Thanksgiving 2013 - Change is the Only Constant

Thanksgiving comes around again, as it does.  The stress of the holiday season always makes the kick-off a day of moment, but this one seems particularly fraught.  I just turned fifty, and while I don't really feel old, there is nothing about fifty that feels young either.  It's my first Thanksgiving without my dad, and that is tough.  It's also my first Thanksgiving with one home from college and one waiting on acceptances, with his foot halfway out the door, and that is a different kind of tough.  It is a melancholy day.  And it is all I can do to keep from weeping.

People die, kids move out and on, we have each other for such a short while.  It is the way it has to be.  It is the only way it can be.  Life moves on, ever changing and ever the same.  The idea that it is time for me to figure out a third act is terrifying and reassuring at the same time.  I have no idea what I'll do next.  I have a few things to wrap up here in act two, but not many.  I still have to finish the hands-on mom stuff with the boy and the estate stuff with my dad.  But next is coming, whether I agree or not, so I need to get it figured out or get smacked in the head by the curtain coming down. And at the very least I know I'm lucky to have some future in my future.  I'm healthy and sane(ish), so next is mine to write.

Our little family foursome has been so much fun. And I am ever so thankful to have the girl back home, even if for a short time.  But this first visit home also really reinforces that those days are gone.  The silly foursome exists only in memory.  I know new happy experiences will take their own place.  I know we remain a family.  But I also know different is not the same.  Change is the only constant.  And while we live we change, so it's certainly better than the alternative.  But oh how I miss those days.  Just as I know someday I will miss these.

The Veil of Time is Thin Today

The veil of time is thin today

All at once, I am, all at once

A little girl in a bunny rabbit suit braving snowflakes on a wintery Massachusetts night,

A teenager, black pointy hat on head, at a party in the woods, crunchy leaves beneath my feet,

A new mom figuring out how to turn white waffle pjs into a Dalmatian suit, sewing felt ears onto a white cotton cap,

A middle-aged woman walking through town in kitten ears, admiring other peoples kids’ window paintings,

And just around the corner, I sense a crone with a basket of candy, a frivolous hat and a joyful heart

The veil of time is thin today.  

All at once, I am, all at once.

Feets of Clay

OK, well if we can posit ahead of time that the only proper response to the question "Do you think you'll keep it off?" (coming from an acquaintance after hearing about your ten pound weight loss in the wake of your dad's illness and death.) Is a stunned silence, followed by a gurgled, "What?"  Then I think I did OK.  Of course I still wake up in the night, months later wishing I had had the wherewithal to have asked the woman, "Did you seriously just say that?"  I'm hoping the shocked look on my face said that for me.

This summer has been filled with tough moments, dealing with the stuff my dad left behind and the family drama that goes along, my little girl running away from home (OK, fine, starting college, semantics, whatever), and the difficult realization while trying to finish my yoga teacher training that many, many fitness people (yes, even the yoga ones) are narcissitic asshats one really doesn't want to spend all that much time around.  The above mentioned acquaintance is in my teacher trainee group and that was her one question to me once I returned to training. 

I love yoga, it makes me feel good in my body and in my head, and I want to teach because I want to help bring that feeling to other people.  But learning to teach has made me see that a lot of what passes for yoga is teachers pretending to teach yoga.  They say all the right words, but they don't believe them.  Or they think they believe them, but their actions prove otherwise.  Worse, some teachers don't even do that, they are so wrapped up in getting to "perfect" they don't remember anything else about the practice.  It becomes about fitness, not yoga. Which is fine, I just think it should be called something else.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not really much of a purist about anything, but I do think if you can do the moves without any true understanding of the head, you are doing gymnastics or dance or some other kind of exercise, but not yoga.  And if you want to do that, great, but then don't pretend to be doing otherwise.  I've observed a number of teachers this summer as part of my training and many would say the right thing, "be on your own mat," "listen to your body," but then do things that countermanded that - pointing out another student's perfect form, pushing people past where was comfortable or sometimes even safe - going for the goal rather than being in the moment. Some were better than others, some made me despair at the state of American yoga practice.

