Ilana Maletz

Saying Goodbye To My Dad 8

On January 18th, 2021 I lost my dad. This happened only six months after I had suffered the loss of my mother. When it became clear his final days were upon us, I remember thinking I wasn’t ready to face another huge loss so soon. But this was never going to be a choice. This was going to be one of those moments when the universe put me in my place, showing me quite plainly that nothing at all was under my control.

My Dad’s passing was a gradual winding down beginning in mid October when he fell and cracked a vertebrae, that ultimately ended him up in the hospital. This accident happened as the COVID-19 pandemic was gaining momentum throughout the western United States, where my family lives. The hospital protocols for COVID allowed for only one visitor in the room at a time, and once you left the room you could not return for 24 hours. The policy ratcheted up the level of stress and exhaustion for my dad, my step mom, Judy, and my sisters, bringing it to a worrisome level.

My dad was in the hospital for a few days, when the doctors began to talk about discharging him. He was still very weak, in need of a lot of assistance, and his level of care was definitely more than my family could handle on their own, but space was at a premium in the hospital, so the doctors arranged to transfer him to a rehab facility. Given how hard COVID-19 had hit rehab and nursing home facilities, their pandemic policies were even stricter. There were no visitations allowed at all. We could call him, but the closest anyone could get to seeing my dad was to stand outside the facility in the November cold, just below his window, and call up to him. My dad suffered from Alzheimer’s, and this separation from family was traumatizing and impossible for him to understand. He wasn’t aware there was a pandemic, he didn’t even believe he’d broken a vertebrae. He kept insisting that they had confused him with another elderly doctor. He was fine. A terrible mistake had been made. Whenever we would call he would beg for us to get him out of there and bring him home. He gave his phone number to anyone who came to his room to care for him, pleading with them to just call his family so they could come rescue him from this horrible mistake that had been made.

What else could we do? We rescued him. We arranged for 24/7 care at home, and Mark and I flew out in early November wanting to help the family navigate all the chaos of these unchartered waters. It took my dad a few days to realize he was safe again. In his bad moments, when he couldn’t remember, and his anxiety levels would climb, he would recite his phone number and ask us to call his family. We kept reassuring him that he was exactly where he wanted to be, safe and at home.

By the time Mark and I had to fly back, it was clear the ordeal of the hospital and rehab was receding. He knew where he was and who he was with. He was really happy to be home, but he barely ate or drank, and he refused to work with the physical therapist. He just wanted to lie in bed or sit in his chair by the fire, with his little dog, Sam, perched atop the back cushion (as was Sam’s habit). He got on well with the caretakers, and as long as he could see and hear Judy nearby his world felt safe and complete. By early December, the physical therapist declared it was time to stop services, it was clear there was not going to be a recovery. My dad had come home to die. Hospice was brought in and we began our final vigil as each day he ate, drank and moved around less and less.

Around this time, COVID-19 made a much more dramatic entrance into my family’s life. It began at first by striking a couple of the aides who had been helping us. At first we all believed the family had dodged a bullet as everyone came back with a negative test result. The aides recovered and were soon able to return to work. But the pandemic was now spreading dramatically all through the Denver area, and one cold December day I got the call that Judy had tested positive. In my life, I have been blessed by three very different mothers; my mom, my step mom, and my mother-in-law. I have been loved and shaped by each of them, and I have loved them all deeply in return. Judy is the last of that triad left to me now. The thought of losing her too had me clenching my jaw and pacing the floors. She isolated herself in the guest bedroom, and we all began a second vigil closely tracking the course of the illness through Judy’s body. My dad valiantly tried to storm the ramparts, uncertain why Judy was being locked away from him, but the aides were able to dissuade him, and Judy was able to talk to him through the door trying to help him see why this was for his own safety. Eventually he settled down waiting for her to get well and come back to him. As for my sisters and I, we watched. At day ten we all allowed ourselves to breathe a sigh of relief and began to wonder when it would be safe for Judy to reunite with my dad. Dad made that decision for us. He took a turn for the worse, becoming so weak that the aides needed Judy’s help to adequately care for him.

A hospital bed was brought in, and my dad no longer tried to get up. I would sit with Judy, and an ever changing scene of my sisters, their husbands and their children as we all gathered around his bedside for hours each day. I say I sat, but in reality I was held, in someone’s phone or ipad, all of us joined together by an app that had become a life line called Houseparty. The app worked so well that even my Dad thought I was there in the room with him. I sang to him, I visited with family, I met the visiting nurses and home care professionals.

As the days went on I kept my phone always close, never knowing when I would get the call to say he was gone. At one point, my family called to say that Dad was asking for me, wanting me to sing some more for him. It struck me just how long it had been since he’d asked for me by name. Over the past year, I had taken to starting each phone call with him by announcing I was his daughter, Ilana, calling from Connecticut. I did it to spare him any embarrassment or anxiety in exposing the degree of his memory loss. To know he had asked for me by name touched my heart so deeply. It indicated a level of awareness that we hadn’t had clear evidence of for a while. And indeed, as his body shut down more and more it seemed as if his mind became clearer, and that he often was aware of who we were, where he was, and comforted by our presence.

On the last night of his life, I sang to him again. At that point I didn’t realize this would be the last song I would sing to him in this life. When the song was done, however, our eyes met and we held each other’s gaze for what felt like a long time, maybe it was only seconds. He was too weak to speak, but when I told him I loved him, I saw his lips move, and I’m certain he was saying that he loved me too. The next day, my family called to tell me they thought he had taken his last breath. While we were on the phone, Judy exclaimed that there was another breath, and then finally it was done, the clock had run out, he was really gone.

That was over a month ago now. We held a zoom service that was lovely and family centered, where we honored his memory and told his story. I opened the service singing the song “You Raise Me Up.” As I sang, my grandson, Avery, (who was watching the service from my house alongside his mom and dad) got up and came over to me. I thought he wanted me to pick him up, so I did, even as I continued to sing. I was so focused on the song that I never realized until the end that his main purpose had been to give me a cracker from his snack plate. I think he wanted me to feel less sad and had determined that a cracker ought to do it. All my siblings took part in the service. Adi, Ron and Dan all gave heartfelt eulogies, Ann began to read “The Lord is My Shepherd,” but she broke down in tears. Then her son, Xavier, tried to read a beautiful poem about love and loss He also broke into tears. Ann stepped in and did for him what she hadn’t been able to do for herself, she read the words with strength and clarity until he was able to join back in. In a more formal setting neither of them would have dared to speak, but in this familiar setting, my Dad’s living room, they took a chance and gave us one of the sweetest moments of the service. Mark read some Hebrew prayers, we lit our memorial candles, and then concluded the zoom service by letting family and friends talk about their memories of my dad. All the stories made one thing very clear. My Dad was the kind of person who always ran toward those who were in need. He truly had healing hands. He didn’t need to know you, he didn’t even need to like you. It didn’t matter if you were so important to him that the fear of losing you might cripple him. Whenever faced with the choice, he never hesitated to use those hands to stop the pain, to save a life. After his long decline with Alzheimers, it felt so good to remember and reconnect with the man he had once been, the man he had chosen to be.

Three days after our memorial service we buried my dad with full military honors. We had been lucky finding a burial slot just a little over a week out after my dad’s passing. COVID had bereft so many families, and we knew of others who had needed to wait for weeks to bury their loved ones. Again, I was present at the service via zoom along with my husband and children and grandchildren. My brother in law did a great job helping us feel like we were there making sure we saw everything from the long drive in, which included a lengthy wait inside the car until it was safe for us to proceed to the pavilion assigned for our service. This wait was necessary because of the steady stream of funerals that carried on non-stop all through the day. Through the ipad’s camera, I saw the small gathering of my family around the flag draped casket; I heard the lone trumpet playing taps followed by the 21 gun salute; I sang to my family a prayer of healing for the living; I saw the honor guard fold up the flag and hand it to Judy; I went with everyone to the graveside where Mark recited more Hebrew prayers and the family threw flowers and sand from Israel on top of the casket. And then it was done, my dad was in his final resting place, and we were all left behind to navigate our grief.

That was late January, it is now early March. After 8 months and two painful losses I know some things about death that I didn’t know before. I learned that each loss feels different, it is as individual as each loved one who has departed. I had assumed that what helped me mourn my mom would help me mourn my dad. That was true up to a point, but each grief had to unfold in its own way and in its own time. Ultimately, what I had to face with both my parents was the need to just accept them as they were. They had made mistakes in their lives, but so have I, so have we all. None of us are meant to be perfect. When all the messy emotions were dredged up and held to the light of day, I discovered that none of what once had wounded me mattered anymore. The experience of what we’d shared together showed me the true measure of what we were to each other. All I felt now was an immense gratitude for their love, and for the chance I had been given to love them and share in their life’s journey.

From Generation to Generation 2

August and September have passed by so quickly. The heat and humidity have given way to cool nights. I can see the once green leaves of summer yellowing on the limbs, and fluttering to the ground. The tangy scent of their decay heralds a last glorious show of color before the trees settle in for winter’s deep sleep. This autumn, however, there is another kind of change in the air, one that feels dangerous, like the winter in Game of Thrones, capable of denying spring and summer their right to return. I am constantly reminding myself to breathe, to take heart, and have courage as the wild winds of 2020 rage around us. I take solace where I can, and recently I have found inspiration from an unlikely source.

I have been researching the decade leading up to World War One for my book, Ahote’s Path. It is one of my new year’s resolutions, to finish the book this year, but as 2020 blows all of us about, I find myself having to consider if I can make this timeline. I was very ill from February through early April, but May and June I regained my health and started to pick up steam on the book, making some good forward progress. As I wrote, I realized that I needed to do more research on events in the United States during the decade of 1910-1920. In late June, I identified and checked out from the library some promising sources. I hadn’t even started reading before learning that my mom’s health was failing. Then, in early July, I suffered a bad fall, hitting my head pretty hard. Two days later my mom passed away. Between grief and a concussion, I renewed those books three times before I ever found it possible to sit and read them. It was a welcome relief to immerse myself in history, and be, once again, curious and engaged.

