I turned on the car radio this afternoon and there were the Mamas and the Papas! I instantaneously beamed back to 1965 and Cousin Brucey, and my green and yellow bedroom, and to tearing orange juice can rollers out of my hair with relief, and crowding into the bathroom mirror to see how my sister, Margie, applied her eyeliner, (one sliver-thin black line piggy backed by an identical white one) and I felt the rush of insecurities and wonder at this new world that we had landed in the year before when we moved to suburbia New York from India. I think the most useful transitional tool for this move was my little gray transistor radio. Margie’s was brown. We slept in the same room but when the morning “Time to get up girls” sounded from downstairs, we each turned our radios on and zoomed about the upstairs. Those songs, that music, was this new world. If we could know these and feel them we would belong.
I wonder if I ever really listened to the words of “California Dreaming”. I couldn’t fathom California then. Now, forty-five years later, it is my home and though I spent my first five years here “Manhattan Dreaming” , I am fully here now. The title makes me laugh out loud. The nostalgic innocence that those words illicit and the truth of this moment.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
August 21
An empty bed with a single red rose on the pillow where your adorable world weary golden head had lain only a few hours before.
Margaret, your name means ‘pearl’. “”Meditate on ‘I am a pearl’” I said and you said “Boy, you’re good”. I held your body while you braced for a thousand jabs when your veins had collapsed from too much chemo. I held your head when tears ran down your face because John wasn’t comfortable with hospitals. Your triathalon muscles continued to fight the fight when your inner organs began to shut down. After an entire lifetime of shared intimacies and friends and homes and triumphs and frustrations and competitions and learning to dance and be free, and you, my younger sister by twenty months, how can I not feel that you are central to my life?
We waited for hours on the deck of the Alaskan cruise ship, you huddled in a blanket in your wheelchair and I pacing and blowing on my hands to keep warm. We waited for your whales to leap and show themselves. You looked beyond to the hills and said “I should be out there climbing those ridges, not stuck here. Who am I?”
And then the moment came. After two years of “I will not say ‘good-bye’ to my boys! I won’t! They’re too young! I want to know them. I want to see them grow. I want to know them as men. I want them to know me. I will not say good-bye!” You turned to me on the last day of our cruise. Your dream: to see Alaska and the whales before you went. You patted the floor next to where you were sitting and I sat down next to you. “I’m not going to eat any more.” You said. Those huge dark, round eyes looking into mine. ‘Good-bye, Francie”.
Margaret, your name means ‘pearl’. “”Meditate on ‘I am a pearl’” I said and you said “Boy, you’re good”. I held your body while you braced for a thousand jabs when your veins had collapsed from too much chemo. I held your head when tears ran down your face because John wasn’t comfortable with hospitals. Your triathalon muscles continued to fight the fight when your inner organs began to shut down. After an entire lifetime of shared intimacies and friends and homes and triumphs and frustrations and competitions and learning to dance and be free, and you, my younger sister by twenty months, how can I not feel that you are central to my life?
We waited for hours on the deck of the Alaskan cruise ship, you huddled in a blanket in your wheelchair and I pacing and blowing on my hands to keep warm. We waited for your whales to leap and show themselves. You looked beyond to the hills and said “I should be out there climbing those ridges, not stuck here. Who am I?”
And then the moment came. After two years of “I will not say ‘good-bye’ to my boys! I won’t! They’re too young! I want to know them. I want to see them grow. I want to know them as men. I want them to know me. I will not say good-bye!” You turned to me on the last day of our cruise. Your dream: to see Alaska and the whales before you went. You patted the floor next to where you were sitting and I sat down next to you. “I’m not going to eat any more.” You said. Those huge dark, round eyes looking into mine. ‘Good-bye, Francie”.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Obie's Paw
Obie, Obie, Obie, of the giant, furry, bear like feet. I adore those precious feet of yours and just the mention of them has me visualizing them flying down the bike path in a golden blur. What a glorious creature you are! And more dear to my heart than words can express.
So WHAT IS IT WITH YOUR PAWS???????? Three broken toes in a year!!!!!!
