Tomorrow isn't promised

My wish is that you had a clue
a little twinge
that something wasn't right
and enjoyed just a bit extra
that final day week month
the souls
who shared with you
the gift of every normal day

It's not my place to grieve for you
Except you are woven into my story
and your footprints through my life
were formative
and timely and unique

The loss of you from this world means
I don't get to tell you
thank you
and sorry.
I loved you
naively and easily
but didn't know then
how to love myself

I was determined to escape
the shadow of a dismal childhood
You were in search of a loyal partner
dreams of following
the hedonism of the loft
with a home and tribe

I heard through the years
you found that partner
always together and present
for the family you made
on your own terms
living loudly, creating, giving
surrounded by community

I wished only that for you
And still, your early departure
knocked me sideways
because you've always shared
a piece of my heart
First there was you

And now you're gone
felled washing
the fucking dishes
I imagine the slightest smirk on your face
about that exit

And I always thought I'd meet you
somehow again in this life
because I owe you
more than a goodbye verse

You've taught me once more
and I will work hard to keep it close
Kindness matters
Live in the moment
Tomorrow is never promised

Random thoughts while drinking heavily post-election 2016.

In times of stress and sadness, I obsessively clean my personal spaces, donate or throw out my belongings, and WRITE.
So on this morning that we woke up to the reality of a Donald Trump presidency, a facebook post would be too long.  I decided to turn to my blog even though it's archaic. Plus there are six new boxes to donate and a full trash can at the curb...
So I might be extra affected by this loss of the White House and Congress because of my ongoing depression, who knows. It's been a long stretch of awfulness in my own personal life.
But that's beside the point of my political confusion.  Which is where I'll try to head with my stream of consciousness today.
What the hell happened last night?  In hindsight, it shouldn't be all that surprising.  But it is.
Let me start with my own present reality, and back it all up with history. I'm a super liberal married to a fiscal conservative. We just passed out 25 year anniversary (30 if you count the unmarried portion) and although we're not much like the people (babies) we were when we met, we have a shared past, present and future that keeps it all together.
My husband runs a very large piece of a very large successful global company based in NYC.  We live in Westchester County, NY.  It's one of the wealthiest counties in the country and IS the most heavily taxed county in the nation. Our personal property taxes alone are close to $50,000 per year. Compared to private school HS tuition in our neighborhood in Southern California, where we moved here from, it sounded like a great deal.  Less pricey AND I got to continue supporting (free) public education, something close to my heart...anyway we sound like 1%'ers. We are. I think. I'm not sure of the exact definition, but if I need to buy a plane ticket, at any price, at the last moment, I can.  So I think that qualifies.
But that's where we are in our lives now, not where we started.  Where we started and how we've lived in the different phases of our lives gives rise to my political leanings.
And I've lived in EVERY FUCKING CORNER of this country PLUS THE MIDDLE.
And I've lived in poverty with a single uneducated mom.
And we currently financially support our remaining living parents who still live in poverty.
And I've lived with wealth.
And I've lived on a military housing allowance.
And I've paid back student loans that were a bargain at 8%.
And I'm a woman who has both worked for pay and worked even harder for no pay as a stay at home parent.
And my husband grew up on military bases.
And when his dad left the Navy and couldn't find a job for several years, they had to sell all their furniture and move their family (four children) in with relatives and live off the charity of friends.
No joke.
Because of this, I believe that my vision for what our country should be for us and our children is broad and valid. I'm fighting for my children. Not only are they female, they both had speech and psychologial IEPs in elementary school.
I'm white and not an immigrant speaking a second language, but my mother-in-law and sister-in-law are not white and not very fluent in english, so my family encompasses every single facet of American life.
So I still don't understand.
We hit every fucking demographic other than racist homophobic white male, and are there really that many of those voting?  They couldn't find their ass with both hands if a spotlight was shining on it (a nod to my time living in the South) but still Trump reigns.
Did I mention that my father, father-in-law, three brother-in-laws, plus my husband were all military? Navy officers, navy enlisted, air force and army. Plus another brother-in-law was Peace Corps. Really, we are a family who has experienced it ALL. Every piece of the American Dream and Nightmare.
And not a single person I know from all of those past, present and future lives would vote for Trump.
Who the fuck voted for him?!
Less than a month ago I drove across country for the sixth time in my adult life.  We drove from NY to AZ through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico.  The most memorable experiences from that three day drive were (visual) MASSIVE steel crosses erected by the interstate in both Indiana and Texas, (emotional) a city-wide freeway overpass memorial to fallen police officers in St. Louis, and (intellectual) the proliferation of right-wing/Trump election signs in the middle of NOTHING.  No hospitals, no schools, no fucking fresh food, not even strip malls.  Just Walmart and Pilot trucker stops with "adult entertainment" and laundry machines.
I hated being a woman in these places.  We were forced to be there by the need for gas and water and food, but I felt so out of place, not elitist, but LACKING in local experience to help me fit in...
And that wasn't my first "drive through" rodeo.
Steve and I drove from Washington to Florida in 1988. One car. We did it again from Virginia to San Diego in 1990 with two cars and one continuously screaming cat (my car). From San Diego to NYC in 1993.  From NYC to Phoenix in 1995. From Los Angeles to NYC (one car, two kids, two screaming cats) in 2012.
Every single drive across country in those years we've been at a different stage in our lives.
And never once have we had a conversation about stopping to live in those states where Trump outperformed, where most residents have  never crossed state lines, never applied for a passport, never aspired to anything other than what they've already EXPERIENCED.
So, I conclude with these broad thoughts.  An insulated society elected Trump. I'm baffled by this because of the whole global economy and internet thing, but personal experience tells me that the division in politics has a whole lot to do with economics and experience.
Get the fuck away from where you know it all and you'll be less ignorant, more empathetic, and much much more relatable.
But wait.  I'm not done.  We haven't talked yet about mental health care/addiction access (a HUGE piece of my life since the age of 8) big pharma, or reproductive rights.  Don't worry, they will be highlighted in future diatribes.  I don't see my need for writing away the stress going away anytime soon.