Then in my last observation, I came upon a teacher, a Rye YMCA teacher - not a fancy studio person, but an ordinary teacher-person.  Not young, not old, in good/average shape, but certainly not perfect, nice voice, but not super-commanding, who as I observed her class, exemplified TEACHER to me.  When she complimented people on taking the time to do "their" yoga, she really meant "their" yoga.  She spoke to the beginner and expert on their own terms, didn't compare them and definitely didn't encourage them to compare themselves, subtly or otherwise.  She was at peace, funny, sweet, breathing and celebrating being there at that moment, and was showing everyone in her class how to be the same.

And she gave me hope, that I could be a teacher without being perfect, that I could look around and take what I needed from the people I learned with without having to do things someone else's way (never one of my strong suits), that if I was going to be brave enough to stand in front of a class and be the teacher, it was ok to do it in a way that honored my yoga which is a little about fitness and a lot about feeling good.

To be Human

I have now been waiting for my dad to die for a full week.  One hundred and sixty-eight hours of jumping out of my skin every time the phone rings, because I think it's someone calling me to say he has passed.  That doesn't include the hours during the two weeks before that, when I got the first phone call that he'd had a massive brain aneurysm - he missed a minyan and a meeting, so his friends called the fire department who broke down his door and brought him to Lowell General.  I was just getting dressed to go out to dinner with friends.  Just a normal Friday night.  Then it wasn't.  Next was the call from Lowell General saying they couldn't handle such massive neuro-trauma, and which hospital in Boston should they transprt him to.  (Is this something I'm supposed to know? I figured it would make him happiest to be in a Jewish hospital when he woke up, so I picked Beth Israel.)  During the first of those two weeks I spent alternating between hope and fear every time the phone rang.  (And driving up and back between New York and Boston seven times.) By half-way through the second week, they told us there was no hope. His doctors and medical team at Beth Israel have been wonderful, smart, kind, and caring, but it is never a good sign when a team of doctors ask you to meet in a private room and hand you a box of tissues.  Since then, and in the week since we had to take him off life-support and say good-bye, all I have done is wait for him to die.  It is brutal and exhausting. He would be so angry if he knew this was happening.

You have to understand that this lying around in bed is the exact opposite of who my dad is.  My dad is the guy who always had a joke, always knew the score of the game, always had change for the soda machine.  He always wanted to talk to you, didn't much matter what it was about.  He was a perpetual motion machine (which often drove me crazy) running three miles a day, even on the day he had his fatal aneurysm,  normally getting up four or five times during dinner to reheat his food because "it has to be so hot I can't taste it."  My dad is the guy who sold his business in his early seventies only to go back to work three weeks later because being home was driving him crazy.  He went to work on his last good day as well.   He loved it there.  He was the Security guy at the town court's lot, schmoozing and chatting with everyone who came by.  He loved to be in the middle of it all.  He was a dirt poor street kid who built a business that allowed him to give his family all the things he never had.  He got up and worked hard every day of his life from the time he was a six year old shoeshine boy to his last day.  Because he loved it.  He loved to be busy.  He lived to be busy.  He would hate this entrapment so much.  He hated to be still.

Part of being human is loving people.  Part of loving people is the knowledge that someday they will no longer be able to love you back.  The loss is almost unbearable, but the love makes it worth the pain.

I love you Daddy.

What the hell, let's blame Australia

My day today started with me splitting my pants.  OK they were a couple years old and all but splitting your pants is never a good way to begin. Even less so when it's a high point.

After changing my pants I went to the dog park with Jezebel and Scarlett.  Scarlett was being really weird (even for her) pulling towards the wall instead of towards the interior of the park, so I kept her on the leash, made her sit for a few seconds to make sure she knew I was in charge,  and then let her off leash - at which point she looked at me, cocked her head to the right and promptly bolted for the exit, went over the wall, ran across a busy street and disappeared back towards our house.  While I was screaming, "No, Scarlett! Scarlett get back here!" and "Scarlett, stay!!!!!" over and over again at her.  I had to round Jezzie up, put her on the leash, run back towards our house and call P all at once which worked about as well as you'd expect. My phone ended up slightly damp from a brief sojourn in a puddle. but worked just fine.  Got a hold of P, explained the dog was running hell bent for leather towards home, grab her if she got there. but I still didn't know where she was going or why, when one of the super nice landscaper guys down the street started yelling to me, "Aqui!"

