December 6, 1931 ~ August 22, 2009
In loving memory of Dear Betty - My Cousin, My Aunt
The Quilter
I sit, in the wee hours, by her bedside.
Well, it really isn’t her bedside, but it is. It is not her bed, but one on loan for her use, so to speak.
Pesky is bedded down on the loveseat hide a bed a few feet away.
I sit in a wooden chair at 3 am. My eyes now blinded by the brightness of the laptop screen. The light in the pink tiled shower stall is on, the bathroom door ajar, letting a small column of light splash across the wall at the end of her bed.
I struggle to see the erratic rise and fall of her chest, my eyes blinded by the whiteness of the screen. I dim the screen as far as it will go.
The steady rhythm of the oxygen machine punctuates the near quiet every 9 seconds with a second long vacuum release.
A snort, she moves, I close the laptop lid. Was it her, was it Pesky? She shifts in her bed, turns her face away from me and toward the hide a bed where Pesky lays sleeping a restless sleep.
She stirred from her uneasy place, appearing to be resting, but really I believe working very hard.
“Is that old Tom over there?” she said in a barely audible voice, her sunken eyes turned toward the hideabed.
“Yes”, I say, “he is getting some rest, he is worn out.”
“Ice” she says in the barely audible voice.
I reach for the Styrofoam cup. The one on the mobile tray. The one with the white plastic spoon in it. The tray is right next to me and right next to this bed she lays in.
She slowly and deliberately grasps the cup, pulls it to her chest. Spoonful of ice, deposited perfectly into her mouth. Spoon returned to cup, hands lowered, eyelids lowered. She drifts. I return the cup to her bedside table.
I stop typing, lean over my laptop. It is resting on my right thigh and the left calf, which is resting on my right knee. I struggle to see her chest rise and fall, my pupils too dilated to see it easily.
I squint; focus with all my concentration as I struggle against eyelids heavy upon my eyes, requesting sleep I will not afford them. I squint, she turns her head. I quickly close the lid of the laptop to stop the light from illuminating her bedside. I hold my breath, hoping she remains in this state of assumed slumber.
I presume it is slumber but do not know, cannot know, what might be taking place.
The Quilter’s chest rises and falls erratically, but with some semblance of regularity. I close the laptop lid.
Pesky has his hand over his face, and appears to be sleeping. I gently place the laptop on the bedside table and quietly exit the room. I walk steadily toward the other end of the hall. My white gym shoes placed deliberately with each step.
It is a nice hall. Laminate floors, still new, mimic a real hardwood floor, one with 4 inch dark wood planks polished shiny. I think to myself as I drink in the laminate floor, this is a metaphor. Imitation wood for imitation living?
The fluorescent lights illuminate the pale yellow walls covered with wallpaper. The walls are adorned with country style prints in thick walnut colored frames.
The print hanging right outside the Quilter’s room is a 2 story wood sided country house in the background. It has a tin roof, like the roof of my childhood home, the ole home place, as my mom calls it. Also in the background is an old wooden shed, unfinished wood and slightly tilting, but still sturdy. The middle ground is a fenced pasture, complete with aged wooden wagon. It has an aging split rail fence in the foreground.
Hanging across the rail of the fence is a quilt. Large red rectangles interspersed with blue and red squares and white patches making a box. This pattern, this style has a name and I am sure the Quilter would know it. I have no clue. It is pretty, but that is all I know. How apropos, this painting. Outside my cousin’s room. My cousin, the Quilter.
Two days ago as I sat by her bedside. I told her about the picture outside her room and described it as best I could. I thought she would enjoy knowing that she had a quilt picture outside the room. Then again, maybe these mundane details are the province of those who are not dying.
At her home, just months ago, she showed me her sewing room. She was weak with the cancer then, but things were different. Her time on earth was not measured in any tangible way. Remissions, chemo, radiation all factored in. Back then.
In that room, she showed my mother and I the fruit of her labors. Quilts. Quilts in all sizes, all patterns, in all stages of production. Maybe 50 quilts or more.
I walk the length of the hall, passing 6 hospice rooms. Pretty rooms with fashionable soothing wallpaper and beautiful valances atop the windows that face the river. If it were not for the wooden nurses station with the wheelchair next to it, the ladies in nursing garb and the storage room shining very bright with fluorescent light, you would think yourself in a nice hotel. There might be a swimming pool down on the 3rd floor, just outside the fitness center. Motor coaches full of tourists and college athletes and musicians could be in the parking lot, coming and going, to and fro, in the chaotic dance of life.
This is Hospice.
It is a nice place. Given the role it plays in modern day culture. That bridge between our highly medicalized lives, and the natural biological rhythm of life.
Once we did not have such a place. Once we were born in the company of our own kin, we lived surrounded by them, and died among them. Now, we are whisked away to sterile places with bright lights, strangers with, if all goes well, warm loving dispositions, willing to care for the stranger who is sick, who is dying, in exchange for money they can use to keep their own lives going.
No longer do we live with the hand nature and biology deals us. Now we try to defy the natural order, find a way to eek out more years amongst our concrete jungle. Struggling against the inevitable.
I arrive at the family room. Oversized soft sofas in a brown print, tasteful. A nice wooden desk with a pc on it. Nice entertainment center with large screen TV, complete with pay TV service and a small selection of DVD movies. Coffee table covered in magazines, remotes and a forgotten Styrofoam cup.
On the brown sofa, against a side wall, my mother lays on her back, under a white summer weight blanket. Her sleep is punctuated by jerking movements. I wonder what is happening in her subconscious. My mother endeavors to stay strong for her cousin-sister, the Quilter.
My mother, who has never known a world that the Quilter was not part of, is enduring a breaking heart. Her cousin, 3 years her senior in life. Her cousin, neigh, sister. They call each other sister. Who is this? They say, this is my sister. Close.
I worry about my mother. She is just now really standing solid in the wake of my dad’s passing. No other death, save one of her children, could affect her more intensely than this one, the passing of her sister, the Quilter.
I return down the hall and re-enter my cousin’s room. Her husband is still resting on the hide a bed, I am relieved. He is not much for sleeping, even under the best of circumstances. Now, his heart breaking, his mind reeling with the impending death of his wife of 57 years, he struggles, bloodshot eyes, shuffled movements. I struggle in these nights to create situations in which he will be compelled to lay down for a bit.
