inspire)

18.  The poetry of Dorianne Laux, Connie Hales, C.G. Hanzlicek, Wendell Berry, William Stafford, Denise Duhamel, Teddy Roethke, Rita Dove, and on and on and on

19.  Dark chocolate-covered raisins (“craisins” in our house)

20.  Old friends

21.  New friends

22.  New-old friends

23.  Mandalas

24.  Freesia that comes straight from our front yard

25.  Yanking out yard-length weeds from the flowerbeds

26.  Hurling snails into the street

27.  Walking to our local neighborhood coffeehouse/cafe on a Sunday morning

28.  All of my friends, even those with whom I can no longer (for whatever reason) communicate

29.  The intangible gifts my parents gave me

30.  Haagen-Dazs strawberry ice cream

31.  Practicing yoga

32.  Art retreats

33.  Intuitive painting

34.  A really excellent filet mignon once a year

35.  Getting packages in the mail (especially unexpected ones)

36.  Reading through my teenage journals

37.  Heath Ledger, RIP

38.  Prismacolor artist pencils

39.  Metallic tempera paint

40.  My increasingly silvery hair

41.  Fresh-off-the-tree peaches

42.  Making giant fruit salads

43.  Sitting on a beach-log, listening to the ocean

44.  “Dictation” poems that seem to come from something/somewhere outside my self

45.  Tree-shaded streets in old neighborhoods

46.  Living in a house that’s almost a century old

47.  My husband, in all of his vicissitudes, moods, creative states, semi-military moments, utter silliness, complete honesty, after-midnight runs on online guitar forums, total integrity, and absolute intolerance of bullshit

48.  She is my cat and I am her human

49.  My annual effort to master (against all odds) a layer cake for my husband’s birthday

50.  My great mentor, teacher, and friend, Ron K. (may his spirit/soul meet up with Joseph Campbell’s if it hasn’t already)

51.  Actually getting enough sleep once or twice a week

52.  Inheriting (and/or learning) my mother’s tolerance of and compassion for humankind (okay, ALMOST all of it–leaving out the Idi Amins, Sadam Husseins, et al)

53.  Getting to start over and try to do things right every day I wake up

54.  Oddly, blogging

55.  Seeing women grow old with acceptance and grace (a real kind of beauty)

56.  Giving myself a weekend off from “having to do” anything

57.  Cobalt blue

58.  The brilliant pinpoint map of stars in mountain-night skies

59.  The first teacher who gave me a blank composition book

60.  Neil Young, in all ways, ALWAYS

61.  Coloring books

62.  Warm brownies with melty vanilla ice cream

63.  Mountain meadows

64.  My 52 and 3/4-yr-old heart that still seems to work (most of the time)

65.  Daylight, as George Harrison said, that’s “good at arriving at the right time”

66.  There’s a little bit of magic in everything, and some loss to even things out (thank you Lou Reed)

67.  Surviving cancer

68.  And living to tell

(more later . . . )

NOTE TO SELF:

Why for you been dragging your sorry ass around like the world is coming to an end?  You’ve been acting badly, and you know it.  For example:  What’s up with all of the self-indulgent eating lately?  Remember how you changed your worst eating habits (excessive quantities of sugar, not enough vegetable matter) earlier in the year when you found out your cholesterol had gone through the roof?  And what about the last two months of almost no meditation?  Minimal exercise?  Didja FORGET how great you feel when you do even 15 or 20 minutes of yoga?

Face it:  you’ve been a crank and a grouch, undermotivated and over-whiney, and can I just say that it has been boring as HELL. So give yerself a slap in the face, and see if a friend will give you a loving boot in the ass so you can snap out of it.  You’re no good to anyone when you behave this way.

While you’re at it, why dontcha try getting enough sleep (that would require going to bed at a reasonable hour most nights), taking walks in the morning, and performing the occasional random (and anonymous) act of kindness for people who least expect it?

And quit thinking about being creative.  GO.  DO. You’ve got works in progress.  Go back to your mandala project.  Get busy again pulling poetry and essays together for your book lab.  Read what you want to read; put away all literature connected with work.  Excavate your artist/writer self and give her back the light of day.  And for god’s sake, throw those manacles and leg irons away.  What, are you training to be a barbarian?

ANY QUESTIONS?

P.S. — remember who and what inspires you:

Neil Young, still rocking out in his 60s . . . Martin Dockery and his crazy-manic-gorgeous storytelling . . . your mom and her quiet strength, courage, and determination . . . your insanely adorable feline pal . . . people who make sidewalk art with chalk under cover of darkness . . . your friends in all of their various incarnations . . . your creative mentor of juicy arts . . . Ken Kesey . . . Maya Angelou . . . Walt Whitman . . . paintings of gifted graffiti artists . . . anyone who paints any mural on any building . . . Thomas Moore . . . poets, of course:  Dorianne Laux . . . Connie Hales . . . Chuck Hanzlicek . . . Roethke . . . Susan Wooldridge and her word tickets . . . little kids finger-painting . . . constellations . . . connotations . . . conversations . . . WORDS ! . . . COLORS!!! . . . walking on the edge of the ocean . . . climbing to the top of giant slabs of rock for a change of view . . . Beethoven . . . Prokofiev . . . Mark Knopfler . . . a huge blank sheet of paper on an easel . . . a blank notebook . . . coffee with a friend . . . the way the sun slants through the day . . . how all of this is enough, somehow . . .

REWIND, REWRITE, REDEFINE

Have you ever thought about how you’ve come to know yourself?  For example, how did you determine whether or not you’re strong or weak, happy or sad, fearful or courageous, interesting or dull?

Are you aware of the stories you may have learned to tell yourself so that you could explain to yourself–or to anyone else–who you are and how you got to be that way?

Have you ever considered the possibility that your stories do not represent any sort of definitive truth about you?

Has it ever occurred to you that if the story/stories you’re currently living aren’t working for you, it may possible to change them?