REDONDOWRITER'S SACRED ORDINARY

Still Dancing With Death

In preparation for Dios de los Muertos, I pulled out my two SoulCollage Death cards from the Council suit. This is called Death I: I am the one who one day will hear the owl call my name.

For those of you who read me from time to time, you've heard me say via my own spiritual director, Betsy Caprio, that for those of us who are in the last quarter of life, it's important to "dance with death." By this she means, become familiar with it. We tend to be less frightened of people, places and concepts we become intimate with.

The ofrenda is up and I have a journal group coming in to write tonight. Each person who feels comfortable doing so, will bring photos and/or memorabilia of their family and friends who have passed over. I'll post a photo tomorrow.

This card is called Death II: I am the one who sometimes loots from the past in times of cholera. Sometimes, and lately this tendency has been prevalent, I get stuck in memories of what was and forget what is. Sometimes it becomes necessary to let the past die so that sunflowers can grow. Sometimes I am the one who forgets what an absolutely gorgeous day this is because fear of bird flu, wars, corrupt politics, natural disasters and the slow death of our planet prevents me from being in the moment. Staying in the moment, which causes love not fear, is my greatest challenge in this part of my life.

Against the Blogging Brick Wall

This whole weekend I have avoided the computer and the Internet. I didn't even check e-mail. I am in a cleaning frenzy with all the construction going on, and I've spent a lot of time with family. I've also spent a lot of time in silent high anxiety. One of my grandson Anthony's close friends, who spends a lot of time at our house, was seriously injured in the Friday night football game. A sophomore who was playing his first varsity game, Kyle took a very hard hit toward the end of the game--which Redondo lost. The paramedics and the ambulance came and Kyle is now in the hospital with a kidney that is partly shattered and the urine is leaking into his body. They are trying to stabilize the infection before they operate. Please keep Kyle and his family in your prayers. One of the really impressive things I observed was that all the coaches, the trainers and team docs, and several of Kyle's teammates went to the emergency room after the game to show their support. When my eldest son was seriously injured in the late 1970s during a football game, and required surgery the following day, not one coach showed up. The Redondo coaches have big hearts and a lot of class.

This afternoon I got out of the well of myself and went to trick or treating with my little guys and their parents.

This is baby Fritz, my youngest grandson, dressed as a "fire dog," aka dalmatian. Just a year old, going to the downtown Manhattan Beach Hometown Halloween Party was his first time to celebrate this holiday. I never saw so many toddlers, young children, doting parents (and a large percentage of the mommies were pregnant again) and even dogs in costumes in my life.

Below is Henry, the fireman, and his daddy, my son Tony, taking a break from the trick or treating from the local merchants. After spending this very precious time with these grandkids, I came back home to make my eldest grandson's favorite dinner--enchiladas, rice and beans--and his mom and dad came over, too.

Anthony spoke to Kyle tonight on the phone, though he is heavily sedated, and Kyle was cracking jokes, kind of. I haven't wanted to think much or feel much this weekend and writing in a blog forces both activities. Shit happens and right in the middle of it, we take time to keep on keeping on.

Who Would Ever Have Thought?

Two years ago I would never have guessed my life would morph into what it is today. Downstairs, three 17-year-old boys have just eaten a lot of pizza--as a snack before going over to their varsity football coach's home for a pre-game dinner. Redondo Union plays West High School tomorrow night. Little did I know that my falls the last three years would revolve around football. My own sons played and the only difference between then and now is that I can't climb up and down the bleachers as agilely as I did then.

I would never have guessed I'd end up with teens in my house again, but there is my grandson Anthony with his two buddies who are often here. Whitney is safely away as a college freshman. Anthony's mom, my daughter, dropped by for a heart-to-heart and all the animosity I carried the first months my grandkids came to live here had somehow miraculously dissipated--and I could objectively listen to her. She has made some important lifestyle changes in the past few months and I am so very, very proud of her courage. She will be relocating closer this weekend and I know more changes are in the works.

My house is massively torn up inside; the long-awaited bathroom on the first floor is about half-done, carpets in Anthony's bathroom suite are torn out for tile, the shower door company comes tomorrow morning, a new dryer and dishwasher arrive Saturday. Some of you who read here know I bit the bullet and took a home equity loan. I'm getting up there and I deserve to have my house in top notch form. It's my sacred space but it is also my primary investment. Frugal as I am, something shifted inside me in early September when I realized that scared as I was that I wouldn't financially be able to make it working part-time and with two grandkids living with me, it has gone well. The law of abundance, once I let go of my fear, has revealed itself.