It is this research where I found an unlikely source of comfort. I had studied World War One many years ago, in college, but as I read about it this time, I felt a deeper understanding of what it must have felt like to have lived it. Nearly four years of Donald Trump’s chaotic, self centered presidency have taught me first hand what it feels like to have our country’s values seriously undermined. I felt it helped me identify with what it might have been like to be an American citizen during President Wilson’s terms in office.

Woodrow Wilson was not like President Trump on the surface. He was an educated and well spoken man. But he was like Trump in that he was willing to sacrifice every principle upon which our nation stood to achieve his goals. I’m sure President Wilson would have argued that his goals were for the betterment of all humankind. He would have objected to being compared to Trump, whose goals appear to be more for the betterment of his own personal wealth. It is perhaps because of this sense of greater purpose that Wilson managed to do what Trump has so far desired but not attained. I am going to hold up some of Wilson’s actions, so you to see what an intelligent and motivated man was able to achieve once he started tearing at the fabric of American values.

Wilson enacted the Espionage Act, effectively turning dissent into treason. Hundreds of people we’re thrown in jail for voicing any opinions that didn’t align with Wilson’s war efforts. There was one account I read, where a man was sent to the workhouse for 90 days for handing out copies of the Declaration of Independence at a Fourth of July celebration. On the copies, the man had written one question, “Does your government live up to these principles?”

Millions of men were forced into conscription. Many went proudly, but any who questioned, protested, or felt morally opposed, were treated as traitors and sent to prison for years.

Most people have heard about the influenza pandemic of 1918-1919. It followed the war ravaged world around; a second, more deadly grim reaper, than the guns on the killing fields of Europe. Then (as now) Wilson’s government denied the seriousness of the disease. No one in the government would allow the pandemic to interfere with preparations for war. Crowded military bases kept churning out men, sending both the soldiers and the pandemic off into the world, spreading the virus far and wide. The ships soldiers traveled on to Europe became death ships, leaving in their wake a steady stream of dead bodies buried at sea. Even after the tide had solidly turned against the Germans, these death ships ran on at full capacity. In the end, the final death toll from the pandemic was officially declared to be 20 million people world wide, but there are later estimates by historians that say that number was more likely have to been 50-100 million.

Wilson put into place a Committee of Public Information. It’s purpose was to create a war fever among the populace. They did so by spreading propaganda, selling the American people not only on the necessity, but on the higher purpose of this war. There ensued a crusade of conformity and mob mentality that eased Wilson’s path in dismantling the principles of democracy.

In the name of the war effort, Wilson conferred broad censorship rights on the Postmaster General, Albert Burleson, an extremely prejudiced man, whose biases went unchecked in what he chose to censor and refuse to post.

Wilson waged an all out war on unions. Nothing could be allowed to stop the production of materials needed for the war effort. Labor disturbances were viewed as treasonable offenses, and labor leaders were all labeled as German agents.

In the name of the war effort, Wilson made a proclamation seizing the control of the nation’s railway system, putting it under a new Federal Railway administration.

Prohibition had been a cause floating around American politics for years, but it was finally put into law under Wilson’s presidency because America needed clear headed soldiers and a sober populace to service the war effort.

Even the constitutional amendment of the right of women to vote, a bright spot in Wilson’s legacy, might not have happened then if not for the war effort. American women had been striving and failing to meet this goal for decades. Their intensified protests during the heat of the war became a damaging ordeal for the President and the Democrats. In 1918, Wilson was forced to concede that an amendment on women’s right to vote was both just and necessary for the war effort.

I think I’ve given you enough to see that the war effort substantially changed the United States, turning it into something frighteningly dystopian. Back then, Woodrow Wilson claimed that this sacrifice would be for the betterment of the world, but if that was the case, then his part in the drafting of the treaty of Versailles was a betrayal of everything he believed in. It was a vengeful and rapacious document. Instead of bringing an end to all war, it set the stage for a second world war, and more than a century of worldwide unrest.

I realize that none of this sounds at all like a likely source for solace, but it gave me a perspective of our current times that I hadn’t considered before. Wilson’s war fever spell was shattered by his failure with the Treaty of Versailles. As he faltered, it was the everyday folk of America who started to pick up the pieces. I know some of the people who brushed off that dirt, stood themselves back up, and started rebuilding their lives. They were my grandparents. For them, ordeals were nothing new. They’d already escaped from the pograms of Russia. They’d persevered through the difficulties of starting a completely new life in a whole new county. They had just survived the Great War, and the pandemic. At the war’s end, they were all still in their late teens or just entering their 20’s. America was a mess, there were loud and angry debates from Capital Hill, there were race riots, police riots and acts of terrorism, but nevertheless, my family, and many others like them, moved forward from that point, getting married, building careers, having babies, continuing a cycle of generations into which we were all born. The Great War would not be the end of the travails awaiting them. They would go on to survive the political and social upheavals of a stock market crash, a great depression, a dust bowl, a second world war, a cold war, and some of them even made it beyond that, catching a glimpse of the ordeals that awaited their great grandchildren.

The times we are in right now are unsettling, but we are not the first humans to live through unsettling times. Taking this journey back to when my grandparents were young, reminded me of how to go forward. Just live each day, love your family, meet the challenges to your best ability, and have faith that life will go on. There will always be people casting their spells, driven by a need to be noticed and admired. Perhaps the way to end the cycle of human ordeals, is for us to fully grasp that a better world for all can never be built from war. It needs to be built with compassion, wisdom, the right use of power. It requires faith and courage, kindness and forgiveness. It requires us to protect the lives entrusted to us from generation to generation. The way to a better world is through love.

I’m going to leave you with some family pictures of days in the sun, filled with family, filled with love. Memories to keep us warm on chilly fall nights and the winter that’s coming.

My Heart’s Song 10

I lost my mom on July 6, 2020. It wasn’t directly caused by the pandemic, but I suspect the virus played a part indirectly. My mom had so many health issues that when COVID-19 struck, she and my older brother (her constant companion and incredible caretaker) were forced to shut themselves away from all the things they loved to do.

My mother has always fully embraced life. There have been some hard knocks for her to endure, but she’s always gotten back up and fought hard to keep going. The year 2020, with its terrible capacity for destruction, proved to be the exception. It carried my mother away in the wee hours of a Monday morning.

I always knew losing my mom would hurt, but when the wave of grief struck me, it was harder and more painful than I could ever have imagined. My mother and I have had a difficult journey together. I think it started out positively. She instilled in me a love of creativity, richly populated with the enchanted realms of make believe. She also introduced me to the idea that everything was possible if you wanted it badly enough. It was an ever present theme in the stories she read to me, the songs she sung to me, and the games that we played. But then, our lives took a dramatic downward turn. Like a proper Grimm’s fairytale, the catastrophes that struck our family were threefold. First, my grandfather (who she adored) suffered a heart attack and passed away. Not long after, my older brother, then only six years old, was hit by a car and suffered a serious concussion. The final blow was the failure of my parent’s marriage. All of this devastated my mom. She still believed in impossible dreams, but I think what changed was how much she needed for these dreams to become reality. I think it is where my mother and I took our first misstep, one that would haunt us for decades.

During my mom’s funeral, as I listened to the eulogies, I realized that there were two very different versions of my mother out there in the world. One was of a courageous woman who never let life defeat her. She was a single mom who struggled to put herself through graduate school, earning her PhD in early childhood development. She was a woman with a gift for helping children to learn, changing so many lives that her desk drawers are crammed full of letters sent to her from grateful students and parents. She also possessed a protective energy that drew every stray cat and wounded bird in the neighborhood to her doorstep. It affected the many pets she had over the years, including the parakeets in her yard, who turned out to be shockingly fertile. Every time I would visit, more would appear in the large aviary in her yard. She was a garden witch. Every green thing she touched grew and flourished. Walking into her back yard was like stepping into an enchanted garden, guarded by large redwood trees shading and protecting the yard and the aviary.

As I listened to the eulogies I realized how much of what I like about myself now I got from my mother. But, my experience of my mom as I was growing up was a different one. I have always felt that I was very unlike her, more like my dad. She was lively, flirtatious, a great beauty who was always noticed when she entered a room. I was none of those things. But, I felt like she wanted me to be. She was always trying to improve me, and it felt to me that she was never able to just accept me the way I was. The end result was that I got very defensive. It got to a point where she couldn’t say anything to me without me taking it the wrong way.

As the years went on and I married and had children of my own, I did look for ways to improve our relationship, and so did she. Things did get better, but our long, painful history together still stood between us, stopping us from fully trusting what was really in each other’s’ hearts.

Seven years ago, my mom had a stroke. It was a bad one. She fought hard to gain back what she could of herself, but she never really walked again, and it was more difficult for her to express her thoughts. She could do it, but she had to really work at it, think about what she said before she could give it voice. It didn’t leave any room for her critical voice. She had to save her strength for the things that mattered most to her. For the first time in many years, what I heard from my mom was how much she loved me, how much she wanted to be with me. That was all I ever really wanted to hear from her. It took us the better part of both of our lifetimes, but we were finally able to put the past aside. For the last seven years of my mom’s life, we were at last truly able to enjoy the truth of what bound us together.

When it became clear to me that my time with my Mom was running out, at first, I was frantic. The need to go see her was so strong, but with the pandemic, it was clear that there was no way to safely do so. It was a very bitter pill to swallow, but I’d learned from my mother that obstacles were meant to be overcome, so I looked for another meaningful way to be with her.