Found the stupid dog with a face full of frosting.  Pink, green and blue sugar splotches all over her muzzle and doggie eyebrows.  Yes she'd endangered her life, running across a really busy street to dig through garbage to eat cake she'd smelled from across the street on our walk to the park!!!!! Resumed breathing, called P back to say I had her.  Again, not the low point.

Got home to find boy got a really shitty grade in Bio.  Turns out it was from early October but the teacher is just getting around to posting them now. Yes, despite promising better communication. Trying to figure out how the hell he's going to pass this quarter.  Yet still not my low for the day. Why do you ask?

Gave up on anything going right and decided to get ahead on some holiday shopping  Since Lord & Taylor had all kinds of coupons out I figured there would be lots on sale.  Nope, nothing but summer clothes.  Total strike-out. Couldn't even buy a lipstick. Still other than a waste of gas, not a bad spot in my day.

Got home and got into a facebook fight with an old friend about the Boy Scouts being a discriminatory organization (it's not just me - New York State says they can't meet in public schools because they are a discriminatory organization!!!!) over their ban on gays and non-theists. We've been friends since we were thirteen years old. And I believed we would be friends forever.  Friends from first periods to well past menopause.  I guess I was wrong. Or she knows she is, but can't admit it.  (I'm not saying you can't choose to have your kids belong to a discriminatory organization - just that you can't deny that you're part of one when you are.)

That was my low point. Giving up someone who was in my wedding.  Giving up someone who's wedding I was in. And no, as you can probably tell, this isn't the first time she's told me good-bye.  The last time lasted almost two years.  But this time I told her not to tell me we aren't friends and expect to come back.  I walked on eggshells for a year so she could feel comfortable with me again. Enough.

Meanwhile Halloween was just last Sunday - and Thanksgiving is next week already.  Stupid hurricane took two weeks out of my life.  Every one around me is scrambling through this truncated season. I'm just hoping tomorrow is a better day.  For me and my Scarlett.

I blame it all on the eclipse in Australia.  It's as good a reason as any for this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.*

(*with apologies and admiration to Judith Viorst)

The Emperor Has No Cleanse

OK so everyone who knows me, knows I'm really not the "go along to get along" type.  It's just not in my nature to agree with everyone, when I honestly disagree.  I try, I swear, I try.  But I can't ever seem to get the go along with the crowd lies out of my mouth.

This week, with my yoga teacher training group, I'm participating in a 10-day cleanse.  We're doing the cleanse from the book Clean by Dr. Alejandro Junger.  As cleanses go it isn't particularly extreme, you can have food, you just eliminate many common allergens, wheat, dairy, soy, peanuts, nightshades as well as beef and pork, alcohol and caffeine.  It's about the health benefits of alkaline vs. acid foods - or some sort of mumbo jumbo like that.  There is a looooong list of foods you can and can't eat.

I hear people rhapsodizing over their "clarity"  how glowing and healthy the skin and nails are, but I honestly have to say I feel not a thing.  So now I have to face a tableful of rah-rah true-believers and say "Great.  So glad you are loving it and it worked for you, but I feel nothing."  Or I could just go along to get along and pretend I had some sort of cleanse epiphany too.  Especially since I was very vocal about not wanting to do this during Crew season because of the very early morning practices - I keep thinking they are just going to dismiss me with a "Sure you don't feel anything because you didn't want to do it."  But isn't the only answer to that, "Well then how are you sure it isn't just working on you because you wanted to do it?"  And when I point out the inconsistency in people's arguments is when things usually get testy.

But I can't help myself.  I feel like Rizzo in Grease singing, "There are Worse Things I could Do."  Agreeing with people just to get along isn't a thing I can do.

We are on Day 4 (started on Sunday) and I feel not a damn bit different.  I've had some kale shakes, some cauliflower soup, quinoa, greens and cold-water fish salads, a lot of almonds, lentils and white beans with chicken, and nada.  I feel not one little tiny bit different. It isn't bad, it's just boring.  Other than missing my coffee when I go to pick up the Crew kids at stupid o'clock in the morning, and my glass of wine with P in the evening, I feel nothing.

