Musings on a Quiet Sunday Morning Before the Fanfare of the Holidays Reaches Fever Pitch

Ahh, 6:30 AM on a Sunday. The kids sleep. Chris sleeps. I sit with a steaming cup of coffee flavored this morning with a coconut milk creamer. The coffee and the somewhat processed creamer are an indulgence I partake in consciously and with pleasure. I drink it from a dollar store snowman mug my oldest daughter gave me for Christmas last year. Christmas. Now there's a thought. I'm not usually a big celebrant of the traditional winter holidays, but this year I feel some anticipation in my secular, buddhish, yogini kind of way. In fact, lovely readers (I say that tongue in cheek, I know there are a few of you out there, but it's hardly a following, right? And don't we like it that way?), I'm planning a sort of musical goody fest for this blog. Beginning the day after Thanksgiving, I intend to post a holiday tune du jour with a twist. If you like dark chocolate and a little irreverence from time to time, you'll want to check in. At least I hope you will. We can all three or four of us have a sweet virtual chuckle then be on our way through the hustle and bustle of the holidaze.

But I do feel positive anticipation for the days to come. It's a dark and cold time of year, why not string up some LED lights, sing songs, imbibe (responsibly, of course) and get each other through wintertide with gifts and good will?  So the season begins with Thanksgiving, which gets so shortchanged. I'm not talking about celebrating the irony of Native Americans breaking bread with Pilgrims before the rest of history unfolded, but the idea of taking pause to experience and express gratitude can't be too harmful, I imagine.  My life has been blessed by my connections to others. I'll begin with my family for being adaptable, for our ability to support each other in our singular endeavors, and for coming together when the shift hits the fan. Of course, I must thank every yoga teacher who took the time to care enough to see the students, me included, who showed up on their mats. One particular instance changed the trajectory of my life. I was attempting vasistasana with a slightly overweight body at the time. It was hard, and I was unplugged energetically. The teacher came, held on to the wrist that was lifted toward the ceiling, gave a gentle tug that instantly connected the loose electrical currents in my body. It was my first experiential understanding of what yoga is about.  Bear in mind these acknowledgements come in no particular hierarchical order. Friends of all sorts have passed through my world, some staying a short time, others hanging around. Shpongle's album title says it all: Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost. The YaYas saw me as beautiful when I hardly saw much of myself at all. My mom gave me a sense of the value of art and an appreciation for solitude. My dad showed me that behind the wizard's curtain was this little man trying to act big. I cannot forget to mention my sister, Denise, whose irreverent humor and crazy collages saw me through a time when it would have been easy to grow over-pious and take myself too seriously. She might not know the impact her letters had when I naively acted as an LDS missionary many, many moons ago, but I looked forward to them and savored the laughter. And that's just it, we never fully know the effect our simple gestures and everyday actions have on the world at large. So you see, my life is full. What is there to do but pay it forward? I hope I can. I'll give it my best shot.

Memento Mori

All Hallow's Eve tonight. Spirits walking the streets and all. Dia de los Muertes calaveras, ghosts of Halloweens past. My brunch today was living proof that you cannot reconstruct the past. Last year's event was much more celebratory and populated. We had a guitar and some drums, which may have helped. I'm not complaining. My friends brought good spirits with them today and though our conversations were more subdued, I enjoyed the mellow, even keel and let things be what they were. The candles are still lit now a full two hours after the last guest left. I'm mesmerized by the steady burn, hardly a flicker. The centerpiece, a dedicatory altar of sorts, is beautiful with pictures mostly of grandparents and one of my cat, Django, who died about this time last year.

My maternal grandma is close to dying. The latest news from my mother is that Grandma Florence's body is shutting down and we may be attending a funeral in the next weeks. A body shutting down. Organs ceasing to digest food that is no longer needed. Timelines and memory broken up and fading. Should I be ashamed to admit that I haven't seen my grandma in years? The last visit I remember was nearly four years ago when she stayed at a rest home after a spell of illness. She knew me then, but wouldn't now. My sister stayed closer to Grandma over the years, paid a visit yesterday and says Florence talked mostly about Spring City, where she was born and raised. But then again, that's what she talked about when I was younger and would spend a week or two at her house every summer. In my mind, Grandma was exotic, maybe even glamorous. She walked with a limp, one leg shorter than the other and I don't know why. Not polio. I don't think. Her tan face powder in the pink sky-lit bathroom smelled soft and alluring. She painted on eyebrows every morning and went out dancing on the weekends with Grant, my step-grandpa. She was a talker, fascinating at times, scary at others when she'd read parts out of books about Revelations and the apocalypse. Boring, too. She had lived through the Depression and could recount tale after tale of kids who were poor as church mice, bless their hearts.