I'm pretty sure you can't read this, but I'll apologize anyway.

I lost my dad two years ago today.
When I first got the call that he had somewhat unexpectedly passed away, I felt mostly relief.
He had suffered for years with debilitating and progressive dementia. With his death, the burden of his lost mind yet functioning body was lifted from my step-mom as well as me and my brothers and sisters.
The timing was also just before Christmas and my family and I were in the process of selling our beloved Pasadena home and moving our lives across the country to New York.
I was busy trying to create a happy holiday, move away from everything familiar, still recovering from surgery complications from a year earlier, and ill with an undiagnosed autoimmune disease.
I didn't give myself time to mourn.
Flash forward to the present and I am struggling with a daughter who is making stupid teenager bad choices. I can't stop crying these last few days because of it, and I've felt somewhat confused at the depth of my sorrow.  I mean, we've all lived through those years, right?  It shouldn't be so difficult to parent them with the benefit of hindsight...
I realized this morning that my desperate sadness is tied in with my loss from two years ago that's never been examined.  My dad struggled with mental illness as well as the addictive disorders that come along with self medicating those issues.  His early decline was a result of those lifelong struggles and I never questioned or challenged his choices, or shared his life from an adult perspective.  Now all those issues, both genetic and learned, are tied up in my challenge of parenting a highly intelligent, but also highly anxious teen who seems to be trying out any and all recreational substances.
Sigh.
Sorry Dad, that I was glad that you died, I miss you.
I have so many questions I never got to ask.
And I don't think I apologized for my teen years.
And I'm sure I didn't say I love you enough.
Also, you forgot to say sorry to your kids.
I love you
That's all.

And so I cry.

Aren't you scared?
I stayed up all night
to check your breathing every hour.
And I cried
because you think it's cool
to drink
until you can't even sit or stand
and lose control of your speech and bladder
and unlock doors that allow your friends
to steal from us
so they can do the same thing.
So I cry.

Aren't you scared
that we are the enemy?
To be deceived
evaded and belittled
for our guidance.
In the light of your choices
I don't see normalcy
but shock
where no one is breathing or blinking
with Christmas wishes for cash
to fund your fun
and values tossed aside as childish
in favor of fitting in.
I can't stop crying.

Aren't you scared?
The choices we made to create for you a
memorable safe and meaningful
life are now
a burden to be
discarded in a quest for the
destruction of your intelligence
beauty and future.

I am scared
So instead of sleep
I cry.
And I think how stupid to provide things
I thought were special
when what you want is
freedom
to face plant on boulders
and into the fire with people who
abandon you in the dark and damage and
steal from you
And to take the money that you saved
for your future
and turn it all into
ashes and piss.

Love letter to my Bikram instructors.

Well. It's been a while. But I must vent. And there is no better spot.

I love my yoga. Bikram to be exact. It's been 31/2 years since I discovered the benefits. As I've posted earlier, yoga has kept me out of the operating room, away from physical therapy, and off the toxic drugs that western medicine has developed to treat the symptom, not the cause.

That being said, I am increasingly disillusioned with the brand "bikram" as developed by the person Bikram. I can pinpoint exactly when my disciple-hood started to falter. I took class from the Boss himself at headquarters this fall. One tenant of yoga is to make sure to take class from your master at least once. I knew we were moving away from Los Angeles and I made it a priority to attend.