But, I'm tired tonight, massively fatigued. My friend Kathy came over with homemade cabbage borscht tonight and we gabbed. How dear she is to me, a later-in-life friend who is a treasure. And I'm totally off work and not traveling for at least the next four days. I'm just finishing Lisa See's "Snow Flower and the Secret Fan," with two more books in the wings. Exhausted as I feel tonight, achey and a sore throat coming on, I feel so grateful for my life. It didn't turn out as I programmed it all those many years ago--but it has actually turned out better. Do you ever feel that way?

Can't Help Mourning Summer

Hilltop view from my office window in Palos Verdes looking toward downtown Los Angeles and Long Beach Harbor. The mountains that ring the L.A. basin as well as the harbor are shrouded in clouds.

Today I'm Mourning Summer

The warmth and sounds of summer are gone—
no more ceiling fan whirring in the bedroom,
no more park concerts wafting on the breeze,
no more 5 a.m. wake-up calls from the birds,
no chorus of barking dogs on sunset walks,
no fresh tomatoes blended into gazpacho,
no midnight journaling on the starlit patio,
the view of Los Angeles is hidden in mist.

The down comforter says that summer's gone,
as does the unhealthy electric blanket at 11,
the eerie sound of the foghorn in the harbor,
logs piled in the living room for the fireplace
wool jackets and turtleneck sweaters for work,
hearty soups, meatloaf, stews, steaming tea
and piles of books waiting to be warmly read.

Alas, the clock turns back darkly this weekend
heralding Halloween, then Dios de Los Muertos,
Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Epiphany,
we are psychically hibernating, slowing down,
seeking comfort in familiarity, old friends,
light becomes thin, blood and marrow thicken
until the sun rises boldly one spring morning.

Nanowrimo: It's Time For All of Us to Become Novelists

Nanowrimo? What in the heck is that? It’s for crazy writing people around the world who want to tackle writing a 50,000 word novel next month as part of National Novel Writing Month. I’ve noticed that a few of you I read regularly have signed up—and last night I did the same, though I swore I’d never do it again. Typepad was down for maintenance last night and I totally lost this post, so I'm trying again.

Nanowrimo celebrates its seventh year in 2005 and five years ago I wrote a never-looked-at-again novel called "Middlebury," about people connected to and administrating my favorite college in the U.S.—Middlebury College in Vermont. Trust me; it wasn't really worth looking at again. Two years ago I used Nanowrimo to gather umpteen essays I’ve written over the years and compile them into a novel called "Because I Said So." That's the lazy woman's way to do Nano, though without the discipline of Nano, my kids would never have found them in one place when I go to the happy hunting ground. Not that they would be interested in finding them.

I signed up for Nanowrimo last night and I’m letting it simmer. Because I am a prolific writer, albeit an undisciplined one, I could do another collection perhaps of poems, what I write here at Sacred Ordinary, the stories that trigger words from my SoulCollage cards, or I could write something brand new. Hmmm! Though my high school senior prophecy predicted that I would write the famous novel, "All This and Heaven, Too," I didn't because somebody used my title before I got around to it. If you like to write but can’t seem to jumpstart yourself, Nano is a good way to break writer’s block, to hone writing discipline, and to plain old have fun.

The Angels of South Bay

It is my belief that angels are everywhere--some we see and some not visible to us. These two are very visible to me: they are Henry, 2 1/2 and Fritz, 1--my baby grandsons. I spent a few hours there this afternoon playing with "the guys," and they were full of piss and vinegar, as my old grandpappy used to say. But here, in this picture taken by their mom and dad, they are nothing but pure angel. So, here I am with my 17-year-old grandson living with me, my eldest granddaughter, 18, away at college, and a new baby due in Washington state in early April.

This was an absolutely exhausting and exhilarating day for me personally. The long awaited extra bathroom construction began at 7 a.m. when B.J., my friend and construction person, along with her brother, began the demolition of existing walls in the TV room, an old wet bar no longer used, etc. I think it is so cool to have a woman work on my place. She is so wonderful that she is busy months in advance. In fact, she doesn't take new customers anymore; BJ's Handiworks, which she began after a long career in aerospace, is maxxed out with business. I am having several things done in the next three weeks--and the redone deck at the top of the townhouse hasn't leaked in the most recent rain. There must be angels watching out for us.

As for me, after 15 hours on my feet, I'm going to make my bed with fresh linens and crash--with dreams of my South Bay angels in my head. In fact, I get to go to the local community trick or treat with them on Saturday afternoon--Henry is a fireman and Fritz is a dalmatian. I'm far more excited than they are.