My mom has always loved my singing. Long before I was brave enough to share my voice with the world, she was always asking me to sing for her. I wish I could tell you that I happily obliged her, but the truth is I was embarrassed to do it. If I could rewrite history I would tell that little girl to take the risk, to get past the embarrassment, and sing for her mother. I was fully an adult before I realized that my mom didn’t just love to hear me sing because it made her proud of me. My voice was something much more than that to her. It was a direct line to her heart, to her spirit. In my mom’s final days, when I couldn’t be there to hold her hand, I held her in my heart and I sang to her. Sometimes she sang with me, sometimes she was too weak to listen to more than a song or two, but every time I sang, she came back to me and we reestablished that vibrant connection of love that flowed between us. On the last night of her life, I sang to her. I didn’t know it would be the last night, but I knew that time was running out for the songs I would sing to her. I sang with my heart full of all I felt for her. I told her how much I loved her, and she told me she loved me. I hope I made up for that little girl, because I held nothing back.

My mom’s funeral was done via Zoom. I sang to her one last time, from my living room, with my daughter, Jamie singing with me in case I faltered. We sang one of my mom’s all time favorite songs, “The Impossible Dream.” The words that moved my mom most were these: “To fight for the right, without question or pause, to be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause.” If you want to know what legacy she passed along to all three of her children, it is here in this song, this strong belief that you never stop trying.

As I grieve for her now, I find myself reflecting on how we are all both light and dark. What hurts me the most, as I think about this, is that I spent so many years trying to protect myself from her darker side, and that I missed out on what was also right in front of me, the light we shared. I take some comfort in knowing that we never stopped trying. We came to it late, but together we found a way to change direction, to open our hearts. No matter how heavy my regrets, my experience with my mom has taught me that the journey from dark to light is no small accomplishment. It required us both to not just change our minds, but to change our hearts. Some people call this a miracle. I think they might be right.

Awakenings 4

Spring has sprung in all its colorful, full throated glory. Robin redbreasts search my grass for worms, a morning dove hatched three babies in a nest above my kitchen door. One of the nestlings took it’s first flight just as far as the porch railing and then sat there for hours uncertain of his ability to fly back. The fox is a frequent visitor, trotting around the newly leafed oak trees, getting Lucy all riled up as he sniffs my flowers. Hawks are pairing up, calling out as they circle around each other overhead. In short, no one has told Spring to self isolate. She isn’t the slightest troubled by our pandemic woes. There are times I can’t help but wonder if indeed she is trying to put her best foot forward because she knows there’s not a whole lot we can do right now except to notice her, to listen to her. We are spring’s captive audience.

The first thing I noticed when we all just stopped was the silence. I had missed that kind of quiet ever since we’d relocated to the East Coast. Even in the lovely, wooded setting of our new home, the sounds of humanity are often loud and invasive. It was jarring for me, after the years I’d spent in the stillness of the desert. That was where I’d first learned how life changing quiet could be. Without the cacophony of human endeavors, I could hear the wind rolling like a wave through the pines, I could hear all kinds of birdsong, insect buzzing, the beating of hummingbird wings. But, most importantly, as I sunk deeper into the silence, I found I could hear the earth sing. It is an ever present pitch, deep and resonant, and once you know where to look for it, you can always find it. It vibrates all around us, and from within us. It connects us.

When the pandemic started shutting the world down, and human activity came to a screeching halt, I heard people everywhere commenting on being able to hear the natural world. They spoke with awe, with joy, of something they hadn’t even realized they’d been missing. I know I am not the only one to wonder if this pandemic might have some important things to teach us about the value of slowing down, of taking the time to listen, not just to Spring’s glorious soundtrack, but also to each other. We’re all in this together is not just a catch phrase, it is the reality of our existence. We can not prevail against this virus, or others that we are assured will also come, unless we fully comprehend just how interconnected we all truly are.

When the planes, and the cars and the factories all stopped, it was surprising to discover how quickly the air cleared. I heard an NPR story about how in only a matter of days, the Himalayan mountains emerged from behind the smog of Dehli’s relentless human activity. I wondered what it felt like to those city dwellers when they first looked up to find all evidence of their industry vanished like a puff of smoke. Those majestic peaks emerged so quickly, emphasizing for everyone what was permanent and what was not. Was nature attempting to speak plainly to us? Was she asking us to consider that the solution to many of our global problems might be to embrace a different mind set about business as usual? What if we shifted our perspective of what it meant to get ahead in this world? What if we changed the focus from taking advantage of people and resources to taking care of them? It is literally the change of a single word to make this shift. What we need in this moment is to be thoughtful and far sighted. What we need in this moment is to make a choice about who we want to be.

High in the Himalayan mountains, there is a small suburb of Dharmshala called McLeod Ganj. It is the home of the Dalai Lama and of several Buddhist monasteries. Everyday, the Dalai Lama and the monks pray for an end to all suffering, and for all life everywhere to experience enlightenment. The pursuit of enlightenment is not for oneself, it is for the benefit of all life everywhere. Saving ourselves requires us to save each other.

Friday was my 62nd birthday. It was a small party, just our little Connecticut family bubble, Mark, Jamie, David, Natalie and Avery, but it was one of the loveliest birthdays, very spiritual in nature. The desert had taken quite a toll on my flower essence collection, so much so that I’d stopped using them for several years. Only a handful of bottles remained to me, so for my birthday gift this year, I asked the kids to replenish my Green Hope Farm collection. Those lovely, little blue bottles always arrive exuding such positive vibrations, and they definitely set the tone for the birthday. Avery was immediately enthralled by them, and was not only eager, but very insistent about trying them.

The flower essences had stirred forgotten memories in David and Natalie, and they found themselves wanting to delve deeper spiritually. They asked if we could pull out the Native American Medicine cards, which we also hadn’t used in years. Everyone pulled cards that showed us lot about ourselves, and things we hadn’t fully realized about each other. Even Avery drew three cards. We were all delighted by how well those animal totems fit his toddler personality.

I drew Crow, which resonated strongly with me.

A crow enjoying the stillness of our little village

The message focused on how human law is not the same as Sacred law, that there is a higher order of right and wrong, that one shouldn’t be afraid of being a voice in the wilderness. You must stand in your truth, and “caw”, make it heard. I followed Crow’s advice when it was time to blow out my candles. Avery was eager to help, but I had to make him wait long enough for me to capture the birthday wish just right. I wished for an end to all suffering and a pathway of enlightenment for all beings everywhere.

The best gift I had this birthday was a wonderful family closeness, a sharing of our deepest selves with one another, a very joyful coming together. I hope there are many more days ahead just like that, not only for me and mine, but for everyone, everywhere.

What I’ll Always Remember 7

This had been an unsettling week, with the stock market tanking and the news about COVID-19 growing more dire. Amid all this, I find myself facing a very bittersweet milestone. Our house in Sedona, after two years on the market, sold today. When the call came saying that closing was done, I felt this small crack in my heart. It is really and truly time to say good-bye to a very special time in my life.

I have lots of wonderful memories to look back on. There were Jamie’s many cast bonding weekends, where she filled my house with people and music as she made her initial foray into producing her own works. There were so many wonderful family gatherings, where the people I loved sat around my huge dining room table, heaped with food that increasingly was organic, home grown, and made from scratch as the years went by. There was my prolific peach and apricot harvests, that often overwhelmed me to the point of tears in the summer, but were so appreciated all the way into the months of winter. I will always remember the sky there. The sun and moon did their best work casting their glow over the red rocks as they rose and set. God’s rays pierced through storm clouds casting beams of light across the desert. Double rainbows set everything aglow after the monsoons passed through. And, oh, the night sky, so vast and filled with millions of stars. I really miss that big beautiful sky.

The thing I’ll remember most dearly, though, will be the long walks in the desert. The dramatic vistas, the unpredictable weather and wild life encounters, the amazing energy vibrating all around me, those walks were the inspiration that ultimately led to my writing and publishing Cha’risa’s Gift. I was never alone in my desert wanderings. I got to share that time in the desert with a partner who treasured that freedom and adventure as much as I did. I speak, of course, of my sweet golden retriever, Lucy.

I’ve been reflecting on the time in Sedona with Lucy a lot lately, not just because the house sold, but because of something I recently read. I’ve been reading a series of books written by David Michie about the Dalai Lama’s cat. If you haven’t read any of them, I highly recommend them. They are delightfully written; a foray into Buddhist philosophy that comes from the perspective of this irreverent, vain, little cat. The first in the series is called The Dalai Lama’s Cat, just in case you would also like to read a summary of Tibetan Buddhist wisdom from a cat’s perspective. The bit I want to talk about though comes from Michie’s latest book, The Dalai Lama’s Cat and The Four Paws of Spiritual Success. This book covers a lot of enlightening ground, but there was one section that talked very specifically about the pets in our lives that just really made me sit up and take a good long look at my dog. The book asserts that pets who enjoy good homes are there because they have very good karma. These treasured pets are sojourning with us, because there is some deeper karmic connection between us, and they have come to this safe place to use up the last bits of negative karma they possess before achieving enlightenment.

I can’t tell you how much I love this idea, that Lucy is spending the final leg of her journey toward enlightenment with me. I’ve always felt such a strong connection with her, starting from the moment we picked her out of the litter. If what she needs to achieve enlightenment is to be surrounded by good energy, than I feel like all the meditating she has done with me, and all the frolicking in the vortex energies of Sedona have served her well. I love that I have been able to provide her with the emotional, physical, and spiritual support that such a special being desires.

Lucy and I have helped each other in ways we probably can’t fully comprehend. Now, we are once again facing an unfamiliar trail. We have changed the desert for a coastal habitat, red rocks for forests. Some things have been lost, but some things have been gained. Whatever comes next for the two of us, understanding even this tiny bit about our connection makes me feel so blessed. It certainly has helped with the little crack in my heart. When I meditate each morning, Lucy is still beside me, enjoying the silence, drinking in the flows of Reiki. The Sedona house is a closed chapter, but Lucy and I are traveling new roads together. And thanks to some Buddhist wisdom imparted to me by a cat, I am more aware of just how special the bond between us truly is.

