Simple Gifts (Yo-Yo Ma & Alison Krauss)

Some of you will be getting this in the mail in the next few days; I need to unearth my holiday cards first... 🤣

Dear Friend – 

On Tuesday, December 26, it will be three months since Eric died.  My two overarching emotions are Heartbreak and Disbelief.  It is impossible (Unimaginable) to think he is never coming back.  And so I persist with my Grief Journey.  I am learning all I can about loss and healing and the (non-linear) Five Stages.  It eases my heart, and maybe I can help others in the future (although I don’t wish this tragic situation on anyone).  It is a lonely path, but it is also a road of gratitude and support and love and luck and blessings.

Adrift by Mark Nepo

Everything is beautiful and I am so sad.

This is how the heart makes a duet of

wonder and grief. The light spraying

through the lace of the fern is as delicate

as the fibers of memory forming their web

around the knot in my throat. The breeze

makes the birds move from branch to branch

as this ache makes me look for those I’ve lost

in the next room, in the next song, in the laugh

of the next stranger. In the very center, under

it all, what we have that no one can take

away and all that we’ve lost face each other.

It is there that I’m adrift, feeling punctured

by a holiness that exists inside everything.

I am so sad and everything is beautiful.

I’ve always talked about, but never implemented, a Christmas with no physical gifts, inspired by the Five Hands meme:  handmade… hand-me-down… secondhand… helping hand (donate)… hand-in-hand (spend time together).  What better time to follow through on a new tradition than this year… our First Noel without Eric?  I know that I don’t *need* any more things, and I’m guessing “stuff” might be a low priority in your life too.  My goal is to replace “stuff” with experiences.

I am sending this to friends with whom I usually exchange gifts, and I hope I’ve caught you in time (probably not, given my chronic tardiness!).  Please do not buy me anything; the generous gift of your friendship is enough.  Let’s vow to cross paths with each other more often in 2024… share more authentic and deep conversations… check in Just Because… remember how our connection began, and why it continues… encourage each other to focus on Radical Self-Care… remind each other to live intentionally and mindfully… be aware that life as we know it can change in the Blink of an Eye.

My Christmas 2023 present for you is:

(and I will fill in the blanks here...)

Happy Holidays, and So. Much. Love. Always… 🎅🎄🎁

SONG:  Simple Gifts, covered by Yo-Yo Ma & Alison Krauss

BOOK:  Calm Christmas and a Happy New Year: a little book of festive joy by Beth Kempton

POEM(S):  A Gift by Denise Levertov

Just when you seem to yourself

nothing but a flimsy web

of questions, you are given

the questions of others to hold

in the emptiness of your hands,

songbird eggs that can still hatch

if you keep them warm,

butterflies opening and closing themselves

in your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure

their scintillant fur, their dust.

You are given the questions of others

as if they were answers

to all you ask. Yes, perhaps

this gift is your answer. 

Meditation by Jay Leeming

You’re trying to meditate. Cushion

beneath you, eyes slightly open,

breath growing calm and steady.

But there are sounds, distractions,

thoughts: the distant highway,

a blue jay announcing himself,

a car starting down the block.

Always the struggle to pull attention

back to breath, to let each thought

go, not to cling or to keep

but to let it drop like a stone

fallen from your hand. And at times

you manage to stumble briefly

into peacefulness. But then

amid breath and highway and birdsong

you hear something else: the rumble

of a large truck, a sound growing louder

as it rounds the corner, creaks,

then pulls up maybe a half-block away.

The engine shudders into silence.

Footsteps in the street, stray words

you can’t make out, the slam of doors.

More words, a pause, and then the kick

and climbing roar of a wood-chipper

settling in to its raw throne of noise.

The quiet shreds and scatters

with the blow, then re-shapes itself

into a steady grinding drone.

And now comes the crack and shatter

of branches fed into it, the buzz

of tree-limbs being ground to dust.

You wrestle your attention back

to your breath as the tree is fed

into the machine. And hours later

when the workers have gone

and the street is quiet again it happens

without a thought, as while walking

down the block you simply find yourself

there, beside the stump, noticing

how it has been cut nearly level

with the ground so that you can count

the rings, and kneeling down

beside it you begin to count them,

rings of a tree probably thirty

or forty years old, and around you

sawdust scattered in the grass,

a few scraps of leaf, and over your head

an empty space left in the air.