This news of her closeness to death stirs up feelings of isolation and estrangement for no other reason I can make out than that we, Florence's descendents, are a band of introverts. The last time I saw my mom's siblings together was at Aunt Virginia's funeral a few years ago, and that strange shyness in conversation and look was absolutely familiar and disconcertingly comforting. Sheepherder stock, used to long summers in high meadows, I suppose. Rugged introversion, maybe. Or maybe this is just me feeling a lack of connection to a woman I do not understand and love nonetheless.

What Would They Do if I Sang Out of Tune?

Quick post tonight. I'm back from a most rejuvenating long weekend in Moab with nine other women who have been my friends these past ten years. Call me lucky, blessed or whatever. If you don't have a set of YaYas, you need to get one. I laughed longer and heartier in these four days than I can remember in awhile. We practiced yoga in the ranch house living room during a rainstorm, followed by a hip-hop dance party, a wiggy photo session, hot-tubbing, hiking and hours and hours of gab. It's hard to believe that after ten years we still surprise each other with our stories. Pinot Noir helps. We cook for each other, taking care. There is no master plan. We don't all participate in every excursion. Want privacy? You got it. There's an organic cohesion. We are none of us two peas in a pod. This is what I love.

Relationships. Interesting things. As devastatingly unsophisticated and uncynical as this may sound, I'm grateful for them all--for the foils they present to my own sense of self. For the chance to see the other in others. I'm home and happy to see the faces of my family, content to think of all the friends I've known. I might even be grateful for those who've made me say on other occasions that hell is other people. Maybe that's pressing it. Still, I'll not look this gift horse of a weekend in the mouth. Why not sleep well tonight?

Holier Than Thou

In my sleeping years, the 12 or so when my kids were babies and I lost myself in roles, I'd eat anything and move very little.  I was not in any sense holier than anyone let alone thou. The standard American diet, a.k.a. SAD was fine. Fast food? Fine. Sugar? Yep. Fine. Ah, then the wake-up call. Nothing so alarming as a triple bypass or near death encounter with cancer. No, just a look at a photograph in which I saw my lost self peeking out through a puffy, sugar cookie face.

Changes and transformations later, I had gradually shifted from doughy white flour and sugar diet to  clean, green, plant-based nourishment. I practiced yoga daily, rode a bike and presented a happier human being for my kids to be with. Not a magical shift, to say the least. I was still prone to all sorts of silly human being follies, and maybe a little more since I had the confidence to pursue some of them. In regards to food, though, I did become Holier Than Thou (caps intentional). I felt lied to by those who purvey the boxcar loads of subsidized corn in all its unholy, unhealthful incarnations. Angry, too, that I couldn't just buy all that I was sold without experiencing a decline in health and well-being. What the hell? I'd have to step out of the mainstream in order to be healthy.

For the record, life in the margins of society ain't that bad. You look around and find other beat-of-their-own-drummer souls with whom to keep company or to just admire from afar. However, I believe there is some instinct for survival that accounts for the anxiety I feel sometimes when I recognize my misfit with those around me. But I digress. Let me just say about my dietary changes that I got that missionary zeal. If this made me happy, it would make others that way, too, dammit. Wake up, People! I thought. No, I really did. Folks would ask how I managed to lose the weight but balked when I told them. Surely there must be some other way for them that wouldn't entail changing habits.

So maybe that wasn't good, that looking down my nose at others. I was talking with some friends--the friends who have every right to call me on my bullshit because they are there to support me in or out of said bullshit. I mentioned my worry for my daughter who loves junk food and pasty food-like substances. I said that the more I try to influence the more my daughter resists and goes for the chips, pastas, cookies, etc. "Maybe she's just sick of you being holier than thou!" said one friend. Oh, yeah, that hit home. I laughed because it was true. I'd made one too many wise cracks about greasy burgers and fries to friends who still enjoy those. And then I started to consider the Buddhist concept of middle way. It makes sense, and resonates still, but I may have misinterpreted. I got busy with this life of mine and gave in a little more, eating a candy here, a cookie there. I didn't want to be holier than anyone! But for someone with something like a sugar addiction, this has become more difficult to regulate. I feel the effects of sugar in my body like a low-grade headache and cells starving for nutrients. I can feel like shit AND STILL WANT MORE! That's the insanity of it.

So my apologies to anyone I've ever offended with my high-horse dietary standards, but I'm going to have to become a little holier than thou again. I won't preach to you, though, I promise.   I will more likely sympathize  with you as you try to figure out what works best for you to be happy.  I am on the same cruise ship as you, only I'll be staying away from the dessert bar. You may find me strolling the Lito Deck or playing shuffleboard with some old farts.  Maybe you'll join me for a yoga class or a bike ride, but if you don't that's OK, too.