I just spent an entire post talking about my dog, and the Dalai Lama’s cat, and Sedona, so to even things out a bit, I am including some family photos, some special winter moments to tide everyone over until the next time. It has actually been a rough winter for us. The whole family has been sick a lot. But even so, Mark and I managed to go on a trip to Mexico with Jamie and our good friend AuBrie. Mark and I went into New York City to see a show Jamie produced. It was called “She Will Rock You,” and featured all women composers that Jamie had met and admired through her work at Maestra. It was a sold out house and an incredibly well received concert! And last but not least, we went with David, Natalie and Avery to Boston to attend PAX East. Something close to 3,000 people came through their booth! The game will be fully released next month. It has been a huge undertaking, so keep your fingers crossed for them!

at the aqarium
lunch with the lobsters
PAX East
Avery takes control 🙂

I’m wishing you all good health and well being through the next month. It looks like we’re all in for a bumpy ride. But spring is here, the birds are singing, the buds are awakening. Things have got to start looking up soon, right?

New Year’s Resolutions 2

On the first day of 2020, I was sitting in my sunroom, talking on the phone with my sister, when I looked out the window and saw a red fox walking across my patio. He was a bold, little creature. He jumped up onto the stone wall, sat down, and just looked at me, his eyes shining bright with intelligence. We held each other’s gaze for several moments. He never showed the slightest inclination to run, he merely cocked his head when he heard me exclaim to my sister that a fox had just come calling. He just kept staring at me as if he wanted me to consider something. My sister also thought I should consider that a fox coming to visit on the first day of new year had to be some kind of omen.

As soon as I hung up, I decided to see what kind of omen had settled on my doorstep on this new year’s day. One thing I read said that Native Americans believe the fox is considered the single best guide to lead someone down a destined path. Foxes reveal themselves during times of great and unpredictable change, and they implore you to remain flexible with whatever comes next. Many sites commented on the fox’s stealthy nature. The fox has a reputation for being a trickster, but its stealth also serves the fox by helping it to optimize it’s survival and safety.

Reading all this I began to ponder if the message fox brought had something to do with our big move to the East Coast. Lately, I had been having thoughts that bringing the family closer together had been a necessary first step, but that the path ahead was still not settled. The challenges required to reunite the family were not just physical, but emotional as well. Perhaps the fox was encouraging me to be more clever and adaptable in finding a place of greater comfort and balance for all of us.

The fox’s appearance also got me thinking more about my new year’s resolutions. I had made two. The first was that after a long hiatus from writing (as I dealt with all the many aspects of this relocation) I had finally gotten back to work on Ahote’s Path. I’m really happy with the progress I have made so far. I made a resolution that 2020 should be the year the book is finished and published.

My second resolution is harder to put into words, but I will try. Often in my meditations, I will reflect upon how very small we are as humans. What we know is so very little compared to what is known by the universal mind; and the time we have to learn is also so small when compared to the span of all time. So it stands to reason that what I know about myself and my family is also only a small portion of what is knowable. This year I want to make myself look deeper, learn more. I want to try and discover a greater truth of who we are and what it is we really mean to each other. I want to accept what is true, not judge it. It’s not a simple task, but I will say that so far I have found that it has helped me to be kinder to myself and to them, to have greater empathy, and to see the early manifestations of a more loving, expansive connection.

As you look at the family pictures here from the end of 2019, you will see so many happy family moments. You have likely deduced by now that there have also been some difficult moments. I think whenever you try to build a stronger foundation, you can’t help but uncover the disruptive cracks that threaten the entire structure. But each challenge that arises always brings me back to a most basic understanding. I love this family with all my heart. I would and have done everything I know to bring greater love, happiness and healing to us all. That is the path that I hope fox will help me navigate even better in 2020. Wish me luck, and I will wish the same for all of you, a year ahead filled with truth, love, beauty, harmony, healing and happiness for each and every one of you.

making a wish

lighting candles
playing dreidel
opening presents
A big Hannukah weekend
Little Patriots fans
making cake pops

Where Avery falls in love with Elsa

on the train to see Jamie’s concert at Lincoln Center

Counting My Blessings 6

I am writing this blog from my home office. I’ve never worked in here before. For the five months that David, Natalie and Avery lived with us, I handed this space over to them so they could have a dedicated space to work in. But in the final days of August, David, Natalie and Avery were at last able to move into their new home. August was a tough slog for all of us for many reasons. There were too many house projects going on both here and at the kid’s new house, too many fires constantly needing to be put out. The more discombobulating things got, the more accidents and injuries started cropping up; the worst being a concussion for Mark, and a torn meniscus for me. For the kids, the injuries were more psychological than physical. Five months without a home to call their own had left them emotionally and spiritually drained. Avery was the only one of the five of us who was completely happy and excited by the promise of each new day.

When moving day happened, it did so unexpectedly. A project to insulate the attic at our house was so disruptive and smelled so noxious, that my kids decided to pack up the baby and the cats and just live with whatever chaos was happening at their house. Literally, one day I was running a household for a family of five, and the next the house was silent. My knee, which had been getting worse for the past month, finally became so painful that I wasn’t able to be much help with the move. For months I had been in constant motion, often feeling like there was never enough time to get everything done, and then in the blink of an eye the whole pattern changed.

Victory!
Home Sweet Home

I was in so much pain that I couldn’t play rumpus games with Avery anymore, it hurt too much to get down on my knees or to get up off the ground. It also became much harder to carry him around. It finally got bad enough I had to go to the orthopedist, get an MRI, and ultimately have surgery. In the days before the surgery, as I continued hobbling around as best I could, I was reminded of an experience, now 21 years in the past, when I’d torn a ligament in my knee. It was that injury that ultimately led me to the discovery of Reiki, which changed my life, my relationships, and my entire worldview profoundly. Likewise, I was reminded of the time I fractured my wrist in Sedona. I had fallen on some black ice when I was out hiking. I was on my own a lot during that time, so I needed to figure out how to fend for myself without the use of my right hand. The experience ended up being a very instructive lesson in mindfulness and patience, again changing the way I looked and related to everything. Needless to say, my perspective on injuries has changed a lot over the years, and I no longer look at them as just bad luck. A knock on the head, and an injured knee told me that Mark and I needed to slow down and appreciate what we’d set in motion. A year had passed since we’d resolved to bring our family closer together so we could build stronger family ties. But it wasn’t until we were both injured that I realized how our world view had been whittled down to nothing more than the details of surviving each day. It was time to pause, take stock, and seek a wider perspective.

If you had asked me how things were going before life declared a time out, I would have told you that I was having doubts. I felt very uncertain that all we’d set in motion would ultimately bring us greater happiness.When I finally did look more deeply inward, I found that the opposite was true. I saw things that left me feeling encouraged, grateful, and unexpectedly happy. I wondered at the gap between those two perspectives, and ultimately, that is what this blog is about. By writing it all down, I’m hoping I’ll be able to more fully appreciate the things that lifted my heart as summer gave way to fall.

Jordan turned two at the beginning of August, and there was a lot of partying going on in Philadelphia that weekend. Julie’s family, the Birons, were celebrating not only Jordan’s birthday, but also Matty’s (Julie’s younger brother) who was turning 30. Jordan and Avery had lots of opportunities to charm the family, learn the happy birthday song, and to eat cake, but most importantly, they had a lot of time to play together. It was a great weekend, filled with family, dogs, eating, and fun. Both boys still talk about it, and they still talk a lot about each other. It was our first clear evidence that the boys really knew and liked one another.

Getting to know Jordan better, and strengthening our ties to Jeremy and Julie were big factors in our decision to move, but it turns out that in the process of strengthening that bond, we’ve had a lot of lovely experiences with the Biron family as well. We shared Passover together, we had everyone out for a weekend at our new house in June, We celebrated Jordan and Matty’s birthdays in early August. Then, in late August, we co-grandparented with the Birons at their house on the Jersey shore, while Jer and Julie went on an incredible mediterannean vacation. Mark and I have always liked the Birons. Julie’s mom, Janice, and I have developed a friendship over the years that feels very easy and companionable. This move has somehow shifted that friendship to something more. There is this growing sense that we are no longer two separate families. We’re just family.

I am really grateful for all the opportunities I am getting to spend with Jordan. Each time I see him, I discover things that are special, funny, and sweet about my little grandson. I treasure these moments. I love the way he points his little finger and says “dat is Nana,” and then he points down the line, “dat is Grandpao, dat is Avery, dat is Uncle David, dat is Uncle Natalie, dat is Auntie Jamie.” Sometimes Jamie is Uncle Jamie, it depends on his mood. As soon as he has us all labeled, his face lights up in a big smile, and then the fun begins. I love how he is always singing. I love his passion for books. He is always impressing me with his strong vocabulary and math skills. His love of looking good and accessorizing always makes me laugh. I love that even though he’s a city boy at heart, he can appreciate the woods for my sake. His gentle, sensitive spirit has deeply touched my heart. All during his first year of life, every time I saw him, he was between one illness and another. It wasn’t until we moved here that I finally was able to see him at his best. Now I know him well enough to be able to love him not just because he’s my grandson but for the delightful, little person he is.

This move helped us to close the distance between all our children and grandchildren, but by far the biggest impact for us was going from an hour ride up the mountain to see David, Natalie and Avery in Flagstaff, to living in the same town just two miles apart. I don’t want to rush past those five months we spent living together though. They were hard, but having a chance to live day to day with Avery was a priceless gift. I have known this little boy since he drew his first breath. I’ve been around to see every milestone, but living together under one roof allowed a closeness that I haven’t experienced since my own children were little. He has brought so much joy to every single day. He makes us all laugh, and he touches our hearts with his ever evolving viewpoint of the world.