QUOTE(S):  "Joy appears now in the little things. The big themes remain tragic but a leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the taste of coffee. Joy accompanied me as I walked to the press. The secret of joy is the mastery of pain." ~ Anaïs Nin

"Through the empty branches the sky remains.  It is what you have." ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

"Brave birds still fly through fog." ~ anonymous 7th grader

“I have noticed that when all the lights are on, people tend to talk about what they are doing – their outer lives. Sitting round in candlelight or firelight, people start to talk about how they are feeling – their inner lives. They speak subjectively, they argue less, there are longer pauses. To sit alone without any electric light is curiously creative. I have my best ideas at dawn or at nightfall, but not if I switch on the lights – then I start thinking about projects, deadlines, demands, and the shadows and shapes of the house become objects, not suggestions, things that need to be done, not a background to thought.” ―Jeanette Winterson

"For it is in giving that we receive." ~ St. Francis of Assisi 

This Time Tomorrow (Brandi Carlile)

My friend Suzanne is known for her watercolors; this is the cover of the condolence card I received from her yesterday... 😍

Those of you reading this know that I usually post an entry a bit before midnight... but I skipped yesterday; it was a busy day, good on one hand because it kept me occupied but, on the flip side, wearying.  The morning found me waking up at 7:30 and heading straight to the balcony, drinking my usual two cups of coffee and puzzling all the puzzles... then hitting the wall and decided to go back to bed about 10 a.m., which I haven't done in forever, but especially not since Eric died.

I couldn't wallow too long though, as I had offered to pick up Colin at 12:45 p.m. for Early Release Day.  He loves to hang out afterward, playing soccer or just running with the other guys, which gave me the opportunity to converse with Boy-Mom (and friend) Donna.  Headed back to Sarah's so she and Ryan could attend a Parent-Teacher Conference, then a few hours later headed to the fields for his T-ball game.  For some reason, it says 09 on the back of his jersey.  Colin told me:  "Lala, the circle in front of the nine is very confusing"... 😂

On the way back to my car after the game, I stopped at the concession stand and bought a soft pretzel for dinner although, since it was still warm and the yeasty salty aroma was permeating my car, I ate half of it on the way home (sans mustard even!).

Today I spent a lot of time on the phone... with the insurance company as well as the organization I will soon be donating funds to in Eric's memory.  It's unbelievably perfect, and I can't wait to share it here.  Also spent a good bit of time tallying Income/Expenses from the GoFundMe so we know where we stand financially, and I paid some outstanding bills.  Dying is expensive, and we remain grateful for the additional help... 💗

Going back to my first paragraph, I have decided to continue blogging daily through the month of October, and then dialing it back to weekly after that (every Tuesday seems right, but who knows?).  I need to get myself back... to the garden, as well as to Radical Self-Care in all its many forms.  "I don't know who I am but you know life is for learning", sings Joni (from Woodstock).

SONG:  This Time Tomorrow by Brandi Carlile

BOOK:  Some Perfect Tomorrow: True Stories of Hope in Loss, Love in Grief, and Life in Death by Craig R Seaton

POEM(S):  We Have Not Long to Love by Tennessee Williams

We have not long to love.

Light does not stay.

The tender things are those

we fold away.

Coarse fabrics are the ones

for common wear.

In silence I have watched you

comb your hair.

Intimate the silence,

dim and warm.

I could but did not, reach

to touch your arm.

I could, but do not, break

that which is still.

(Almost the faintest whisper

would be shrill.)

So moments pass as though

they wished to stay.

We have not long to love.

A night. A day...

Cutting Loose by William Stafford   

Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason,

you sing. For no reason, you accept

the way of being lost, cutting loose

from all else and electing a world

where you go where you want to.

Arbitrary, a sound comes, a reminder

that a steady center is holding

all else. If you listen, that sound

will tell where it is, and you

can slide your way past trouble.

Certain twisted monsters

always bar the path – but that’s when

you get going best, glad to be lost,

learning how real it is

here on the earth, again and again.