I haven't lost any weight, I haven't gained any weight.  I sleep the same. My allergies aren't better or worse.  Everything is the same.  We're supposed to be doing this cleanse until Halloween, but I can't see the point.  If something doesn't feel much better by Saturday evening, I'm going out to the Crew team dinner at Outback Steakhouse with my husband and son and the whole team and eating like a normal person.

And I'm telling everyone at teacher training the truth about my experience.  Life should be about enjoyment and balance.

Happy Halloween to all.  Hope you eat too much candy, act too silly and have too much fun.

Botox Follies

Maybe it's because my birthday (Holy shit I'm going to be 49!!!!!! How did THAT happen?) is around the corner, but I seem to be succumbing to stupider stuff than usual.  The stupidest of the bunch?  My recent flirtation with botulism - ok,  Botox.  Now I have always said that there was no way I would let anyone shoot botulism in my head, because, you know...botulism. So how did I find myself one Wednesday evening, in a chair at my hairdressers, meeting a new doctor (it's OK he was just on the Today show!) and then letting him shoot poison in my head?

It all started (as so many things do) on facebook.  The hair salon I go to put up something on their page about a free Botox party.  Never being able to resist the word free, I let my curiosity about medical grade beauty products get the better of me and RSVP'd yes - then promptly forgot about it, as it was over a month away.  I figured I could always cancel if I came to my senses.  Two weeks later I'm at The Salon (really it's called The Salon, it's in Scarsdale and it's fabulous!) getting my hair done and someone asks if I'm still coming to the "Event." (wasn't that a really bad TV show from a couple years back?)  Oh yeah, I forgot to cancel.  Now I'm on the spot, and I think, "what the hell. If it's really free and there isn't some weird gimmick - FREE (with $500 purchase) - I may as well see what all the fuss is about.  I'm one of last of the women I know to bite the Botox bullet.  Everyone loves it.  Maybe I will too." So I say, "Is it really, truly, free?" And,"I'm definitely coming." What kind of crazy woman passes up free Botox?

I check it out and it is 100% free, the doctor is opening up an office in Westchester, in addition to his one in the City.  He's looking for local clients and hoping to spread some good will - and botulism.  So the day comes and P says to me, "Are you really going through with this?  I thought for sure you would have chickened out by now." (ahhhh, he knows me so well.) I would have, but for one little hitch - I told a friend about it and she thought it was a grand idea, so she RSVP'd too, and now I was driving the both of us.  If I was going to be a sniveling free toxin coward, I'd have to admit it out loud to my friend and make her brave the Hutchinson River Parkway at rush hour all alone.  Pride beat out cowardice, as it so often does.

So gentle reader, shaking in my boots (really cute turquoise blue, Frye boots), I climb up into the chair and let the oddly lineless Doctor (who was lovely and quite professional and I have no complaints at all about) shoot me with four shots, right between the eyes. He assured me I was going to become addicted.  I immediately felt as dumb as I have ever felt in my whole life.  I got out of the chair shaken and unstirred.

Now in terms of dumb things, was it as dumb as buying acid in Central Park from some random guy, or dating actors? Well, no... but as I was waiting for the doctor and reading all the possible side effects, I had to contemplate the (very, very, very remote) possibility that I could die from trying to make my forehead look less wrinkley. And I had to fervently hope that my children would make fun of me forever for leaving them motherless in such a stupid way.  Even the minor side effects were alarming, droopy lids, random numbness (I got that one - the tip of my tongue was numb for three days afterwards). My shakiness was more from being scared that I had let my self get sucked in to something so stupid than from the effects of the poison.  I lay awake all night - propped up on pillows so the Botox wouldn't migrate, hoping not to die from my own stupidity and vowing never to participate in this form of stupid American beauty follies again.

It's been two weeks and honestly I don't see that much of a difference. (I think I scared most of the toxin right out of my system by sheer will.) My forehead is a little smoother and I can't quite glare as effectively as before, but if I really concentrate I can still make the mommy evil eye.  I can't imagine paying five hundred bucks for this privilege though.  Once it wears off I think I'll keep my well earned wrinkles where they belong.

Of course later this month my yoga class is doing a group cleanse, so there is always more ridiculousness to come.