The first two were understandable as they came about by innocent, passionate means. The first? You were running at a break neck speed to retrieve your green tennis ball and slid into home plate, a true success but alas, a toe caught and tore in the process. The second time, almost a ditto. You were running amuck in a wild puppy moment and another toe caught on a root. But this third toe, this there is no justification for and I’m having to deal with my own upset over the actual incident and put it behind me while you limp around in your purple bandage.
You had been left to hold the fort with Olive (an Australian shepherd) and Ben (a fourteen year old hound mix) when a UPS man came to deliver a 35-pound tool in a box. This man was apparently caught off guard by three woofing dogs. Now I take a step back.
HOW ON EARTH does a mailman or UPS man not come prepared for such a situation externally and internally? How is it that he panics at the sight of three non violent, loud mouth four-leggeds and does one bodily harm? Obie got caught. The UPS man heaved his 35-pound box at the dogs and it landed on Obie’s foot. A totally crushed baby toe. My angel. Softest heart in the world. Innocent and confused and with a searingly painful toe from out of the blue. The vet has him bandaged royally and there will be no running for at least one month. The toe will never unsquash.
Oh Obie, you will figure out how to deal with it., your joie de vive, your love of letting loose in the windy salt air, your undauntible spirit and your smile!
How blessed we are that you chose us.
You beautiful teacher, you.
So WHAT IS IT WITH YOUR PAWS???????? Three broken toes in a year!!!!!!
The first two were understandable as they came about by innocent, passionate means. The first? You were running at a break neck speed to retrieve your green tennis ball and slid into home plate, a true success but alas, a toe caught and tore in the process. The second time, almost a ditto. You were running amuck in a wild puppy moment and another toe caught on a root. But this third toe, this there is no justification for and I’m having to deal with my own upset over the actual incident and put it behind me while you limp around in your purple bandage.
You had been left to hold the fort with Olive (an Australian shepherd) and Ben (a fourteen year old hound mix) when a UPS man came to deliver a 35-pound tool in a box. This man was apparently caught off guard by three woofing dogs. Now I take a step back.
HOW ON EARTH does a mailman or UPS man not come prepared for such a situation externally and internally? How is it that he panics at the sight of three non violent, loud mouth four-leggeds and does one bodily harm? Obie got caught. The UPS man heaved his 35-pound box at the dogs and it landed on Obie’s foot. A totally crushed baby toe. My angel. Softest heart in the world. Innocent and confused and with a searingly painful toe from out of the blue. The vet has him bandaged royally and there will be no running for at least one month. The toe will never unsquash.
Oh Obie, you will figure out how to deal with it., your joie de vive, your love of letting loose in the windy salt air, your undauntible spirit and your smile!
How blessed we are that you chose us.
You beautiful teacher, you.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Mount of Olive
One spring weekend, lifetimes ago, my best friend, Samm and I escaped our New England prep school and hitchhiked up to her parents’ vacation home in Jeffersonville, Vermont. Nothing that she and I did together was ordinary and this adventure could so easily have ended in tragedy. We were picked up by a man who claimed to be an auctioneer and immediately charmed us with wild stories in syncopated language, when we suddenly realized that we were being driven the opposite way from where we were headed. When we questioned him he totally ignored us and we chose to jump out of the speeding car. We were ‘rescued’ by a caring, fatherly man and driven to within a mile of our destination, being lectured passionately the whole way about the evils of hitch-hiking. We heard him. The moment he was out of sight we stood looking at a pasture full of cows, in grateful wonder, and at the same split second we each noticed that one of the cows had a hoof poking out from her rear. Amidst chaotic scrambling and language we found the farmer whose cow it was and we three delivered the baby calf in the barn...together.
That evening, lounging by candlelight to the music of Judy Collins and a dinner of spam and peanut brittle, Samm climbed up on a chair and unhooked a prism from an elegant chandelier that was hanging over the dining room table. She held it up to my face, slowly twilrling it around and she said “You know what this is, Plum?” “Yes” I said, “It’s a prism”, and she laughed with a guffaw that only she could rally at such a time,. and she said ‘NO IT ISN’T!”