I can’t possibly tell you all the sweet Avery stories that I’ve accumulated over the past months, but I will tell you my favorite one. It is his go-to story whenever he wants to really impress someone with his experience of life. I will call this story “Dead Bird.” Back in early August, Avery and Mark came in from an outing, and Avery kept looking at me with big, serious eyes saying something that sounded like “diaper.” I could tell by the way he was looking at me that I didn’t have the word right, this was a much more serious topic. “What is he saying?” I asked Mark, and my husband told me about the dead bird they had just found on the deck. I asked him what he’d done with it, only to discover that it was still lying right where it had fallen. It was Avery’s first encounter with death and I figured it was important to help him process the fragility and preciousness of life. I took his hand in mine, and a paper towel in the other, and we went out so he could show me where the bird was. It was clear the bird had broken its neck flying into the window. I knelt down and gently scooped it’s body up in the paper towel, and then, hand in hand, Avery and I walked to where the forest edged our property. A memory came to my mind of a funeral we had once had for my brother Dan’s pet frog. Dan had been driving cross country on his way from med school out east to his residency in Arizona. He’d stopped along the way to visit us in our new home in Clearlake, Texas. The Texas heat had proven to be too much for his frog, and the little amphibian expired shortly before Dan pulled up in our drive. At Dan’s urging, and with a two year old Jeremy in tow, we created a lovely ceremony out in our backyard. I decided to do the same now for this little bird. I started to sing as we walked. It was nothing half so operatic as what I’d sung for Dan’s frog. This time I made up the words as I went, using a melody I’d purloined from one of Avery’s favorite songs. After the song, I said some kind words about how the bird had helped keep our forest vibrant and healthy. Then, Avery and I put the little creature into the woods, away from where Lucy might find him. I concluded the service by saying to Avery, “and now that little bird will become one with all the forest.” We walked back to the house hand in hand. Clearly, the experience made an impression on him, because he kept saying “dead bird” wanting me to tell him the story again and again of how we’d paid our respects to this little creature. It is both touching and funny to see how he now tells the story to others. He’ll fix his eyes intently on whoever it is he’d like to suitably impress and say “dead bird”. Then he’ll begin to babble, an impression of what I must sound like to him when I tell the story, but at the end he always clearly says “and then” and somewhere in that stream I can even make out the word “forest” as he brings the story to a close. So, Dan, thank you for the now 32 year old inspiration. Zeke, the frog’s legacy lives on!

Not long after David, Natalie and Avery moved out, Natalie’s brother, Nate, and her father, Ron, came to visit. They were en route to LA, returning for good from the life they’d been living in Israel, determined to make a better life for themselves and Nate’s fiance, Valerie, in California. Natalie’s Aunt Sandy also came down from upstate New York to welcome the family back to the States. Aunt Sandy and I have seen a lot of one another over the years because of the close relationship Sandy has maintained with Natalie. She spends every Thanksgiving with us, and whenever she comes to visit the kids, I always enjoy her company. Much like what happened with Janice, the friendship between Sandy and I has taken on new depth since the move, and interestingly enough, it was my bum knee that caused us to both peer a little more closely at what it was we felt for one another.

I found myself really enjoying Natalie’s family during their visit. We shared several meals together. We ate rather too well, because Nate and Ron are both excellent cooks. Nate made one wonderful dinner for us, specifically to thank us for our help with Valerie’s visa process. It was really nice to see Nate after so many years, to see how well he was doing, and how much thought he’d put into building a new life for himself, his soon to be wife, and his dad. The only downside to the visit was that my knee, by this point, was really slowing me down. Towards the end of their visit, Mark had to leave to teach in NYC. It was his first teaching gig since his concussion, and he needed a lot of sleep to just get through each day, so he spent the night before in NYC with Jamie. Of course it was that night that things went shockingly south with my knee. As I started to climb into bed, I pivoted just the wrong way. I felt a pop in my knee and a searing pain shot through me. When I finally caught my breath and was able to assess the damage, I discovered that I couldn’t put weight on that leg at all. Though I hated to do it, I had no choice but to call David and Natalie, who both ran over to see what could be done. David found an office chair on wheels, and I was able to maneuver in it pretty well, but getting over thresholds required that I get out and stand on one leg to lift the chair over. The same was true in the bathroom. I was unsteady enough that we weren’t certain I could safely navigate out of and back into something that had the potential to roll out from under me. We concluded that someone would have to stay the night with me. David looked at me slightly panicked. He wasn’t ready for that stage of life where he had to help his old mom to the bathroom, and frankly, neither was I. Natalie was slightly less squeamish at the prospect, but she was also torn because Avery would be confused in the morning not to find her there. It was then that Natalie had the idea to ask Aunt Sandy. It felt a little weird to ask her, but she very graciously agreed.

Sandy and I hadn’t ever been in a position before where one of us needed to rely on the other, but now that we were, I found it changed something between us. I remember how she very sweetly tucked me into bed, organized my covers just so, making sure they wouldn’t put too much weight on my leg. Then she peered deeply into my eyes and told me to wake her for anything. As I stared back into her gaze, I saw the kindness and the deepening connection there so clearly. It had been a distressing evening, but it was also heartwarming to know that she had put herself out there for my sake and truly wanted to help me.

The last aspect of appreciation I’m going to share with you is about the many ways I am feeling grateful for the improvements in Jamie’s life. Over this past summer, Jamie’s health issues continued to worsen. Adding to all that stress was even more anxiety about what was to come next for her now that she’d graduated from her master’s degree program. She had been looking for paid work, while also submitting her musical work to all kinds of grants and festivals ever since January, and things were not going well. But no matter how hard things got for my daughter, no matter how ill or uncertain she felt, she kept her goals in sight. She kept building strong connections in the industry by helping out on many different events happening in the NYC theater world. She also kept working with her thesis partner, Eric, to mount an industry read of their musical, “The Valley.” One of the events Jamie volunteered for turned out to be life changing. She offered to help out at the annual Lilly Awards. The organization’s mission is focused entirely on supporting and advocating for women who work at all levels of theatrical production, with the stated goal of promoting gender parity. One of the speakers that night was Georgia Stitt, and Jamie was deeply moved by what Georgia had to say. Georgia is a highly accomplished American composer and lyricist, arranger, conductor, and musical director. She is also the founder of MAESTRA, an organization which is committed to improving the gender disparity in the musical theater world. Their membership includes people who are female-identifying, non-binary, and gender non-conforming. They have, without a doubt, the most impressive directory of qualified women in the industry. The directory serves to help people find talented women for their productions, and is a powerful tool to help close the gender gap. Maestra also runs workshops and events that help engender a real sense of community among its members.

As Jamie listened to Georgia speak, she felt a fire ignite in her. Georgia’s words, and the purpose of MAESTRA truly spoke to Jamie’s soul. She approached Georgia that evening at the after party and volunteered to help. One thing led to another. Before long she was writing a well received blog for MAESTRA, featuring some of the very accomplished women in MAESTRA’s directory. She made herself useful in other ways as well, and by the time September rolled around, Georgia offered Jamie a part time job as an administrative assistant. It was a perfect situation for Jamie, allowing her some much needed extra income, while also allowing her time to keep working on furthering her music theater career. She has put that time to good use. Jamie and Eric’s industry read of “The Valley” went extraordinarily well. Mark and I were there, despite the concussion and the need for crutches. We loved every minute of the show, but more importantly, a lot of other people did too. Exciting next steps are beginning to take shape for “The Valley.”

My girl has been through some pretty dark times, but through it all she has never stopped trying to make her dreams come true. That perseverance is starting to manifest some very real, positive change in her life. Now her days are filled with a strong sense of purpose, and with people who are all doing exciting things in the world of musical theater. When I talk to her, I can hear the rising sense of happiness and confidence in her voice. I couldn’t be prouder of her bravery and determination. Broadway is not for the faint of heart. It has also traditionally not been very welcoming to women and other minorities. But there is definitely a current of change in the air, not just on Broadway, but everywhere we look. People like Georgia and Jamie are finding each other and joining forces to affect what change they can. It excites me to see all this awakening, all this courage, all this desire to do better by each other. I am so grateful to be alive to see it all happening, and to see my daughter pouring her heart and soul into projects she is passionate about. As she does so, it is clear she is catching a glimpse of her own true worth.

Searching For My Heart’s Song 1

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness. We’ve made a lot of changes this year, and underlying it all was the assumption that these changes would ultimately bring about greater happiness. But the plain, bald truth is, change is hard. For a lot of the past few months the best word I can choose to describe what I’ve been feeling is unmoored. I watched the landscape out the windows of my new home wake from winter into an abundant, flowery, spring, which in turn unfurled into a lush green summer. The song birds woke me each morning singing with such joy and abandon, and I was keenly aware that my heart was not singing with them. I was not a part of it all because I was still looking around for wide open vistas and towering red rocks. I understood that if I wanted to be happy, I was going to have to find my bearings, and anchor myself to the energies that now surrounded me. Somehow, I had to convince my heart to let the desert go, but the how of it was eluding me.

Towards the end of May, I returned to Flagstaff, accompanying Mark to one of the Native American leadership initiatives that he has been teaching with Professor Manley Begay at NAU over the past few years. My apologies to all my Sedona friends. As much as I had wanted to stop in Sedona to say hello, our schedule was too tightly packed We were able to fly from the east coast to Dallas and then Dallas to Flagstaff, completely by-passing the long drive up the mountain from Phoenix to the high country that would have taken us right by Sedona. Arriving at the Flagstaff airport was almost surreal. As we watched all the familiar landmarks of Flagstaff appear below us, it became quite clear that this quiet mountain town was on the map in a way it never had been in all the years we’d lived in Northern Arizona.

We stayed at the Drury Inn, along with many of the participants of the leadership program. There were managers and leaders from tribes across the country, and from as far north as Canada, and as far south as Mexico. Many of them were faces we’d seen before, inspired enough from their first session to want more. I’ve attended and photographed every session Mark and Manley have taught, but there was something about the way Native American and Western thought came together in this session that was electrifying. I sensed that every person there felt how Mark and Manley were creating a coherent alignment, stoking fires, satisfying the desire of everyone there to learn how to affect positive change and growth within each of their communities.