QUOTE(S):  “The secret of a full life is to live and relate to others as if they might not be there tomorrow, as if you might not be there tomorrow. It eliminates the vice of procrastination, the sin of postponement, failed communications, failed communions.” ~ Anaïs Nin 

“Every life has a measure of sorrow, and sometimes this is what awakens us.” ~ Steven Tyler

[Five] Little Birds (with apologies to Bob Marley)

"I'm gonna blow this damn candle out I don't want nobody coming over to my table I've got nothing to talk to anybody about All good dreamers pass this way some day... Only a phase, these dark cafe days..." ~ Joni Mitchell, The Last Time I Saw Richard

First of all, I am/we are beyond thankful for the outpouring of love, support, compassion, empathy as well as sympathy, thoughts, prayers, purple candle intentions, etc. It does indeed take a Village, a Community, a Circle o' Wagons. Like Facebook birthdays, I sincerely want to acknowledge every comment/e-mail/text/phone call, etc., but all I can garner energy for right now is clicking the ubiquitous Heart emoji in gratitude, in hopes of a more personal response in the future:

"i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)" ~ e. e. cummings

I also appreciate so many of you mentioning Eric's girlfriend Duyen (who is not on Facebook) in your condolences and who, after graduating from UM's medical school, is doing her residency at Grady Hospital; they had (jesus, it's so hard getting used to the past tense) been dating for a little over two years, and he was saving up for a ring. We all absolutely love her, and she is so much a part of our family; Duyen has been amazing throughout this ordeal (identifying E's body, calling his bosses, following up with insurance info and other things we need, etc.). She is now in Orlando with her parents through the weekend.

Today was the hardest day, as I woke up at 6 a.m. in full-on bawling/wracking sobs mode. Denial is segueing to anger, but I was reminded that The Five Stages of Grief are non-linear. I cannot begin to imagine Acceptance. Chico, Sarah, Rob, and I have also learned that we grieve differently, and we've had to be more direct and honest with each other, explaining ourselves at times, rather than assuming the others will understand our snappishness, shutting down, stoicism, need for solitude. Unlike Jimmy Buffett's sponge cake, I've been nibbling on oatmeal, ramen soup, and Tylenol (no Xanax yet, although we do have a prescription to fill, just in case), sipping herbal tea and gulping water (crying is dehydrating). Also grateful for the offers/deliveries of food although, despite our overly-full pantry/fridge/freezer, the last thing I want to do now is eat... but I know I have to keep up my strength.

"This heart stops for railway crosses, Train wrecks with too many losses, Broken dreams left dyin' on the rail..." ~ Katy Moffatt

It is a fine line between grief and practicality, and today we needed to make some painful phone calls: the police officer who filed the accident report that night... the Medical Examiner's office as to the procedure for recovering E's body... the towing company re: his car. Still on the list: arrange for Chico and I to drive up to Atlanta first of next week... find a funeral home ASAP to cremate E's body so we can bring his ashes back with us (did you know the ME's office will hold a body for 30 days max?)... go to their apartment to sort through his possessions, although the only thing we even anticipate bringing back is a photo album I made for him maybe 10 years ago because he complained there were no baby/childhood pictures of him, and I had to explain that, by the time the third kid rolls around, who has time to take pictures (remember, this was pre-cell phones), much less arrange them in scrapbooks, right?

I also created a WhatsApp page for Chico, Sarah, Rob, Duyen, and myself... appropriately titled Five Little Birds (with apologies to Bob Marley) because 1) Eric loved reggae music and 2) Duyen had birds, and he had finally made peace with them in the apartment (and they with him... 🦜🦜)

I am working on a Celebration of Life which will serve as a funeral for those in the Christian faith (as we are not religious but we are spiritual), hopefully at the end of October. As soon as I am able to make specific arrangements on the Who/When/Where, I promise to release the information and will ask you to share.

I am also researching organizations that E would approve of for donations in his name rather than flowers (such a waste of money) or cash for us, to help defray expenses (with the remainder to go to an organization TBD). Pay it forward, right? I think I have found something perfect, and I will spend tomorrow morning vetting it. Details to follow for dissemination near and dear, far and wide.

"Ob-la-di, ob-la-da Life goes on, brah La-la, how the life goes on..." ~ The Beatles (duh!)