I sit down in that wooden chair again. I strain in the dim light to see her chest rise and fall. I wait, and finally am rewarded with the desired movement. There are pauses in her breath. One must be patient to confirm that she is still partially in this world.
Satisfied and relieved, I sit back in the chair, pull out the laptop and wait for it to come alive. I quickly dim the screen as much as it will go. I minimize my window to reduce the white glare in my face, dilating my pupils and lighting the room. I decide my seaside desktop image is too bright.
I find a black and white print of a leaf, really grey halftones, but what does it matter? The Quilter is busy with her work of dying. The mundane details of life pale in comparison to the drama being played out a foot from my hands.
I hear a rustling; I close the lid and strain to see clearly. Turned her head. I sit back. I hear a quite knock, it is the aide, she is here to do temp and BP. She does 2 BP’s, the first was low, and she wants to double check. 85 over 53. Low, very low.
My cousin’s journey toward her death continues at a slow relatively steady pace. The aide, a temp, is concerned by the BP. She goes to tell the nurse. I accompany her. I listen. The nurses are as loving, sensitive and patient as you could ever hope for.
Hospice.
The nurse smiles warmly at me in those wee hours. “It is a marker on the path.” I say to her. She smiles tenderly. She tells me there are many, and the road is varied. She says the Quilter may keep this BP or may roller coaster.
There are no absolutes in this process. Save the ending. Or the beginning.
The Quilter wanted to die at home. Or so it had been said.
Hospice.
It looks less and less likely that they will move her home. Her needs seem simple, bedpan, depends, oxygen and pain meds. She has a DNR. She signed it at the hospital, using my short black pen, just hours before being transported to hospice, that mid place, the on the way back home place.
Here we sit. Here she does her work. Here she is sewing her final quilt, making a pattern we will never be privy to. A private quilt. The quilt of her life, her time with us, and her path onward to whatever lays ahead.
I close the laptop lid, set it on the floor beside the practical bedside table. I sit up in that wooden chair. I train my eyes upon her face, upon her chest. I watch. I glance over to see how Pesky is fairing. Should he find the peace she is likely headed toward. His coming months full of pain and suffering.
I watch the Quilter as the dark night sky slowly gives way to day. As the hours pass I am keenly aware of the ebb and flow, keenly aware that while I have a beautiful quilt made by the Quilter’s own hands, and given to me upon my return to the place of my birth, the most beautiful quilt that she will make, and the one most cherished in my life, is this private quilt she now quilts, and the honor of attending the Quilter, as she quilts.
While I cannot name the patterns on the quilts in her sewing room, I can name the pattern of the one she now quilts.
That is the one that matters.
You are already missed, my dear.
Dad - Being his typical silly self...
We miss you dad!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
Life's Long & Winding Journey
Gifts come in places we don't often expect. Sometimes major gifts arrive in the most seemingly painful of ways.
I remember being a child and being fearful of death and what it entailed.
Our culture was already fairly compartmentalized and human death of loved ones was not part of the fabric of our daily lives. Living in separated nuclear families, the very young did not often live with aging/dying relatives as a normal experience. We had lived in close proximity to life and death for probably most of our 1.5 million years on earth, but in the last few hundreds of years, we have drifted away from the basic ebb and tide.
The dominate forms of religion that surrounded my childhood exacerbated my fear. The religious things I can recall, before briskly walking away from it at 12 and declaring myself and atheist, were harsh.
I recall from childhood things like put the fear of God in them, the judgment, and some others I now cannot recall.
I think I just hit the exhaustion wall where my brain may now be mush.
I recall during my 12th summer riding a church bus that picked up the neighbor kids. During that summer the church had a contest, the boy and the girl who brought the most new kids on the church bus during the summer session would win brand new 10 speed bikes. One for the boy, one for the girl. In Sunday school we were showered with candies for answering bible study questions - correctly or not. At church picnics we were plied with tons of ice cream for free.
I recall quite clearly my displeasure. I questioned why, if what the church had to offer was so good and valuable, they had to resort to what appeared to me to be bribery to recruit kids and keep them. They then talked about fearing god, eternal damnation and all manner of things that made their god seem highly undesirable and their church desperate to get kids any way they could lure them.
Today I would probably see this as a recruitment and conversion objective. Terms leveled harshly at me throughout my life, by those claiming to represent Christianity.
I guess this church elected to go for the kids. Most Jehovah's Witnesses I have talked to at any length were recruited through jails and rehab centers, when the person was at a very low vulnerable point in their life... I guess my beef is that if what you have is so daggone good and worthy...why the vulnerable and innocents are the ones targeted. If it is truly good, let them come on their own, with strong minds ready to accept while standing upright and clear headed. I am sure many come under this condition, but I do struggle with what to me feels like organized predatory approaches.
I recall being very disgusted with the religion available. A mean god and the church has to resort to bribing kids. That is just how it felt that summer.
One night at girl scout camp, my close friend slid out of her cot and onto her knees to pray before going to sleep. We had been laying in the dark joking, giggling and such, as 12 year old's will do. When I did not get on my knees she asked me about it. I told her I was an atheist and did not believe in her god, so it would be wrong of me to pretend to pray to her god.
I had decided I was an atheist. I only knew the judgment and fear centered religions that surrounded my childhood. I knew nothing of the existence of the Bahai's the Hindus, etc.
In my world it was the god that must be feared or nothing. I had little difficulty in electing to become an atheist. What I had seen of religion did not mesh with my own morals, values and desires for my life.
I felt I did not need a god that was mean and must be feared. The constant conflict the church represented did not help.
God is Love. Put the fear of god in you.
Judge not lest ye be judged. Those who do not believe as we do are sinners and do not know god and are heathens and so on, worshiping false gods/idols, not worthy, etc..(isn't that judging them? it sounded very judgmental to me).
My friend at camp was extremely visibly upset by my assertion that I did not believe in god. Had I understood just how she would melt down, I might not have been so matter of fact about it. She ran crying to our leader's tent. I was going to incur the wrath of her God and she feared for me. Truly feared for me and my eternally damned soul.
If I had any doubts about walking away, her palpable fear dispelled them. She was a wreck.
I had no trouble walking away from what was presented to me as my religious option in life.