Zen Judaism: The Joy of Suffering

Handsome dude, this David Zasloff, but what grabbed me today when I heard him sing, drum and play the harp at the Unity Church of South Bay was his sense of humor which was woven in before and after he performed. He is a stand-up comedian after all. Any man who writes a book called "Zen Judaism: The Joy of Suffering" has to be someone I want to see perform again. I had never heard of David before, but I'm playing his "Meditations of the Harp" tonight and it is a wonderful backdrop for writing--or sitting quietly before the fireplace, which I'm off to do when I complete this post.

David's wesite bio says he is a comedian, musician, poet, philosopher -- and author. His "Zen Judaism, The Joy of Suffering," is a compilation of his first book, "The Complete Book of Everything, Part I" and a collection of his comic monologues. With his band David plays "Zen Jazz" which is a combination African, Japanese, Jewish, Latin, Caribbean, bebop. He is considered a master of the Japanese shakuhachi flute, and as a multi-instrumentalist plays trumpet, piano, percussion, guitar, autoharp and shofar. He is also a songwriter, film composer and has produced four CDs; he was the musical director for 14 HBO comedy channel shows and one Showtime Special. He has played music for "The Young and The Restless" and most recently David played shakuhachi flute on the multi-million selling Linkin Park CD, "Meteora."

If you read his essays at his website, you'll get a better sense of David, his years in the entertainment industry when he was bombed, and later in recovery. I thought I heard him say he was a Zen Buddhist now. All I know is that his music seems inspired--happy, joyful--and the harp album is going to my second favorite next to "The Yearning" by Michael Hopper and Tim Wheater. You can hear some clips of David's music at his website.

What Religion Is Your Bra?

SoulCollage card, Council suite, The Warrioress. Though I use this card to illustrate what I hope is both amusing, familiar--and poignant, the card itself is the long-lost warrioress in me. I am the one who is unafraid of fire and spiders and can both defend and attack if called to do so.

One of my nieces sent me story today and because I feel lazy tonight after working outdoors most of the day in a heavy, cold drizzle, I'm not very original. This did make me laugh and what is more sacred ordinary than a brassiere or a jockstrap anyway? It also pertains to another niece at the end, if you've got time to read on.

What Religion is Your Bra?

A man walked into the ladies department at Macy's and shyly walked up to the woman behind the counter and said, "I'd like to buy a bra for my wife. "

"What type of bra?" asked the clerk.

" Type?" inquires the man, "There's more than one type?"

"Look around," said the saleslady, as she showed a sea of bras in every shape, size, color and material imaginable. "Actually, even with all of this variety, there are really only four types of bras to choose from."

Relieved, the man asked about the types. The saleslady replied, "There are the Catholic, the Salvation Army, the Presbyterian, and the Baptist types. Which one would you prefer?"

Now totally befuddled, the man asked about the differences between them.

The saleslady responded, "It is all really quite simple..
The Catholic type supports the masses,
The Salvation Army type lifts the fallen,
The Presbyterian type keeps them staunch and upright, and
The Baptist makes mountains out of mole hills.

I guess my bras are Presbyterian, but when I was young and slim, I was definitely Baptist--in reality and in bra type, but deep in my heart I envisioned myself as this fearless warrioress.

Writing about this tonight is particularly poignant for me because another of my nieces was just diagnosed with breast cancer and she and I spoke tonight. Having been through it twice, I hoped to offer her a lot of hope. I hope I did. It appears it is early stage and hopefully will require ONLY lumpectomy, radiation and possible drug therapy. I personally carry a lot of emotion around breasts and bras, but I also have a tendency to keep my sense of humor no matter what. So--what bra size are you? Do guys have jockstrap sizes?

Life Will Never Be the Same for Ray Again

Many of you followed the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina through Ray Whiting at My Life. Ray was not able to get out of NOLA until the eighth day after the hurricane hit. Reading Ray daily as he processes what he has been through and will continue to go through has been powerful stuff for me. For the past weeks he has been with his adult children and grandchildren in the Houston area, but returned to New Orleans last weekend; the entries he has made since his return have touched me to the core. They are about impermanence, priority shifts, observations of things far worse than he had imagined, a possible loss of employment, and a renewed sense of who "the Whole" is in his life. I list a few of Ray’s excerpts here, but hope you will visit because his insights are what I needed to refocus on what is important to me. From his pain and openess about his life, my own life has gained clarity. In disasters like what we have experiencing of late, when the media stops the intense coverage, we humans have a tendency to forget.