I will confess, I had been nervous to return to Flagstaff. I’d been worried about whether I’d made the right choice, moving away from a place that I’d had such a strong connection to. I worried that having left, I would now find that connection was no longer there, or that all that I’d learned from my years in the desert would not survive a return to a major metropolitan area. But as I sat in my hotel room and looked out the window at the San Francisco peaks, I came to see there was still an energy to this place that my body and spirit immediately responded to. It had been a cold spring in Northern Arizona, and the mountain was still snow capped, the peaks buried deep in heavy cloud cover. I closed my eyes and began to meditate, feeling the energy of this sacred mountain reverberate all around and through me. I began to sense that the mountain had an answer here for me. The mountain shared with me its strength, it’s power to endure, it’s ability to draw energies to itself, and it offered me the reminder that I also had these same strengths. Then, I very much felt like the mountain gave me it’s blessing to follow this new path. I was being offered the chance to take some part of it with me so I could move forward with one of my deepest desires; to bring my children and grandchildren closer together, and for Mark and I to be there to enjoy it.

On the way home, Mark and I got to stop in Denver for a much needed trip to see my family there. One of the hardest things about leaving the west was losing that easy proximity I had to family in Colorado, California, to my brother, Dan, who had recently moved to Tucson, and even to my cousin and her family in Seattle. I had prioritized children and grandchildren over parents, siblings, and cousins by making this move. I was giving up road trips for plane rides, but I feel pretty sure my family understood my choice. I was welcomed back to Denver with the same open, loving embrace as always.

With what felt like an accepting nod from both the mountain and my family, I came home and found that I was more curious to get to know my new environment. I was starting to ask the same question in Connecticut that I had asked so many years ago along the red rock trails of Sedona. It was the question that had ultimately given birth to Cha’risa’s Gift. Who had walked here before me? I may not have had dramatic mountains clearly marking the direction north, there might be more days where the sky was cloudy and I never saw the sun, but the question anchored me.

Right around this time, another important shift began to happen. The settling in process was slowly starting to ease, making more energy available for the kind of special family moments we’d envisioned when we’d set this course, nearly nine months ago. Shortly after our return from Flagstaff and Denver, we made a quick trip into NYC to see a show Jamie had produced at 54 Below of new works, which included selections from the musical she had written with Eric Fegan. The entire show was very successful, but needless to say, my favorite part was the selections from their show, The Valley. Even at the late hour of 11:30 pm there was a good sized, enthusiastic crowd. The cast was so energized and talented that I had no trouble at all staying up way past my bedtime. Jamie and Eric are currently working on producing a full staged reading of their musical in September, and I’m really looking forward to seeing the show in its entirety. Launching a show is a very long, drawn out labor of love, but I really think when it’s finally birthed, this baby is going to be beautiful!

Not long after that, the summer solstice rolled around and I decided to create a Strawberry Moon/Summer Solstice ritual for David, Natalie and Mark, where I shared what the Mountain had revealed to me. I think the kids also were in need of the assurance that message provided. Their renovation project is on-going and they are still living with us, the majority of their belongings still in boxes. The renovation has been frustrating at many levels,coming in way over- budget and behind schedule. Natalie told me the mountain’s message felt especially tailored for her. The thought of Mount Humphries sending her strength and the power to endure brought bittersweet tears to her eyes. While we’re all anxious to see the renovation project come to an end, we will miss the kids when they go. And as for little Avery, Mark and I have grown so attached, and he to us, that it will be a wrench to see him move even two miles away. But, it is clearly time for David, Natalie and Avery to finally have their own chance to settle in and put down roots. Time for all of us to make one last change to make this family vision complete.

During the last weekend in June we had a big family get together with Jer, Julie, Jordan, Julie’s parents, her older brother and his two twin boys, and the canine brigade, Bowser and Moose. It was a wonderful, noisy, crazy weekend where we ate a lot, got to see our two toddler grandsons really talking and playing with one another, and spent a lot of time splashing in our pool, which has turned out to be such an incredible garden oasis. It was our first real test of how many people this house can comfortably hold. Our home lived up to all our hopes and expectations. It is a wonderful gathering place.

Then, just one week after that big family hoo hah, I got to have a very special experience with Jeremy. It was his birthday present to me, a day long workshop in northern New Jersey where we could both experience an alternative healing modality called Holotropic Breathwork. I think we were both a little nervous, but I’m so glad I took that leap of faith with him.It turned out to be an important step on my journey to make peace with leaving Sedona.

Holotropic Breathwork is a practice that uses deep, rapid breathing and music with strong primal rhythms to induce a state of non-ordinary consciousness. It was developed by Stanislav Grof as a successor to his LSD-based psychedelic therapy. Neither Jer nor I really knew how the process would affect us. All we knew was that it would be a journey inward, and that really anything at all could happen in that altered state. It might be beautiful, it might be anguishing, it might be deeply disturbing. There was no way to know what would be waiting for us just beyond normal consciousness.

The process is done in pairs, one person breathes, the other sits and watches over. It has been a long time since either Jer or I have been in a position where we needed to rely on one another, but after so many years of being apart, we both wanted this chance to be there for each other. There was an introductory phase before the actual process began, and at the end of it we were offered a chance to choose an Angel card from a deck for a bit of guidance. Jer had never seen cards like this before, but I can never resist them, so we each used our intuition to peruse the pile of cards placed face down, and then chose one. The one I chose was called “Energy Work.” The picture was of a beautiful woman, her wings protectively spread over a cradle with an equally exquisite small boy inside. The words on the card made me feel certain that all I knew from my Reiki practice would serve me well here, and that it was right to call on those energies to protect us both. With Jer listening on, I asked for us to have the highest and best experience; one where we could learn, grow, love and know more about what was deep within ourselves. Then, I laid myself down along with all the other breathers and gave myself over to the process. Almost immediately I began to feel very cold – I began to tremble and shake uncontrollably. The music was vibrating all through me, a strong, aboriginal dance rhythm. I heard the strains of a flute in a canyon and felt tears come to my eyes, but that also was quickly consumed by the dance. I let myself move with the rhythms. It began to take me deeper inward. I remember feeling very grateful to be here with Jeremy, to know that we could share a moment like this; that our love for each other was something we both felt deep in our hearts. I reached for Jeremy’s hand and felt his warm reassurance,but soon the pounding rhythms pulled me once again back into the dance.

The music, the sound vibrations continued to mount. I remember trying not to resist my thoughts, just let them happen, let things unfold. Then a surprising thought popped into my mind; it wasn’t my mind I needed to release, it was my heart. Because I had suffered for many years from heart arrhythmias, I realized that there was a part of me that never fully trusted my heart to beat reliably. But now I saw my heart was strong, that I could count on it. I saw my heart dancing outside my body, brilliant red, taking on the beat of the pounding drums. It danced for a while before I flashed forward to see the end of my heart’s song. It was laying on some stones, dull red, and very still. I found I wasn’t troubled by my death. It felt natural, organic, an ending, but not of the song. I saw the many hearts of my family beating all around me, continuing the dance. Together our hearts linked, and we sank deep into the heartbeat of the earth. We went deeper still, past the earth, into the expansiveness of the divine, and there we continued to all beat as one.

I remember losing track of my breath. It had become very slow, and I had to remind myself to breathe. I stretched my hands above my head and opened them palms up. Energy flowed into them, strong and vibrant. I had a vision of wings unfurling, heart chakra opening. The music had past its zenith and I realized we were in the final stage of the holotropic journey, the winding down. I felt myself come back enough into my body that I sat up and motioned for Jer to sit near me. I put my arm around him, and from deep in my heart I told him that I was so happy that I had come back East to be closer to him. As I spoke those words, they rang with absolute truth, and I was at last able to be at peace with the heart-wrenching choices I’d had to make to get to this place. Jer and I sat there side by side, my arm around his shoulder. I finished the experience drifting in and out of a deep state of calm. Finally, with the warmth of Jeremy’s body anchoring me, I fully understood my heart’s choice. I was home at last.

My Angel card – Energy work – “Life can be electrifying because it’s very essence is energy. Your body is a remarkable field of energy that will positively respond to loving treatments. Your hands and heart are activated to give healing energy to your loved ones and clients.”

Contemplations on the effects of the Super Blood Wolf Moon 8

It’s been a while since I’ve written in my blog or my book, but today I forced myself back into the chair. For the first time in three months I decided to declare that the move was behind me and that life must go on. Way back in August, once we had set upon this new plan for our lives, to make the move to to be closer to all our children and grandbabies, we found ourselves having to manage a lot of moving parts. At first it felt very amorphous, like a distant goal without much of a timeline. But with the coming of the new year, the pieces all began to rapidly fall into place. I could no longer ignore that my time in Sedona was quickly running down. As February snows fell, I began a bittersweet countdown of goodbyes to all the things I loved about my 8 and a half years in the desert.

I think the Super, Blood, Wolf Moon had something to do with the timing of things. That rare and beautiful celestial event occurred in January right around Mark’s 60th birthday. We were in Florida, surrounded by all the kids and babies, as we watched the eclipsed moon turn red. When I first discovered Mark’s birthday was being ushered in by an eclipse with such a powerful name,I did some research. Mark gets a poem from me every year on his birthday. As soon as I heard about the Super Blood Wolf Moon I knew what the topic of this year’s poem would be. I soon learned though that this this moon was a whole lot more than just a topic for a poem. It’s presence in the sky seemed to have a particular relevance for what was happening within my family.