It was not until I was 17 that I knew what a Jew was, and then only sort of. It would be many years before I understood anything about Judaism and I still know very little. I do know that if I was forced to make a choice only between Christian and Judaism, I'd be a Jew without the bat of an eye. Fortunately, the world is broader than that, I am not forced to make that choice or be ostracized.
In college as a 21 year old I learned of Bahai's and was intrigued. I became aware vaguley of Muslims, Hindus and so forth. I gradually shifted my stance from aethist, to agnostic during my early to mid 20's. In my mid 20's I began to open my life to newer experiences. A few years into my life in SF and I was open to explore the world's bounty.
I transitioned from agnostic to something undefined in my mind. I remained open to the idea of a universal force but heavily rejected the label God and Jesus Christ as it smacked so hard of that which was problematic to me from childhood. I continued to reject the word God and stumbled with Christ until I gradually became aware that Jesus was only one of many Christs.
I learned what Christ meant in the bigger world, the universe. The core essence of Christ made sense to me, more so than the fear of god that has always been presented with Jesus Christ as though Jesus was the only Christ.
I still choked over God with a capital G. It still had a singular meaning tied to the religion of my childhood, not acceptable.
I gradually became aware of an approach that many organized religions with strong hierarchical structures in place did their best to marginalize and relegate to the "kooks" - metaphysical or my favorite name "new age" despite the fact that most ideas reach much farther back in time than the founding of the relatively new religion of the Judea Christians. But new age, spirituality and metaphysical became the playground of the weirdos, the kooks, the fairies (derogatory in nature) and the hippies and druggies. Judge not lest ye be judged? Is this not judgment? I simply do not understand that whole piece of it... Perhaps all religions that are fairly organized and hierarchical have many conflicts within them. I have not studied them and only know the seeming incongruities of Christian based religions because it was what surrounded my life.
I was happy to explore an approach that said this is not a contest, this isn't a situation in which there is only ONE single correct way to worship or one way to interpret the Infinite Source of love, God, Allah, the spirits, whatever language and imagery works for you, because it is all the same in the end, that life source of energy that connects, that allows life to continue, it is the essential building blocks of living organisms.
Interpret how you will, but know love, the pure love, of the infinite source and live your life in love striving to be Christlike.
It took a while to wrap my mind around all those things that had been driven from my consciousness during my childhood. I gradually became aware of the IS within me and sometimes it was a scary revelation and I would run the other way for many years. Then I would peek back, ready to peel back a bit of another layer. An entire layer of our existence pushed out by people who are taught to fear.
Time passes, life happens, we seek, we explore, we grow, we shrink, we move, always moving.
A friend of mine who lives her life in a very linear path once made a comment to me about how I needed direction in my life.
I was silently amused at her comment, in a warm way, not mean spirited. She viewed life as one straight rugged climb up the side of the mountain, straight line, just go.
My climb up the mountain was a trail with many switchbacks and false spurs. Totally different approaches to the path of life, both equally valid, both elected by those traveling them. For her, mine was not working. It was working beautifully for me, just as my kook spirituality is.
I'll keep my switchbacks, thanks very much.
My fear of death began to truly morph when my friend Wayne was dying of AIDS related concerns. He died at 37. He gave me the honor and gift of being at his side throughout his last years and days of life. He slipped away from me one night, waiting, I know, for me to doze off. I woke to his final exhale. His death and his sharing of his experience removed the fear that had occupied my childhood. My buddig awareness of spirit and IS was not bound in fear, but love.
I now feared not living, rather than dying.
It was not dying that was the problem, it was a life not lived, a heart not at peace. For many years I was caught up in a life not lived being partially equated to the material plane, the activities with which we fill our time, and slowly segued into experiences, people and personal growth to define a life lived.
There have been other deaths between Wayne and Dad. I am still trying to get clear on a way to write about Dad's gifts to me. I am probably too close to it, still working out what his main teachings are, wallowing around in the muck. And then there is Betty.
Betty's spirit put me "in my place" so to speak last night. She bounced me back out of her space and spiritually said she was not in need of me, she was strong and growing stronger on her way. It was Pete and those whose hearts were heavy who needed my spiritual energy. I checked in with Pete as he slept next to her body. I gave him what I had. It wore me out to have that experience. A few short minutes in the wee hours, but fully exhausting.
Betty's request for me to take care of them was multi-dimensional, and last night she made that clear. It wasn't just about making sure Pete ate and did not lay in bed in a depression in the coming months. It was so much more.
Her eyes tonight held mine as I told her I intended to make good on my word. Every last dimension I am capable of comprehending and taking action on.
Betty will teach me much in the coming hours and days. I am very exhausted, have no one local to process with or share with as I unravel her lessons, but that will only slow the comprehension down, not thwart the growth.
For the Betty of my childhood I give many physical hugs and kisses. I thank you for your 3 slap on the face warmth and tenderness to show how much you love.
For the Betty of my adulthood, my teacher, I receive your lessons with a most gracious heart. May I have the strength and fortitude to receive all you have to offer.
Holding you in my heart as you journey on your path. Gradually receiving the baton of the physical existence, as it is passed from your generation to mine. May we have the wisdom to use it well.
I remember being a child and being fearful of death and what it entailed.
Our culture was already fairly compartmentalized and human death of loved ones was not part of the fabric of our daily lives. Living in separated nuclear families, the very young did not often live with aging/dying relatives as a normal experience. We had lived in close proximity to life and death for probably most of our 1.5 million years on earth, but in the last few hundreds of years, we have drifted away from the basic ebb and tide.
The dominate forms of religion that surrounded my childhood exacerbated my fear. The religious things I can recall, before briskly walking away from it at 12 and declaring myself and atheist, were harsh.
I recall from childhood things like put the fear of God in them, the judgment, and some others I now cannot recall.
I think I just hit the exhaustion wall where my brain may now be mush.
I recall during my 12th summer riding a church bus that picked up the neighbor kids. During that summer the church had a contest, the boy and the girl who brought the most new kids on the church bus during the summer session would win brand new 10 speed bikes. One for the boy, one for the girl. In Sunday school we were showered with candies for answering bible study questions - correctly or not. At church picnics we were plied with tons of ice cream for free.
I recall quite clearly my displeasure. I questioned why, if what the church had to offer was so good and valuable, they had to resort to what appeared to me to be bribery to recruit kids and keep them. They then talked about fearing god, eternal damnation and all manner of things that made their god seem highly undesirable and their church desperate to get kids any way they could lure them.