What a shitty class. Packed in like cattle for the slaughter, belittled for our shortcomings, (women) told to fuck our husbands more often if we wanted good lives, inconsistent dialog and timing of the standard poses, and the unrelenting fear that the master himself would find fault with anything going down on your own personal mat. I paid twenty dollars to sweat through ninety minutes of a miserable human proclaiming his godliness over a room full of star-struck drones.

I now understand a bit better the controversy within the yoga community surrounding Bikram. His offensive comments, narcissism and aura of entitlement overshadowed the good personality traits that must have initiated the fame and devotion that he now takes for granted. I sympathize with those studios trying to teach this hatha series outside his realm of tight control. I am now more likely to support those unauthorized "hot yoga" studios and this was all inspired by only one ninety minute class with Bikram at his unwelcoming, nondescript "world headquarters." Blech.

Anyway, I came away from that class with a bigger appreciation for my beloved local teachers. They took the good from Bikram's teachings and made it even better with their willingness to share the healing benefits of a series while leaving their egos at the door.

So to my dearly missed instructors from Bikram La Canada, Bikram Pasadena and Bikram El Cajon:

Thank you Rose for teaching my first class and inspiring me to come back the next day, scared and sore and lonely.

Thank you Hobie for teaching my second class and having the experience to step away from dialog to inspire a struggling new yogi.

Thank you Jeff for being tough enough to force me to be good to myself before your class.

Thank you Shannon for having to courage to step in front of your peers and learn to lead.

Thank you Carolyn and Nancy for making class a joyful experience.

Thank you Bernadette for inspiring me to be healthy and beautiful even in my fourth decade.

Thank you Ken for sharing your life's ups and downs with us during savasana. I miss the updates!

Thank you Ziggy and Dave for being funny, funny, funny, and oh so tough when I least expected it. You haven't lived until you can say you've laughed your way through half moon and come away uninjured...

Even as my respect for Bikram dwindles, I love you all for your dedication to your students and the series.

I'm scared as hell to step into a new studio here in NY and I hate practicing in the morning, but tomorrow I will head back to Bikram (the class, not the man) at 9:30 am and hope for the best. Wish me luck, I look forward to meeting the next inspiring teacher while desperately missing all my old favorites.

My soft heart.

I have a new respect for Animal Rescue workers. I know this now because I can't get the image of one bloody, fear-ridden and still fighting opossum out of my mind.

Last night I was happily heading out to my 8pm class when my car was slowed, then stopped by a horrific scene. I don't know how he got there, but there was a large opossum frozen in the middle of a fairly busy street. He was still on his feet, but there was a pool of blood underneath him, as well as a bloody mess about five feet away, probably the scene of the initial injury.

As my headlights brought into focus the fact that the thing in my path was a living animal, not trash, I was sure that he'd scuttle the rest of the way across the road and into the woods surrounding us. Not so, he was standing, but couldn't move any further. All he had left in him was his voice, which he used bravely in an attempt to ward off my approaching car.

I didn't know what to do, I eventually drove around him, there was already another car freaking out behind me about my unexplained stop and a jeep pulled over to the curb keeping an eye on him. I left the opossum to his fate, but I was filled with an awful sense of sorrow for my inability to help and his obvious..aliveness. I wished for him that terror and pain and fight weren't the last things he knew.

So I called my husband at home and asked him to call animal rescue, you know, the trucks that pick up all the dead skunks, and hoped for the best. Maybe they would get there in time, maybe there's an off hours emergency vet who operates on unsuccessful roadkill, maybe he wasn't all that injured, despite the gallons of blood...

So that's my fantasy. But my reality tells me that animal rescue, if they found the opossum, probably euthanized him on the spot, then tossed the body in the truck with all the other victims of the day.

So I hope to never do that job. At least EMT's get to race their bloody, screaming, alive messes to the hospital...

Advice. Sorry, can't help myself.

Nothing funny here. Just a reminder about something important. I like the words I used to describe yoga to my brother-in-law so I'm going to repeat them here.

For me, Bikram yoga has replaced the operating room, physical therapy, medication and the gym. I can't say enough good about it. A healthy spine and strong core are gifts to myself that I don't know how I lived without. A dark, scary time in my life a year and a half ago, when I was scheduled for three level fusion surgery of my cervical spine, has turned into something beneficial that touches all areas of my life, mental as well as physical.

I don't want to go on and on because, just like blabbering to a mother-to-be about your labor and early parenting experiences, the uninitiated have no frame of reference in which to process the information.

Try a class if there is one near you. Go to www.bikramyoga.com. The class finder link is on the left. If not, at least try a hatha yoga class, the therapeutic benefits may take longer without the aid of the heat, but the postures in Bikram yoga are based on hatha yoga.

Happy strengthening and stretching and sweating. The end.