18 October 2005 - I have been made stronger because other parts of Life are not as strong. I am an essential element of making the Whole work a little better. Obviously I have to believe the same is true about everyone else, whether they realize it or not. It's all about survival, making it through the day. That's all. It's not about getting, having, acquiring. It's not about collecting stuff and things. It's about being a functioning, contributing participant in the process of Life. If I can do that, and help someone else make it through the day too, that's GREAT! Life will never be the same for me.

18 October 2005 - I am not blessed in my life because some god or another favors me at this particular time in my life, but because that's how the Universe works. Give and take, rise and fall, ebb and flow, light and dark, and so forth. Perfect balance. I cannot gloat about being blessed because it is entirely transient and there will be (as there has been in the past) times of loss, times of barrenness, times when I can't directly imagine a better time. But what goes up must come down. What comes in must go out and what goes out must come in.

I personally get so incredibly upset when anyone alludes to the fact of a punishing God and Ray writes of my sentiments, but from first hand experience.

20 October 2005 - On the other hand, I wish everyone I know, particularly the self-righteous idiots who think some God was showing some upset at New Orleans' lifestyles ... I wish they could walk where I walked today, see what I saw, smell what I smelled, and touch what I touched. I defy them to smugly say their God could do such a thing in real life. Bible stories of mass destruction are mythic stories and illustrative allegories, not historical fact attributable to the actions of a personal god bent on destruction. What I saw today is real and factual. Any "god" who publicly takes personal responsibility for this kind of thing is not a god I wish to be involved with, and certainly such a "god" is foreign to any concept or version of god I have ever known first-hand.

Thank you, Ray. When the pupil is ready, the teacher comes--and right now you are one of my teachers.

Middle-Aged Sex and Cyberdating

Cartoon courtesy of Swap Meet Dave.

This I know from weblogging a few years. Say anything about sex in your title line and all kinds of hits come out of the woodwork. Sorry, to disappoint those who are visiting for salacious soft porn; this is more about belly laughs. But let me tell you whippersnappers out there something: wanting intimacy and, yes, sex, does not magically disappear when you begin getting your senior discount at Denny’s. Most the males, regardless of age, over at Match.com and Yahoo Personals, are predominately looking for more than quiet dinners and walks on the beach.

I did Match.com myself in my early '60s and it did not work for me. Let’s face it; most men my age are looking for women 20 years their junior—and many of them will be successful finding them. I thought about writing a book, however, because some of the experiences were so damned funny. If anyone knows of such a book, let me know!

Many of my friends have tried the cyberdating scene—and a few have been successful to the point of marriage, but you just have to be ready to kiss 500 frogs before the prince comes along—and the guys feel the same way, I’m sure. My friend Ellie made this astute observation recently—and I hope it makes you laugh like it did me.

In reading profiles and looking at photos of potential dates, she said these were her deal breakers:

*Separated but not yet divorced. Umm, dry out before you get wet again, OK?

*Guys who demand long hair. Oh grow up.

*Has a waist smaller than my thigh.

*Picture is in tank top, no shirt, operating a boat, in front of their
sports car/morotcycle, skiing, or wearing sunglasses. And especially if it
has a woman's hand on the shoulder or part of her head on his, cut out. If
you can't find someone to take a new photo, you must not have any friends
and that's a clue to your social fertility.

*Any of the following words/phrases in the ad are deal breakers:

Tantra
Harley
Daily Gym (in the same sentence)
Trying to quit
Jesus as my personal saviour

So, for any of you who have tried the Match.com route, what deal breakers do you have? And guys, what deal breakers do you have when you read those female profiles?

I'm attempting to be light with this post, but I also know that most people are desperately seeking soulmates, no matter their age. What I personally would look for, if I were looking, is someone who doesn't need me to support him, is a skilled conversationalist who would occasionally let me get a word in edge-wise, was not a control freak about every little detail, thought life was more than TV, looked at life with humor, believed in God or an operating principal of a higher being, wanted to blend adult families, and would accept me for who I am--slightly overweight and of a certain age, a bit of a worry wart, funny sometimes to the point of zaniness, compulsive about things I really like to do, and kind of squirrely about hanging out in large cocktail chatter crowds. In the meantime, I've come to cherish friendships--and who knows? Maybe at some lecture, or concert, or art show, "HE" will appear and initiate a two-way conversation. I pretty much do what interests me these days and if there is to ever be a Mr. Right again, maybe he'll be there, too. Don't get me wrong--I'm all for sex, but I wonder how many people are out there seeking sex when they really want love? I really want your opinions on this post!