Today I would probably see this as a recruitment and conversion objective. Terms leveled harshly at me throughout my life, by those claiming to represent Christianity.
I guess this church elected to go for the kids. Most Jehovah's Witnesses I have talked to at any length were recruited through jails and rehab centers, when the person was at a very low vulnerable point in their life... I guess my beef is that if what you have is so daggone good and worthy...why the vulnerable and innocents are the ones targeted. If it is truly good, let them come on their own, with strong minds ready to accept while standing upright and clear headed. I am sure many come under this condition, but I do struggle with what to me feels like organized predatory approaches.
I recall being very disgusted with the religion available. A mean god and the church has to resort to bribing kids. That is just how it felt that summer.
One night at girl scout camp, my close friend slid out of her cot and onto her knees to pray before going to sleep. We had been laying in the dark joking, giggling and such, as 12 year old's will do. When I did not get on my knees she asked me about it. I told her I was an atheist and did not believe in her god, so it would be wrong of me to pretend to pray to her god.
I had decided I was an atheist. I only knew the judgment and fear centered religions that surrounded my childhood. I knew nothing of the existence of the Bahai's the Hindus, etc.
In my world it was the god that must be feared or nothing. I had little difficulty in electing to become an atheist. What I had seen of religion did not mesh with my own morals, values and desires for my life.
I felt I did not need a god that was mean and must be feared. The constant conflict the church represented did not help.
God is Love. Put the fear of god in you.
Judge not lest ye be judged. Those who do not believe as we do are sinners and do not know god and are heathens and so on, worshiping false gods/idols, not worthy, etc..(isn't that judging them? it sounded very judgmental to me).
My friend at camp was extremely visibly upset by my assertion that I did not believe in god. Had I understood just how she would melt down, I might not have been so matter of fact about it. She ran crying to our leader's tent. I was going to incur the wrath of her God and she feared for me. Truly feared for me and my eternally damned soul.
If I had any doubts about walking away, her palpable fear dispelled them. She was a wreck.
I had no trouble walking away from what was presented to me as my religious option in life.
It was not until I was 17 that I knew what a Jew was, and then only sort of. It would be many years before I understood anything about Judaism and I still know very little. I do know that if I was forced to make a choice only between Christian and Judaism, I'd be a Jew without the bat of an eye. Fortunately, the world is broader than that, I am not forced to make that choice or be ostracized.
In college as a 21 year old I learned of Bahai's and was intrigued. I became aware vaguley of Muslims, Hindus and so forth. I gradually shifted my stance from aethist, to agnostic during my early to mid 20's. In my mid 20's I began to open my life to newer experiences. A few years into my life in SF and I was open to explore the world's bounty.
I transitioned from agnostic to something undefined in my mind. I remained open to the idea of a universal force but heavily rejected the label God and Jesus Christ as it smacked so hard of that which was problematic to me from childhood. I continued to reject the word God and stumbled with Christ until I gradually became aware that Jesus was only one of many Christs.
I learned what Christ meant in the bigger world, the universe. The core essence of Christ made sense to me, more so than the fear of god that has always been presented with Jesus Christ as though Jesus was the only Christ.
I still choked over God with a capital G. It still had a singular meaning tied to the religion of my childhood, not acceptable.
I gradually became aware of an approach that many organized religions with strong hierarchical structures in place did their best to marginalize and relegate to the "kooks" - metaphysical or my favorite name "new age" despite the fact that most ideas reach much farther back in time than the founding of the relatively new religion of the Judea Christians. But new age, spirituality and metaphysical became the playground of the weirdos, the kooks, the fairies (derogatory in nature) and the hippies and druggies. Judge not lest ye be judged? Is this not judgment? I simply do not understand that whole piece of it... Perhaps all religions that are fairly organized and hierarchical have many conflicts within them. I have not studied them and only know the seeming incongruities of Christian based religions because it was what surrounded my life.
I was happy to explore an approach that said this is not a contest, this isn't a situation in which there is only ONE single correct way to worship or one way to interpret the Infinite Source of love, God, Allah, the spirits, whatever language and imagery works for you, because it is all the same in the end, that life source of energy that connects, that allows life to continue, it is the essential building blocks of living organisms.
Interpret how you will, but know love, the pure love, of the infinite source and live your life in love striving to be Christlike.
It took a while to wrap my mind around all those things that had been driven from my consciousness during my childhood. I gradually became aware of the IS within me and sometimes it was a scary revelation and I would run the other way for many years. Then I would peek back, ready to peel back a bit of another layer. An entire layer of our existence pushed out by people who are taught to fear.
Time passes, life happens, we seek, we explore, we grow, we shrink, we move, always moving.
A friend of mine who lives her life in a very linear path once made a comment to me about how I needed direction in my life.
I was silently amused at her comment, in a warm way, not mean spirited. She viewed life as one straight rugged climb up the side of the mountain, straight line, just go.
My climb up the mountain was a trail with many switchbacks and false spurs. Totally different approaches to the path of life, both equally valid, both elected by those traveling them. For her, mine was not working. It was working beautifully for me, just as my kook spirituality is.
I'll keep my switchbacks, thanks very much.
My fear of death began to truly morph when my friend Wayne was dying of AIDS related concerns. He died at 37. He gave me the honor and gift of being at his side throughout his last years and days of life. He slipped away from me one night, waiting, I know, for me to doze off. I woke to his final exhale. His death and his sharing of his experience removed the fear that had occupied my childhood. My buddig awareness of spirit and IS was not bound in fear, but love.
I now feared not living, rather than dying.
It was not dying that was the problem, it was a life not lived, a heart not at peace. For many years I was caught up in a life not lived being partially equated to the material plane, the activities with which we fill our time, and slowly segued into experiences, people and personal growth to define a life lived.
There have been other deaths between Wayne and Dad. I am still trying to get clear on a way to write about Dad's gifts to me. I am probably too close to it, still working out what his main teachings are, wallowing around in the muck. And then there is Betty.
Betty's spirit put me "in my place" so to speak last night. She bounced me back out of her space and spiritually said she was not in need of me, she was strong and growing stronger on her way. It was Pete and those whose hearts were heavy who needed my spiritual energy. I checked in with Pete as he slept next to her body. I gave him what I had. It wore me out to have that experience. A few short minutes in the wee hours, but fully exhausting.