Any eclipse you see in the sky carries the meaning of beginnings, endings, culminations and clean slates. Eclipses are necessary times that book end the period you’ve been living in. It signifies that your current story is over but a new one is about to begin. You are entering a period where you will be encouraged to push out of your comfort zone. Whether you succeed or fail matters not to the moon. What matters is that you will learn and grow. One of the articles I read took the uncanny relevance of this moon to a whole new level. It stated that Super Blood Wolf Moons set patterns in motion that run in eight year cycles. It then went on to say that the pull of this particular celestial event was beginning to influence us as far back as this past July. Well, that caught my attention. Eight years ago, at the end of July, Mark, and I, along with David, Natalie, Jamie, two cats and our little five month old puppy, Lucy, made the big move to Sedona. Just a little over eight years later, in early August of this past year, Jeremy, Julie and Jamie made their pitch for all of us to live closer together again here on the east coast.

All full moons demand that you face your deepest, darkest emotions, but a full moon of this rarity is even more insistent. It will yank at what’s hidden within until you bring it to the light and allow it to be set free. Certainly in my family it became clear that we had reached a time of major shifts, of letting go, and of moving on.

After we left Florida things began happening at a dizzying pace. David and Natalie found and bought a house in Connecticut, just two miles down the road from the one we had bought back in October. Their house in Flagstaff sold before it was even on the market. Then began the arduous task of packing up our homes and the poignant task of saying goodbye to people and places we loved.

Mark and I had one other task that we had set for ourselves. Our eight years in Sedona had been ones of real growth for us as a couple, but growth isn’t often the easiest of processes, and the pathways forward are not always so clear to see. Last August we not only made a decision to bring our family closer together, but we also decided to see if we could find a better way to handle issues in our relationship that we had been struggling with since we were first wed. We signed up for four days of Marriage Boot Camp in Dallas in early March. At the time, it seemed like we had already set so many things in motion that March would be the best time to go. We didn’t know it then, but it turned out to be the very last thing we did as a couple before leaving Sedona for good.

I remember sitting with Mark in our hot tub the night before we were to leave town for the Bootcamp. I was looking up at the multitude of stars in the Sedona night sky, trying to memorize how beautiful it was. A part of me realized that something of such infinite beauty, while it can be seen and felt, is just too large to truly hold in our minds. There was no sufficient way to say goodbye to such a sight, so instead I moved onto something much smaller in scope, but equally intangible at that moment. What would Marriage Bootcamp be like? Would it work? Could four days really change nearly 40 years of ingrained patterns? It turns out that the answer to all those questions is yes. I think part of why it worked so well for us is that Mark and I were really ready to make that change, but we needed someone to show us a different lens for how to see ourselves and each other. Marriage Bootcamp was able to help us do that. What was revealed to both of us was just how much we really do love each other and value the life we have built together. I think one of the most powerful moments of Bootcamp for me was when I was encouraged to forgive Mark. If you had asked me before Bootcamp if I had forgiven him for past hurts, I would have said of course. But what I realized at this workshop was that while we had spoken of all the hurts before, I had never completely vocalized to him the extent of the pain I had felt and was still feeling. In this bootcamp setting, I held nothing back, and he took it all in with such love and compassion in his eyes. There was no doubt that he’d heard my words, felt my pain and wanted something different for me. The other moment that really rang true inside me was when we were asked to forgive ourselves. They had us visualize ourselves as babies, small children, and to hold those children in our arms as if they were our own babies. And then they asked us if the things we said to ourselves everyday were the things we wanted to say to this child in our arms. It shocked me to realize just how unkind I have been to that inner child. I would never treat one of my children in the way I have treated myself.

There were many other moments, and many people, that touched me deeply during Bootcamp. It’s not called Bootcamp for nothing. It’s a lot like that Super Blood Wolf Moon, forcing you to look at your deepest fears and darkest emotions. It yanks them out into the cold light of day so you can really see them, and in so doing, those fears and emotions lose their power over you. It becomes possible to let go, to finally be free.I don’t think either Mark or I will ever forget what it felt like to look into each other’s eyes and see all the love each of us truly has in our hearts for one another. It was all just waiting there for us to notice and let in. It will be there for us whenever we next find ourselves in conflict, and it will help us find our way through.

The glow of that incredible experience stayed with us as we watched all our belongings get loaded up and sent on their way to our new home in Connecticut. That loving connectedness was there as we settled Lucy into our camper van and headed out of town. We had one last breakfast with the kids in Flagstaff before we officially hit the road. Then the final moment was upon us. We hugged the kids and our grandbaby, told them we’d see them soon (they were leaving two weeks after us, and would be moving in with us for a couple of months while they did renovations on their new home). When all the words had been said and a few more tears shed, we climbed up into the captain’s chairs of our RV, and with Lucy staring out the window we began what was now a familiar journey to us, through the wide open spaces of the Navajo and Hopi reservations, through the New Mexican Pueblos, finally stopping that first night in Tucumcari, New Mexico. Day two, after a breakfast at a diner on route 66, we left the southwest behind, driving through the Texas Panhandle and into Oklahoma. We spent our second night at an RV camp ground beside a serene lake. Day three we drove through Missouri, where the highway took us up close to the St. Louis Gateway Arch. We then cut through the lower part of Illinois and into Indiana, where we finally got around to having some BBQ that was good enough to make up for the fact that we missed it in Texas. We spent the night just east of Indianapolis at a truck stop. Day four we traveled through Ohio, then crossed the Mississippi River for a quick pass through West Virginia and into Pennsylvania. We spent the night with family just outside of Philadelphia where Lucy had a chance to meet her new best friend, a doggie cousin named Moose, who is also a golden retriever. Julie’s parents made us a lovely, home-cooked dinner that night. The last day of our journey began with Julie and Jordan stopping in for breakfast and a quick visit with us before we headed off through New Jersey, New York and finally into Connecticut.

Before we ever arrived at our house, we made a stop at the train station where we picked up Jamie and two of her friends from her master’s program at Tisch. They all accompanied us on those last steps of our long journey in the RV. We not only had lots of help unloading the camper, but then we got to spend a delightful evening catching up with our daughter, hearing all three women laughing and telling all kinds of stories of life at Tisch and in the music theater world of NYC.

One week, and hundreds of unpacked boxes later, Mark flew back to Phoenix to help David, Natalie, Avery and their two kitties make the journey, this time by air. Little Avery, who had found packing an interesting game in the beginning, found the last days of the move very stressful as literally his entire world began disappearing into boxes. By the time he was on the plane, he was not only stressed out, he was getting sick. Jamie, in a continuation of her role as official greeter, met up with Mark and the kids at the train station on their way home that night. The next day, Friday, was Jeremy’s birthday and he arrived with Julie, Jordan and his dog Bowser in tow to christen the new house with its first birthday celebration. It was wonderful having the whole family here, but Avery’s condition continued to worsen and he developed a high fever. For a little boy whose natural state is always laughing and running, his silent stillness in his mother’s arms became alarming.

By Monday Natalie decided to take him to the doctor. She and David came back an hour later having been turned away from three different doctor’s offices. Needless to say, it was a most upsetting, unwelcoming beginning. As I held my distraught daughter, and heard her tearfully tell me that no one would help her baby, I had a very up close and personal look at how very broken our healthcare system has become. Fortunately, Avery started to turn a corner that night, and Mark had found an office in Stamford that took the kids’ insurance and who were able to see Avery Tuesday morning. So now the baby is registered with a practice we all feel very good about, and he is running around the house fever free, laughing, and playing, and talking up a storm.

We did have one other unwelcoming event. After searching for some place to go hiking with Lucy, we finally found some really nice trails that run along the Mianus River, just a couple of miles from our home. As we walked, we saw other hikers with their dogs off leash, so I let Lucy off too. I had heard there were some trails along the river that did allow dogs off leash, and for a brief moment I thought we might have found that place. I allowed myself to relax a little and enjoy the natural surroundings. It was so different from my desert, but equally as lovely with sun dappled trees, granite outcroppings, ponds, and many stretches running along the river. On the way into the park, Mark and I had even had our first sighting of a wild turkey. I found myself imagining that this could be my place, where Lucy and I walked free and communed with nature. But that vision was quickly shattered when we crested a hill and found at the bottom of the trail a policeman, gun holstered, violations book out. Apparently, we had crossed over to the Stamford side of the park where off leash dogs were not only unwelcome, but the offense came with a $100.00 ticket. I’d been trying for several days to just be patient and accept that finding my place in this new community, this new life-style, was going to take some time, but now I found myself fighting back tears. At least I managed not to cry in front of the policeman, but I no longer tried to stop myself from unashamedly yearning for my red rocks and open trails. When we got home that night, Avery was playing with a bowl of red rocks I had taken with me when we’d moved. We’d been assembling this collection of stones ever since we started walking the miles of desert paths behind our Sedona home. Many had come from my favorite meditation spots. As Avery played, he started taking the stones from the bowl and putting them in a wooden bird cage. I couldn’t help thinking it was a very apropos metaphor.

Now don’t go feeling too bad for me. If this is a cage, it is an incredibly beautiful one, one that allows me entertain Jamie and her NYC friends, celebrate Jeremy’s birthday, and live just around the corner from David, Natalie and Avery. I just need to be mindful that the Super Blood Wolf Moon doesn’t care if I succeed or fail. The moon’s only demand is that I change. I think I can safely say I’ve made some major changes. Hopefully, that big, old moon is satisfied.

A Christmas to Remember 10

There are moments in your life that you know will last you until the end of your days. The holiday season this year was such a time for me. As 2018 drew to an end, Mark and I traveled to Santa Fe to meet up with some of my family; my dad and step mom, Judy, my brother, Dan, my sister, Ann, her husband, Roger, and their ten-year-old son, Xavier. It was one of those trips that had a lot of uncertainty about how it would play out. My dad, at 87 years old, is very frail of health. No trip is planned at this point in his life without the caveat that at the last minute he might not be able to make it. We also had the challenge that Judy had recently broken bones in both her feet. At six weeks into the healing process, she had gotten a green light from her doctor to travel, and to officially start weaning herself off of the boot. She was determined not to let health challenges get in the way of this family holiday, and I think my dad was as well.