SONG: [Five] Little Birds (with apologies to Bob Marley)

BOOK: The 5 Stages of Grief: A Comprehensive and Insightful Guide to The Grief and Loss Process and Dealing With It by Behnay Books 

POEM: Meeting Your Death by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer Because there are no clear instructions, I follow what rises up in me to do. I fall deeper into love with you. I look at old pictures. I don’t look at old pictures. I talk about you. I say nothing. I walk. I sit. I lie in the grass and let the earth hold me. I lie on the sidewalk, dissolve into sky. I cry. I don’t cry. I ask the world to help me stay open. I ask again, please, let me feel it all. I fall deeper in love with the people still living. I fall deeper in love with the world that is left— this world with its spring and its war and its mornings, this world with its fruits that ripen and rot and reseed, this world that insists we keep our eyes wide, this world that opens when our eyes are closed. Because there are no clear instructions, I learn to turn toward the love that is here, though sometimes what is here is what’s not. There are infinite ways to do this right. That is the only way. 

QUOTE: “We write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely... When I don’t write, I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing.” ~ Anais Nin

Brand New Year (My Revolution) - (SheDaisy)

Here's *yesterday's* DailyOm - here's me, releasing my need for anal-retentive perfection... :-)

January 1, 2008

Starting New

A Moment Of Choice

There are times in our lives that lend themselves to starting something new. The beginning of a new year, finishing school, leaving a job, or changing homes—these all are times that turn our minds to fresh starts. Their advantage is that they bring with them the energy of that event, creating a tide of change around them that we can ride to our next shoreline. But we can choose to start anew anytime. In any moment we can decide that a bad day or a relationship that’s gotten off on the wrong foot can be started again. It is a mental shift that allows us to clean the slate and approach anything with fresh eyes, and we can make that choice at any time.

Starting new is most powerful when we focus our attention to what we are choosing to create. Giving all of our attention to the unwanted aspects of our lives allows what we resist to persist. We need to remember to leave enough room in the process of new beginnings to be kind to ourselves, because it takes time to become accustomed to anything new, no matter how much we like it. There is no need to get down on ourselves if we don't reach our new goals instantly. Instead, we acknowledge the forward motion and choose to reset and start again, knowing that with each choice we learn, grow, and move forward.

Making the choice to start anew has its own energy—it's a promise made to you. The forward momentum creates a sort of vacuum behind it, pulling toward you all you need to help you continue moving in your chosen direction. Once the journey has begun, it may take unexpected turns, but it never really ends. Like cycles in nature, there are periods of obvious growth and periods of dormancy that signal a time of waiting for the right moment to burst forth. Each time we choose to start anew we dedicate ourselves to becoming the best we are able to be.

Happy New Year!

SONG: Brand New Year (My Revolution) by SheDaisy

BOOK: In One Year and Out the Other by Cara Lockwood

POEM: A New Year's Plea by Edgar Guest

Lord, let me stand in the thick of the fight,

Let me bear what I must without whining;

Grant me the wisdom to do what is right,

Though a thousand false beacons are shining.

Let me be true as the steel of a blade,

Make me bigger than skillful or clever;

Teach me to cling to my best, unafraid,

And harken to false gospels, never.

Let me be brave when the burden is great,

Faithful when wounded by sorrow;

Teach me, when troubled, with patience to wait

The better and brighter to-morrow.

Spare me from hatred and envy and shame,

Open my eyes to life's beauty;

Let not the glitter of fortune or fame

Blind me to what is my duty.

Let me be true to myself to the end,

Let me stand to my task without whining;

Let me be right as a man, as a friend,

Though a thousand false beacons are shining.

QUOTE: "I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me." ~ Anaïs Nin

Holy Now (Peter Mayer)

SONG: Holy Now by Peter Mayer

BOOK: Holy Personal: Looking for Small Private Places of Worship by Laura Chester (Author), Donna De Mari (Photographer)

POEM: Everything is Waiting for You by David White

Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice. You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into
the conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.

QUOTE: "The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself." ~ Anais Nin

Jubilee (Mary Chapin Carpenter)

SONG: Jubilee by Mary Chapin Carpenter

BOOK: Change Your Thoughts - Change Your Life: Living the Wisdom of the Tao by Wayne W. Dyer

POEM: Becoming by Jim Harrison

Nowhere is it the same place as

yesterday.

None of us is the same person as

yesterday.

We finally die from the exhaustion of

becoming.

This downward cellular jubilance is

shared

by the wind, bugs, birds, bears and

rivers,

and perhaps the black holes in galactic

space

where our souls will all be gathered in

an invisible

thimble of antimatter. But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

Yes, trees wear out as the wattles under my chin

grow, the wrinkled hands that tried to strangle

a wife beater in New York City in 1957.

We whirl with the earth, catching our breath

as someone else, our soft brains ill-trained

except to watch ourselves disappear into the distance.