Betty's request for me to take care of them was multi-dimensional, and last night she made that clear. It wasn't just about making sure Pete ate and did not lay in bed in a depression in the coming months. It was so much more.
Her eyes tonight held mine as I told her I intended to make good on my word. Every last dimension I am capable of comprehending and taking action on.
Betty will teach me much in the coming hours and days. I am very exhausted, have no one local to process with or share with as I unravel her lessons, but that will only slow the comprehension down, not thwart the growth.
For the Betty of my childhood I give many physical hugs and kisses. I thank you for your 3 slap on the face warmth and tenderness to show how much you love.
For the Betty of my adulthood, my teacher, I receive your lessons with a most gracious heart. May I have the strength and fortitude to receive all you have to offer.
Holding you in my heart as you journey on your path. Gradually receiving the baton of the physical existence, as it is passed from your generation to mine. May we have the wisdom to use it well.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Well, I went out tonight to look up at the sky in hopes of seeing some of the Perseid meteor showers.
Last year, mom and I drove out to the cemetery. We sat, and we waited, and we waited and we waited. Despite the very wide view unobstructed by trees/buildings and such, we saw nothing streaking across the sky...
Tonight it is a wonderful night, about 70 degrees and a crisp light breeze. The IF Symphony is in full concert. I had forgotten it was that time of year already and only just stumbled upon the news of the showers.
So, I threw on a longsleeve shirt and headed out into the yard. I stood with my head tilted back.
My neighbor, the one that is not a dog genius, has a really really bright yard light that lights up my whole back yard. Still, I was able to see some sky and some stars, if I stayed on the side of my house.
As I stood there, again with the waiting, I recalled the most magnificent night sky I have ever seen.
Kadavu, Fiji.
I was staying at Matava eco resort. Kadavu is an island in the south pacific and the nearest source of lights was in Suva, on the main island of Viti Levu, about 60 miles away. Suva, the cosmopolitan hot spot of the S. Pacific, is not brimming with bright lights at night. 60 miles of ocean between us, it made zero impact on visibility. The nearest major city is over 2000 miles away, in Australia.
Result?
The absolutely most stunning star studded sky you have ever laid eyes on.
It was hard to comprehend seeing that many stars, in that many layers.
I cannot really describe it. There were so many layers to the stars, so many sizes, brightness and radiance. The sky danced, glittered and shimmered. It appeared to be in constant motion.
Pure absolute grace.
No ambient lights to interfere, just the night sky as our ancestors experienced it.
In the prior week, I had been staying on Moorea in French Polynesia and had been enjoying the night sky there. However, we were only about 11 miles from the city of Papeetee on Tahiti, and it had a much larger night time light presence, and was much closer to where I was. Moorea was also much more populated, making the night sky there nothing compared to what I was to witness in Kadavu.
I arrived in the islands in a certain mood to begin with. It was the starting point for my open ended backpacking trip. I had read Kon Tiki during the flight from LA to Papeetee and was in a very magical place as we flew into the airport in the middle of the night. Reading the Kon-Tiki as I was arriving, really impacted my experiences in the S. Pacific.
Anyway, standing in the yard tonight transported me back to those nights at Matava, trying to absorb the true immense nature of the universe.
My mind then shifted to a cold winter night in February 2008. The lunar eclipse. Ohio. I shared this night with dad and mom. I surfed onto the web via an open wireless connection in their neighborhood and showed them live video feed. I went outside and stood across the street and video taped it for dad. That was Feb 20th, 2 short months before we would say goodbye. I remember clinging to every moment of that night, wishing it would never end. But we knew our days were drawing to a close.
Amazing what the night sky can deliver.
I stood outside tonight having one of those odd conversations with dad. Fleeting bits, no sentences completed, but thoughts full transmitted.
I am forever thankful to my dear friend Mandy for telling me to come home that Christmas, she said it would be our last. How I wish she had been wrong.
Well, a bittersweet night to say the least. The promise of tomorrow, the heartache of the past. I think I'll go out and give it another look before I turn in.
Maybe I will reread Kon-Tiki soon.
Last year, mom and I drove out to the cemetery. We sat, and we waited, and we waited and we waited. Despite the very wide view unobstructed by trees/buildings and such, we saw nothing streaking across the sky...
Tonight it is a wonderful night, about 70 degrees and a crisp light breeze. The IF Symphony is in full concert. I had forgotten it was that time of year already and only just stumbled upon the news of the showers.
So, I threw on a longsleeve shirt and headed out into the yard. I stood with my head tilted back.
My neighbor, the one that is not a dog genius, has a really really bright yard light that lights up my whole back yard. Still, I was able to see some sky and some stars, if I stayed on the side of my house.
As I stood there, again with the waiting, I recalled the most magnificent night sky I have ever seen.
Kadavu, Fiji.
I was staying at Matava eco resort. Kadavu is an island in the south pacific and the nearest source of lights was in Suva, on the main island of Viti Levu, about 60 miles away. Suva, the cosmopolitan hot spot of the S. Pacific, is not brimming with bright lights at night. 60 miles of ocean between us, it made zero impact on visibility. The nearest major city is over 2000 miles away, in Australia.
Result?
The absolutely most stunning star studded sky you have ever laid eyes on.
It was hard to comprehend seeing that many stars, in that many layers.
I cannot really describe it. There were so many layers to the stars, so many sizes, brightness and radiance. The sky danced, glittered and shimmered. It appeared to be in constant motion.
Pure absolute grace.
No ambient lights to interfere, just the night sky as our ancestors experienced it.
In the prior week, I had been staying on Moorea in French Polynesia and had been enjoying the night sky there. However, we were only about 11 miles from the city of Papeetee on Tahiti, and it had a much larger night time light presence, and was much closer to where I was. Moorea was also much more populated, making the night sky there nothing compared to what I was to witness in Kadavu.
I arrived in the islands in a certain mood to begin with. It was the starting point for my open ended backpacking trip. I had read Kon Tiki during the flight from LA to Papeetee and was in a very magical place as we flew into the airport in the middle of the night. Reading the Kon-Tiki as I was arriving, really impacted my experiences in the S. Pacific.
Anyway, standing in the yard tonight transported me back to those nights at Matava, trying to absorb the true immense nature of the universe.