Assuming the best case scenario for this family reunion, I’d made a bunch of soups, and had baked lots of bread and cookies. After some conversations with Ann about our dad’s current state of health, I’d concluded it would be prudent to have plenty of food on hand in the condo we’d rented in case going out for meals proved to be too difficult. On the Friday before Christmas, Mark and I loaded up the car. This included our grandson, Avery, who we needed to drop off at his parent’s house on our way out of town. He is now (just barely) old enough to have occasional sleep overs with us, and this is something which all three of us absolutely love. One of the sweetest times of the day is when he wakes up. We bring him into bed with us. As we all snuggle under the covers, we sing songs together to greet the day, never fully emerging from that warm cocoon until the stars wink out in the sky. Once Avery is fully up, he runs everywhere wanting to see everything; the dog, the fountains, the cuckoo clock,but most fascinating of all for him is the great outdoors, and in particular the red dirt that is everywhere here in Sedona. If we could have taken him with us to Santa Fe we would have, but his parents had too much work to do to take a holiday break, and none of them are ready for more than one night apart. So, we said our goodbyes to our kids and our grandson and then headed east on Highway 40, through the Navajo reservation, past the Hopi Mesas, through Gallup, New Mexico and Albuquerque, and past numerous New Mexican pueblos, until at last we arrived in Santa Fe.

Mark and I were the first to arrive in Santa Fe, rolling into town late Friday afternoon. Everyone else was scheduled to arrive on Saturday, so I held my breath Saturday morning until the texts starting coming in confirming that we had a Christmas miracle of our own in progress. Everyone was actually on road. It was a very happy reunion, and that first night my Dad even had the energy to try out a little pub Mark and I had discovered called Fire and Hops. The food there was incredibly good. It was fortunate that it was very close to the condo because when we came out of the restaurant, we found that the night had turned bitter cold. It sucked the breath right out of our lungs. We all huddled around my Dad to keep him warm and hurry him home. Xavier’s concern for my dad was particularly touching. He spends a lot of time with his grandpa, often keeping him company when Judy needs to run errands. The connection between the two of them is very apparent. Xavier watches out for his grandpa, and that night he wanted to be right at my dad’s side lending him a hand as we walked.

One of the highlights of the visit was our one and only outing with my dad. We went to Meow Wolf. For those of you who haven’t heard of this amazing place, I will do my best to describe it. Inside an abandoned bowling alley just on the outskirts of town, a group of artists came together to create an entirely new experience in storytelling. With the financial help of George R. R. Martin they built an entire victorian home inside the hollowed out bowling alley. They call this house and adventure in non-linear storytelling The House of Eternal Return. From the moment you enter the house, you are transported into a mystery. A family has gone missing, a family with unusual talents that are both magical and mystical. Some kind of accident has left the home pockmarked with portals into different manifestations of the multiverse. You might open the fridge and find a passage into another world, or tumble down the dryer to find yourself standing beside the tree of life. Immersed in numerous art mediums you travel in and out of our current reality, each room offering up more clues as to what happened, but also raising more questions.

It is easy to lose your party in this place. The best of intentions to stay together are soon sundered with too many intriguing discoveries and pathways luring you ever on. I lost and found family at multiple junctures. At one point, I ran into my brother. Suddenly, the experience took on a whole new dimension. For a short while, it felt like we’d passed through a portal not in space but in time. Dan and I are just barely a year apart. I turned 60 this past spring, and with the coming spring he will also turn 60. But in that house, the years just melted away. It was us again, two carefree kids excited by an adventure. Together we read the TechnoMage manifesto hanging on the wall in one of the children’s rooms; a document so mind blowing,TImothy Leary would have been proud. We traveled through disjointed pathways that eventually led us into the parents’ room where we found some kind of harmonic invention; potentially a part of what caused the rupture of the universe all around the house. As Dan was sitting at the desk, keying up various tones on the device, the closet door in front of us opened and a man stepped out. I couldn’t resist and said, “Look, he literally just came out of the closet.” Dan could hardly believe I’d said that out loud, and he laughed, but he was also quick to note the man did not seem pleased at all with my observation. On our way back from humiliating our fellow adventurer, we ran into Ann and Xavier and ended up plucking the ethereal strings of a huge laser harp together.Then,upon learning Xavier had yet to see the TechnoMage manifesto, I carted him back through a few alternate realities into the child’s bedroom so he could read it for himself.

You might wonder where my dad was in all this. Despite our inability to stay together, we did have a plan. We had discovered a comfy sofa inside of the base of the tree of life, which was located in a very central part of all these colliding realities. We all took turns returning to this center of the universe, sitting there with him on the sofa, directly underneath some kind of plasma brain. My dad was on that sofa for a couple of hours, long enough that people began to assume he was part of the immersive experience and started asking him questions. Perhaps they believed they’d found an ancient wise one within the heart of the tree. As far as I’m concerned, they weren’t too far wrong. He’s most certainly at the heart and center of my universe.

I could go on and on about Meow Wolf and this immersive story within the house, but instead I think I’ll just tell you to put this on your list of things to experience. You can find all kinds of information about it online. Also, there will be two more of these Meow Wolf projects opening up in the near future, one in Denver and the other in Las Vegas. East Coast friends, I’m sorry, you’ll have to travel west to partake of this adventure. I have no idea if these new projects will be new stories or a continuation of this one. I am so intrigued with this one, I hope it is the latter. I could see endless possibilities and plot lines for this story.

We hadn’t booked any restaurants before our visit, which is a must in Santa Fe at Christmas time; but because we couldn’t be sure of the size of our party we decided we’d make our own Christmas Eve dinner. Roger smoked pork on a grill outside the condo we had rented. The smell was so enticing that it had other guests in the development wishing our Christmas dinner could be theirs. The rest of us made our own contributions to dinner. I nearly abandoned plans to make latkes when I saw the flimsy hand held grater in the kitchen, but Mark, not willing to accept anything as boring as oven fries, took over the task of grating all the potatoes and the onion too! After a very yummy dinner, several of us went off to partake in a Santa Fe holiday tradition, the Farolito. It is a night time walk down Canyon Road, where lanterns and holiday lights light the way, art galleries stay open late, and hot chocolate and hot apple cider are liberally served up. It was cold, beautiful, and like everything in Santa Fe at Christmas time, very crowded. Judy walked around in wide-eyed wonder admiring the beautiful night, the galleries, the crowds. Between her still healing feet and the fact that we’d left Dad and Xavier holding down the fort, we didn’t walk too far into the canyon, but it was long enough to claim we’d been there and experienced one of the highlights of the Santa Fe holiday season.

It had been a perfect day except for one serious miscalculation. On one of our many runs to the grocery store, Ann and I decided to buy a 1 lb bar of Hershey’s with almonds for our dad — who has a long history with hershey’s chocolate; it was the first chocolate he’d ever tasted as a young boy. He’d been given a box of them for his birthday (if I remember the story right, I think it was his 5th). After getting a taste of it, he had immediately wandered off and finished the entire box in one sitting. From that point on, no chocolate, no matter how fine, could ever compare to Hershey’s. I think both Ann and I assumed that at 87 years old, Dad would not be inclined to eat a pound of chocolate too quickly. Turns out to have been an erroneous assumption. At one point during the day, I noticed it was nearly gone. I checked to see who might have been helping Dad out. Only two people admitted to eating a square or two. I wasn’t too alarmed at the time, but in the middle of the night, my Dad became violently ill. I have a feeling the chocolate bar on top of all the other holiday food that day probably tipped the scale in the wrong direction. Until that point, I’d never believed there was such a thing as too much chocolate, not in the Schlager family at least. After a horrible night, my dad spent Christmas day extremely weak and disoriented. It was pretty worrisome to see him so pale and fragile. We all hovered close by in case there was anything we could do for him. Xavier took his favorite fleece blanket and tucked it around Dad to keep him extra warm.

Dad was on all our minds, but he mostly needed to sleep, so, since it was Christmas morning, we did a little exchanging of gifts. Xavier made me a lovely pin, an art project from school. I felt very special because he has lots of women in his life he could have chosen to give it to, but somehow I was the lucky one. At one point while Dad was sleeping, Ann, Xavier and I walked into town for a little fresh air. We arrived at the Basilica just as the bells began peeling calling the parishioners to mass. Immediately, I smiled, realizing that I had just literally heard the bells on Christmas day. That is one of my favorite Christmas carols. By the time we got home, Dad was able to take some tea and a little toast. As I tucked him back into bed, he took my hand and told me I’d always been so good to him. It brought tears to my eyes because it felt a little like a good-bye, but by dinner time, Dad was feeling strong enough to join us for some Chinese food. The next morning, everyone headed home, leaving early to get ahead of an oncoming snow storm. Dad made the whole trip without any trouble. The Colorado gang managed to stay ahead of the snow all the way home. Dan wasn’t so lucky, heading south on the I-25, he had about an hour of blizzard conditions before finally breaking free.

As for Mark and me, in a suddenly very quiet condo, we watched a beautiful snowfall in Santa Fe, and felt warmed by our time with family. We were reminded how precious every moment is, and grateful for what we’d just had. Our original plan had been to stay until Friday, but David, Natalie and Avery had all been sick during the week. Avery was waking up early every day and feeling pretty cranky, so nobody was getting much sleep. They were hoping we’d take Avery for another sleepover so they could catch up on some much needed rest. So Thursday, we packed up our belongings and headed back to Arizona. The forecast was supposed to be mostly clear, but from Gallup to just past the Hopi Mesas snow was falling and Mark had to navigate through white-out conditions. Then, as suddenly as the weather had come upon us, the skies cleared illuminating the San Francisco peaks under a cloudy sky. We rolled safely into Flagstaff in time for dinner. We ended our holiday the way it had begun, singing “Good Morning Starshine” with Avery as the morning star rose in the sky.

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