Silence as I re-grouped from her spell breaking outburst and she continued to stare at and twiddle the glass object in the candlelight.
“It’s a many things”.
“A many things?”
“Yes. Hold it up to your eyes and look all around you and you will see that everything changes with the slightest turn. Each of its sides is different so the light reflects the images differently and nothing looks the same, ever.”
Oh Samm, you brilliant shining star, I miss you. You were too much for this world!
Right now we live on a mountain top with Olive and Ben, two canines, though Olive truly rules the roost. Every evening I drive and sit for an eternity in traffic and then, with one simple turn off of Figueora, I’m at the base of the mountain. My windows roll down and I take a deep breath. I can’t help but think that I’m ascending into heaven as I wind and climb and wind and climb up it’s steep and narrow road, into the light and quiet of this land above the din. A whole world up here that many locals don’t even know exists. Coyotes roam, skunks run amuck, winds howl, fennel grows wild. And so it is, my ascension of the Mount of Olive, and as I look out I can hear Samm’s laugh and I see many things.
That evening, lounging by candlelight to the music of Judy Collins and a dinner of spam and peanut brittle, Samm climbed up on a chair and unhooked a prism from an elegant chandelier that was hanging over the dining room table. She held it up to my face, slowly twilrling it around and she said “You know what this is, Plum?” “Yes” I said, “It’s a prism”, and she laughed with a guffaw that only she could rally at such a time,. and she said ‘NO IT ISN’T!”
Silence as I re-grouped from her spell breaking outburst and she continued to stare at and twiddle the glass object in the candlelight.
“It’s a many things”.
“A many things?”
“Yes. Hold it up to your eyes and look all around you and you will see that everything changes with the slightest turn. Each of its sides is different so the light reflects the images differently and nothing looks the same, ever.”
Oh Samm, you brilliant shining star, I miss you. You were too much for this world!
Right now we live on a mountain top with Olive and Ben, two canines, though Olive truly rules the roost. Every evening I drive and sit for an eternity in traffic and then, with one simple turn off of Figueora, I’m at the base of the mountain. My windows roll down and I take a deep breath. I can’t help but think that I’m ascending into heaven as I wind and climb and wind and climb up it’s steep and narrow road, into the light and quiet of this land above the din. A whole world up here that many locals don’t even know exists. Coyotes roam, skunks run amuck, winds howl, fennel grows wild. And so it is, my ascension of the Mount of Olive, and as I look out I can hear Samm’s laugh and I see many things.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Ode to Melanie
In a flash! The daughter that I know now as a grown woman in luscious full bloom shuffles back and forth in my mind’s eye to the infant, the child, the emerging teen, the young woman to now. Back and forth, back and forth, is this what birthdays do to us mothers?
The pregnancy, the birth, the dawn of the getting to know, the expressions, the passions and fears, the strengths and talents, the achilles heels, the favorite foods and ways of eating, the first step and posture and gait, the tiny triumphs, the phenomenal triumphs, the losses and positioning around disappointments.
The duck feedings, Mardi Gras beads, beach romps, petosky hunting, shrimp fishing, piano recitals, flower sniffing, Nutcracker seasons, moo shoo, horse back riding, theater classes, cotillion, auditions, Oxford, NCSA, USC, plays, plays, plays, yoga, laughter, tears, truths, beauty.
Strawberries and chicken in biskits, one candle, giant doughnut, two candles, angel food cake, three candles, anticipation, tears, relief, five, six, seven, eight, nine candles, pinata, ten candles, blurrrrrrrrrrrr.
Love beyond love.
Thank you Melanie for choosing me.
Happy Birthday my darling.
The pregnancy, the birth, the dawn of the getting to know, the expressions, the passions and fears, the strengths and talents, the achilles heels, the favorite foods and ways of eating, the first step and posture and gait, the tiny triumphs, the phenomenal triumphs, the losses and positioning around disappointments.