My mind then shifted to a cold winter night in February 2008. The lunar eclipse. Ohio. I shared this night with dad and mom. I surfed onto the web via an open wireless connection in their neighborhood and showed them live video feed. I went outside and stood across the street and video taped it for dad. That was Feb 20th, 2 short months before we would say goodbye. I remember clinging to every moment of that night, wishing it would never end. But we knew our days were drawing to a close.
Amazing what the night sky can deliver.
I stood outside tonight having one of those odd conversations with dad. Fleeting bits, no sentences completed, but thoughts full transmitted.
I am forever thankful to my dear friend Mandy for telling me to come home that Christmas, she said it would be our last. How I wish she had been wrong.
Well, a bittersweet night to say the least. The promise of tomorrow, the heartache of the past. I think I'll go out and give it another look before I turn in.
Maybe I will reread Kon-Tiki soon.
Spirituality
I recall, very specifically, thinking about my spiritual development and what that would mean for me here in Ohio. I started thinking about it once it was clear that I was leaving home and moving lock, stock and barrel to Ohio.
My dearest friends gave me a shirt as a present "Friends Don't Let Friends Live in Ohio." I loved it.
Anyway, I recall thinking how this relocation of my life, in many many ways a fish way outta water, would put my spirituality to the test. If I can live the thought in Ohio, then I am truly on the path to enlightenment.
I was only beginning to sorta feel like I owned my spirituality once in a while, so moving to Ohio was going to really be the make or break for me. My spiritual journey has been a long slow road, with many beloved teachers and experiences along the way.
A few weeks ago I had the occasion to speak with a very well educated, and very astute woman who is the ED of a nonprofit. I told her my situation here in Dayton, and she looked at me and asked how it was that I was smiling and not seriously depressed.
Now, for all my pissing and moaning, which you KNOW I love to do for fun, I do smile quite often here, and I am not depressed. Worried, yes.
Driving in a total downpour (alien in SF) at about 25 mph on the highway today, I realized just how well I was doing with my spiritual beliefs, and how well that was serving me. Amazing what a good downpour will do.
I felt pretty good about it too, as I don't have a support system here to keep my spiritual path clear. It is pretty easy in the Bay Area, as so many folks are on some sort of a similar path, or have a level of awareness around some of the ideas.
The few Ohio folks I have attempted to engage in conversation just kinda looked at me with that plastic face of politeness, and at the first opportunity switch the subject.
Alien.
I sometimes struggle with Levi-Strauss' theory of binary opposition. Yet, I have also accepted it as a basic premise in my spiritual life.
As you come to know the inner workings of my mind via this blog, you will come to realize that I live in a perpetual paradox, not only in my spiritual nature, but in my thoughts and ideas about many many things. Don't get me started on culture... even if you weren't a drinker before, you will be, well before my tongue tires.
Every moment in life I am in a position to make a choice. To live in "love" or to live in "fear" - whilst far from perfect at this... I live in love far more often than I live in fear.
To those for whom this concept, or approach to thinking about life, might be new... it means in a very simple example, that when approached by an unknown person, I can choose the path of fear and expect something negative about or from the encounter. I can choose the path of love, and expect something positive from the encounter.
A bit of a self fulfilling prophecy.
We live in the world we create for ourselves.
Focus on the negative, and that is what you will see and feel for your life.
Focus on the positive, and that is what your life will have and be.
I still love dearly a quote by a 17 year old girl from Bam, Iran. The ancient city of Bam, was leveled by an earthquake on Dec 23, just 2 months before I was scheduled to visit. She, like most other survivors (est dead was about 26,000) lost almost every one of her relatives. Rural Iranians and small city dwellers typically live surrounded by close relatives. As the ancient homes crumbled, entire families were taken. This girl was 12 at the time of the earthquake, she writes poetry and shared this thought...
"Life is beautiful for those who seek beauty,"
I can hear the sounds of all the IF critters outside my window. In years past, this would have been an irritant. A fear based choice I made.
Now, in love, I simply listen. I feel blessed to have the ability to hear them.
I listen. I hear beauty. Life is indeed beautiful.
so, as I shove off for bed, serenaded by the IF Symphony, I wish for you the ability to seek beauty, and have a beautiful life.
My dearest friends gave me a shirt as a present "Friends Don't Let Friends Live in Ohio." I loved it.
Anyway, I recall thinking how this relocation of my life, in many many ways a fish way outta water, would put my spirituality to the test. If I can live the thought in Ohio, then I am truly on the path to enlightenment.
I was only beginning to sorta feel like I owned my spirituality once in a while, so moving to Ohio was going to really be the make or break for me. My spiritual journey has been a long slow road, with many beloved teachers and experiences along the way.
A few weeks ago I had the occasion to speak with a very well educated, and very astute woman who is the ED of a nonprofit. I told her my situation here in Dayton, and she looked at me and asked how it was that I was smiling and not seriously depressed.
Now, for all my pissing and moaning, which you KNOW I love to do for fun, I do smile quite often here, and I am not depressed. Worried, yes.
Driving in a total downpour (alien in SF) at about 25 mph on the highway today, I realized just how well I was doing with my spiritual beliefs, and how well that was serving me. Amazing what a good downpour will do.
I felt pretty good about it too, as I don't have a support system here to keep my spiritual path clear. It is pretty easy in the Bay Area, as so many folks are on some sort of a similar path, or have a level of awareness around some of the ideas.
The few Ohio folks I have attempted to engage in conversation just kinda looked at me with that plastic face of politeness, and at the first opportunity switch the subject.
Alien.
I sometimes struggle with Levi-Strauss' theory of binary opposition. Yet, I have also accepted it as a basic premise in my spiritual life.
As you come to know the inner workings of my mind via this blog, you will come to realize that I live in a perpetual paradox, not only in my spiritual nature, but in my thoughts and ideas about many many things. Don't get me started on culture... even if you weren't a drinker before, you will be, well before my tongue tires.
Every moment in life I am in a position to make a choice. To live in "love" or to live in "fear" - whilst far from perfect at this... I live in love far more often than I live in fear.
To those for whom this concept, or approach to thinking about life, might be new... it means in a very simple example, that when approached by an unknown person, I can choose the path of fear and expect something negative about or from the encounter. I can choose the path of love, and expect something positive from the encounter.
A bit of a self fulfilling prophecy.
We live in the world we create for ourselves.
Focus on the negative, and that is what you will see and feel for your life.
Focus on the positive, and that is what your life will have and be.