Still, we love to make music of this puzzle.

QUOTE: "We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are." ~ Anais Nin

Forever Young (Bob Dylan)

Today I am fifty-f*cking-three years old - who'd a thunk it?!?

The following, written by Robert Redford, was posted to the Dar Williams discussion list yesterday - considering her song, You're Aging Well, is my personal anthem, this hits me in the heart. I'm fond of saying that I feel 19 until I pass a mirror, and then do a double-take at the older woman staring back - maybe I'll purposely avoid the looking glass so as to prolong my perception, however skewed... :-)

Some time ago I was driving from Santa Fe to Sundance - taking back roads only - when I came on some cattle wandering along ahead of me, headed by a woman in a rusted red pick-up. Because of having to slow down I had time to gaze around and think. I focused on the back of the head and shoulders of the woman in the truck. She had a ponytail and a bandana cinching up her blonde hair. She periodically waved a tanned arm outside the driver's open window directing and yelling instructions to a couple of cowboys riding alongside the course.

I thought, she has wonderful energy--youthful and spirited. I imagined a young girl 16 or 17 schooled on ranch life taking on the responsibilities of older brothers.

Finally, as they all cleared and I passed I saw her face. It was of a woman in her 60's, wizened by the rigors of weather and hardship. As she looked at me and smiled, her wrinkled and burrowed brow still bore an innocence of a time gone by. I thought, when did that moment happen, that moment when she passed from youth to old age? Is she aware of the moment? Of this Passing? Did she know? Do any of us?

P.S. I'll be on the radio today, in the 2:00 p.m. hour, on Michael Stock's Folk and Acoustic Show (WLRN, 91.3), promoting our upcoming Labyrinth Cafe concert series, for which I do the booking - the station webstreams if anyone who reads this has a notion to listen...

SONG: Forever Young by Bob Dylan

BOOK: The Fountain of Age by Betty Friedan

POEM: How to Be Old by May Swenson

It is easy to be young, (Everybody is,

at first.) It is not easy

to be old. It takes time.

Youth is given; age is achieved.

One must work a magic to mix with time

in order to become old.

Youth is given. One must put it away

like a doll in a closet,

take it out and play with it only

on holidays. One must have many dresses

and dress the doll impeccably

(but not to show the doll, to keep it hidden.)

It is necessary to adore the doll,

to remember it in the dark on the ordinary

days, and every day congratulate

one's aging face in the mirror.

In time one will be very old.

In time, one's life will be accomplished.

And in time, in time, the doll––

like new, though ancient––will be found.

QUOTE: "We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations." ~ Anais Nin

Where the Seeds Are Found (Karen Mal)

So much emotion swirling right now, coupled with lack of sleep - I had promised M I would find something for her, buried in a stack of paperwork... and I stayed up until 5:30 a.m., reading through the entire file, even after I had found what I was looking for...

Long story short is that, 10 years ago, four women (one of whom was the hub connecting us all) engaged in an intense e-mail correspondence (amidst our real-life relationships) we termed our Village, meeting up around the "well" of the computer to share stories, support and sustenance. From March through September 1997, we each wrote (almost) daily, baring our souls... on pregnancy, motherhood, husbands/exes/boyfriends, books, music, food, fears, joys, transitions, rituals, spirituality, etc. - the sisterhood chronicles illustrated our abilities to be incredibly strong, as well as amazingly wise and riotously funny... and we always "threatened" to turn it into a book, changing the names to protect the innocent (guilty?... :-)

At one point, as a gift to all, I made copies of everything and, perusing the pages last night/this morning took me right back to that time, synchronistically a decade ago - it was exhiliarating, it was exhausting, it was fruitful, it was frustrating, we raised each other to new heights, we crashed and burned. Since then, the friendships have ebbed, flowed, lain dormant, re-bloomed... and reading the unfolding history made my heart ache - as Joni would say, "we can't return, we can only look behind from where we came". I *know* the growth, power and love gained in those seven months is immeasurable - I can't help but feel a twinge of sorrow at what is not, and will never be, again. We are different women now, and that's okay - it was a glorious time, and I am honored to include it in my life's resume of experience... <3

SONG: Where the Seeds Are Found by Karen Mal

BOOK: Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney

POEM: The Layers by Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,

some of them my own,

and I am not who I was,

though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road

precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

QUOTE: "And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom." ~ Anais Nin