The duck feedings, Mardi Gras beads, beach romps, petosky hunting, shrimp fishing, piano recitals, flower sniffing, Nutcracker seasons, moo shoo, horse back riding, theater classes, cotillion, auditions, Oxford, NCSA, USC, plays, plays, plays, yoga, laughter, tears, truths, beauty.
Strawberries and chicken in biskits, one candle, giant doughnut, two candles, angel food cake, three candles, anticipation, tears, relief, five, six, seven, eight, nine candles, pinata, ten candles, blurrrrrrrrrrrr.
Love beyond love.
Thank you Melanie for choosing me.
Happy Birthday my darling.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The House of Fame and Honors
And so I see that astrologically my ruling planet is moving (and that means me) into the house of fame and honors for the next two and a half years! Deep breath, is this a ‘like it or not?’
No, no, no. The stars are lined up to support such a thing but we get to choose. Always.
I remember once upon a time when I was living in New York City, chatting with a friend on the way to an art opening at the Guggenheim, and saying “Someday my tapestries and I shall be famous! You will see!” And he said “Why would you want that? Isn’t it enough to have a passion and a skill and simply be able to DO them? You don’t know how blessed you are! The rest means nothing.”
Adam’s words connected me back to that simple truth that I knew but had strayed from. How is it that we meander from such fundamental knowings and then hitch our wagons to stars so far afield that we miss the heaven that we are in.
And so, dear planets, bring it on! And swoop me in if you will! I intend to steer my magical carpet according to my heart’s conscious desire, and of course I welcome all support!
Amen.
No, no, no. The stars are lined up to support such a thing but we get to choose. Always.
I remember once upon a time when I was living in New York City, chatting with a friend on the way to an art opening at the Guggenheim, and saying “Someday my tapestries and I shall be famous! You will see!” And he said “Why would you want that? Isn’t it enough to have a passion and a skill and simply be able to DO them? You don’t know how blessed you are! The rest means nothing.”
Adam’s words connected me back to that simple truth that I knew but had strayed from. How is it that we meander from such fundamental knowings and then hitch our wagons to stars so far afield that we miss the heaven that we are in.
And so, dear planets, bring it on! And swoop me in if you will! I intend to steer my magical carpet according to my heart’s conscious desire, and of course I welcome all support!
Amen.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Ecstacy!
I am joy! Whirling and twirling and racing by the sea whilst meditating and manifesting, look out world! I shall surely burst, any second, into a million dandelion fluffs. And if you happen to catch one, make a wish, because it will come true.
This has happened before, many times. I have been accused by family members of being too happy on a multitude of occasions and begged to simmer down. I can behave and postpone but once the cork has popped, God has spoken.
Once upon a time I read a book called “Letters to Theo” which was a collection of letters that Vincent van Gogh wrote to his brother, Theo. He spoke of many things, amongst which the ebb and flow of relationships and life. I have just ridden a month-long road of wings folded around myself. Emotional and creative hibernation, withdrawal from friends and from the lapping of life, and for no reason at all, as suddenly as the opposite hovered and stole me away (the way the monkey princess in Babar was kidnapped by the black cloud) I kundilinied into this moment. This liveness. This joy. This fresh beginning.
“Oh world! I cannot hold thee close enough!”
This is true.
And so the dance is on.
This has happened before, many times. I have been accused by family members of being too happy on a multitude of occasions and begged to simmer down. I can behave and postpone but once the cork has popped, God has spoken.
Once upon a time I read a book called “Letters to Theo” which was a collection of letters that Vincent van Gogh wrote to his brother, Theo. He spoke of many things, amongst which the ebb and flow of relationships and life. I have just ridden a month-long road of wings folded around myself. Emotional and creative hibernation, withdrawal from friends and from the lapping of life, and for no reason at all, as suddenly as the opposite hovered and stole me away (the way the monkey princess in Babar was kidnapped by the black cloud) I kundilinied into this moment. This liveness. This joy. This fresh beginning.
“Oh world! I cannot hold thee close enough!”
This is true.
And so the dance is on.
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