I still love dearly a quote by a 17 year old girl from Bam, Iran. The ancient city of Bam, was leveled by an earthquake on Dec 23, just 2 months before I was scheduled to visit. She, like most other survivors (est dead was about 26,000) lost almost every one of her relatives. Rural Iranians and small city dwellers typically live surrounded by close relatives. As the ancient homes crumbled, entire families were taken. This girl was 12 at the time of the earthquake, she writes poetry and shared this thought...
"Life is beautiful for those who seek beauty,"
I can hear the sounds of all the IF critters outside my window. In years past, this would have been an irritant. A fear based choice I made.
Now, in love, I simply listen. I feel blessed to have the ability to hear them.
I listen. I hear beauty. Life is indeed beautiful.
so, as I shove off for bed, serenaded by the IF Symphony, I wish for you the ability to seek beauty, and have a beautiful life.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Nails...
OK, so these are the things that just completely and I mean completely boggle my mind.
I mean, really...
So the garage (the one that floods when it rains any significant amount) has some rough wood shelving installed on the west wall. Made out of 2 x4's nailed to the floor joists and hanging down to just a hair's breath from the garage floor.
Next there is a single 10 or 12 foot 2 x 4 running across, parallel with the wall and the floor and about 16 inches above the floor. This 2 x4 is nailed into the ones coming down from the ceiling.
Next there are some nice 18" long 2 x 4's nailed in to create ledges for shelves to sit on... well there are a couple of these only. The rest are little metal brackets.
So, some of the 2 x 4's are literally just nailed into the floor joist with like 2 nails total. This is suppose to hold shelves in a garage....
some have brackets.
Now, somebody along the line decided to pay about 75 cents to a 1.50 for each bracket (2 types) and there is probably a total of about 20 of them altogether.
Each bracket has 2 to 3 holes for nails/screws --- per flat area - meaning that each bracket uses anywhere from 4 to 6 nails/screws.
Well, I guess nails used to cost a bloody fortune cause EACH bracket, regardless if it had a total of 4 or 6 holes only had 2 nails - one for each side.
Now, I just spent like 4 days in the big box in a really loooooooong aisle of nails. Nails for days. I was looking for a 10d 1 1/4"... that is what the bracket said to use. Well, long 4 days standing there later... I come home with a 1 pound box of roofers nails that are 3d 1 1/4" cause the Big Box man said 10d's don't come that short in regular nails... whatever. That box was $2.37.
$2.37 - it has to have like a hundred nails in it.
I also bought more brackets to really shore the sucker up - cause last winter it came crashing down on me, and that was not fun at all.
So, do I only put one nail per bracket side in these $1.50 brackets????????
I mean, seriously, what could you possibly be thinking???? One nail?
I just don't freaking get it. 100 nails, $2.50ish with tax... they had to buy the brackets somewhere... even I, on the verge of selling matches and pencil's downtown could muster up the $ for the nails and will pound a nail in every bleeping hole in the daggone brackets.
So, big shock, the lower bits of the 2 x 4's have water damage. do ya think the slapped some primer and a cheap coat of spray paint on that bare wood before they left it in that garage that has like 2 to 3" of water sitting in it during the heavy rains?
Nooooooooooooooooooo.
So, I have some bits of primer and spray paint left around from last fall and am trying to get the wood dried out good so I can prime and paint it.
I mean really people... do people sleep all the way between 2nd grade and 8th grade?
Aarrrghh.
So I forgot and left my DDP in the freezer for 1.5 hours... not opening that puppy for a while.
Ok... back to making the shelves sturdy so I can get the garage in some sort of basic order.
CA day out there and my energy level is back to what it used to be in my former life. Gosh how I miss waking up ready to conquer the world. I cannot wait for fall, will be the energizer bunny before I hit that long winter hibernation.
Alrighty, back to the shelves.
I mean, really...
So the garage (the one that floods when it rains any significant amount) has some rough wood shelving installed on the west wall. Made out of 2 x4's nailed to the floor joists and hanging down to just a hair's breath from the garage floor.
Next there is a single 10 or 12 foot 2 x 4 running across, parallel with the wall and the floor and about 16 inches above the floor. This 2 x4 is nailed into the ones coming down from the ceiling.
Next there are some nice 18" long 2 x 4's nailed in to create ledges for shelves to sit on... well there are a couple of these only. The rest are little metal brackets.
So, some of the 2 x 4's are literally just nailed into the floor joist with like 2 nails total. This is suppose to hold shelves in a garage....
some have brackets.
Now, somebody along the line decided to pay about 75 cents to a 1.50 for each bracket (2 types) and there is probably a total of about 20 of them altogether.
Each bracket has 2 to 3 holes for nails/screws --- per flat area - meaning that each bracket uses anywhere from 4 to 6 nails/screws.
Well, I guess nails used to cost a bloody fortune cause EACH bracket, regardless if it had a total of 4 or 6 holes only had 2 nails - one for each side.
Now, I just spent like 4 days in the big box in a really loooooooong aisle of nails. Nails for days. I was looking for a 10d 1 1/4"... that is what the bracket said to use. Well, long 4 days standing there later... I come home with a 1 pound box of roofers nails that are 3d 1 1/4" cause the Big Box man said 10d's don't come that short in regular nails... whatever. That box was $2.37.
$2.37 - it has to have like a hundred nails in it.
I also bought more brackets to really shore the sucker up - cause last winter it came crashing down on me, and that was not fun at all.
So, do I only put one nail per bracket side in these $1.50 brackets????????
I mean, seriously, what could you possibly be thinking???? One nail?
I just don't freaking get it. 100 nails, $2.50ish with tax... they had to buy the brackets somewhere... even I, on the verge of selling matches and pencil's downtown could muster up the $ for the nails and will pound a nail in every bleeping hole in the daggone brackets.
So, big shock, the lower bits of the 2 x 4's have water damage. do ya think the slapped some primer and a cheap coat of spray paint on that bare wood before they left it in that garage that has like 2 to 3" of water sitting in it during the heavy rains?
Nooooooooooooooooooo.
So, I have some bits of primer and spray paint left around from last fall and am trying to get the wood dried out good so I can prime and paint it.
I mean really people... do people sleep all the way between 2nd grade and 8th grade?
Aarrrghh.
So I forgot and left my DDP in the freezer for 1.5 hours... not opening that puppy for a while.
Ok... back to making the shelves sturdy so I can get the garage in some sort of basic order.
CA day out there and my energy level is back to what it used to be in my former life. Gosh how I miss waking up ready to conquer the world. I cannot wait for fall, will be the energizer bunny before I hit that long winter hibernation.
Alrighty, back to the shelves.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Life in the Millennial Depression
I figured I might as well start the book now.
Who knows how long I'll have electric to be able to write it on the computer.
Might ought to go buy a used typewriter at the local thrift store and start hording what is left of the old fashioned paper junk mail. I can turn in the bio draft on that and type by day light, should I be able to muster the energy to peck down those keys. Wonder if I can still get my hands on correction tape???????
Seriously though. I feel like we are sitting on the very brink of it. Via Facebook I have been in touch with a handful of my school mates. One of them reported it taking her 19 months to find work and she has lived here all her life as far as I know.
Now, I am pretty sure she had some schooling in there for dental assistant or something, but I don't know if the 19 months included school or was after being qualified.
At any rate, things are rapidly becoming desperate here. Winter cold will be here soon and my current income is any where from 20% to 45% of my bare minimum monthly expenses... this does not bode well folks.
I actually applied for a part-time job yesterday... one that pays enough to pay my basic minimal expenses... sad that actually locating ONE semi-suitable job prospect 40 miles away is exciting, but it was. Cross fingers that out of the hundreds of applicants somebody actually looks at mine.
Boy do I need a real network here...
So, I have begun advertising for life coaching services. Just today I did that. Put ads out in SF, Austin and here in Dayton. Hopefully a few of those folks with good steady jobs or from families with some $ will find my ad and website appealing and contact me about coaching them.
I really love coaching people, and figured I might as well start putting some ads out (they are free). I got some basic (and very appropriate for the Dayton area) business cards to hand out to folks I meet casually.
If I could just land a few coaching clients, I could limp through the winter with that and the weekend sausage gig. Just need to eeek out til spring arrives. Things will be better then, or we'll be eating the neighbors (I am one of the young ones here, so I feel pretty safe...).
Bane/Ollie is a darn good hunter, so if push comes to shove, I might have snake, crawdad and shrew (BTW - the critters he brings in are shrews, not moles...) stew.
Mom is waiting for him to come home with shrimp. I hope she isn't holding her breath. But if he does, WE ARE RICH!
OK, gotta hit the hay. Worked out some technical website related crap today and my eyes are whoooo hooooey... but, I now have google analytics tracking my site and I have a way to see if anybody is actually even opening my backpage and craigslist ads... I love google searching for cool things... It is important to know if anybody at all is opening the ad and in what cities that ad title might be attractive...
So, if you know anybody that is looking for a life coach, please let me know.
I am not posting any details about the site or such on here, as I like having this totally anon personal space to let it all hang out!
Low plane overhead at the moment... has another war started???????????? "they" always say that is good for the economy... too bad it sucks for the living people...
Bye all,
put those + vibes out...
chickie might be running out of Aces finally...but I ain't sinking til the ship does.
Who knows how long I'll have electric to be able to write it on the computer.
Might ought to go buy a used typewriter at the local thrift store and start hording what is left of the old fashioned paper junk mail. I can turn in the bio draft on that and type by day light, should I be able to muster the energy to peck down those keys. Wonder if I can still get my hands on correction tape???????
Seriously though. I feel like we are sitting on the very brink of it. Via Facebook I have been in touch with a handful of my school mates. One of them reported it taking her 19 months to find work and she has lived here all her life as far as I know.
Now, I am pretty sure she had some schooling in there for dental assistant or something, but I don't know if the 19 months included school or was after being qualified.
At any rate, things are rapidly becoming desperate here. Winter cold will be here soon and my current income is any where from 20% to 45% of my bare minimum monthly expenses... this does not bode well folks.
I actually applied for a part-time job yesterday... one that pays enough to pay my basic minimal expenses... sad that actually locating ONE semi-suitable job prospect 40 miles away is exciting, but it was. Cross fingers that out of the hundreds of applicants somebody actually looks at mine.
Boy do I need a real network here...
So, I have begun advertising for life coaching services. Just today I did that. Put ads out in SF, Austin and here in Dayton. Hopefully a few of those folks with good steady jobs or from families with some $ will find my ad and website appealing and contact me about coaching them.
I really love coaching people, and figured I might as well start putting some ads out (they are free). I got some basic (and very appropriate for the Dayton area) business cards to hand out to folks I meet casually.
If I could just land a few coaching clients, I could limp through the winter with that and the weekend sausage gig. Just need to eeek out til spring arrives. Things will be better then, or we'll be eating the neighbors (I am one of the young ones here, so I feel pretty safe...).
Bane/Ollie is a darn good hunter, so if push comes to shove, I might have snake, crawdad and shrew (BTW - the critters he brings in are shrews, not moles...) stew.
Mom is waiting for him to come home with shrimp. I hope she isn't holding her breath. But if he does, WE ARE RICH!
OK, gotta hit the hay. Worked out some technical website related crap today and my eyes are whoooo hooooey... but, I now have google analytics tracking my site and I have a way to see if anybody is actually even opening my backpage and craigslist ads... I love google searching for cool things... It is important to know if anybody at all is opening the ad and in what cities that ad title might be attractive...
So, if you know anybody that is looking for a life coach, please let me know.
I am not posting any details about the site or such on here, as I like having this totally anon personal space to let it all hang out!
Low plane overhead at the moment... has another war started???????????? "they" always say that is good for the economy... too bad it sucks for the living people...
Bye all,
put those + vibes out...
chickie might be running out of Aces finally...but I ain't sinking til the ship does.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Mom's cousin
Well, thankfully she has decided to go with chemo, and has said they have to start her on lower doses and work up, not the reverse like last time.
I didn't really think she was ready yet.
Now I just have to make sure mom starts spending more time with her... and still need to find a way for mom to make some new younger friends.
Mom is a very youthful 75. She needs to be going to lunch, plays and hikes and such.
All for now. Gotta get back to beating the bushes for a buck.
I didn't really think she was ready yet.
Now I just have to make sure mom starts spending more time with her... and still need to find a way for mom to make some new younger friends.
Mom is a very youthful 75. She needs to be going to lunch, plays and hikes and such.
All for now. Gotta get back to beating the bushes for a buck.
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