LET'S TALK ABOUT MY BIRTHDAY!

Christmas is over for 2015.  It was great.  Mellow and fairly stress free,  except that just like Thanksgiving, I find there is too much time spent in the kitchen, prepping, serving, and cleaning up.  It feels sort of out of balance, time-wise, for a 30 minute-meal payoff.  Maybe we should all eat more slowly.   We might linger longer if our dining room chairs were more comfortable.  (Re-upholstering with new foam cushions is on the "to do" list for 2016.)

So, let's talk about my birthday!!!

Hub says if I die first, he will be sure to mention at my Memorial Service how much I love my birthday.  And I do!  I don't know why.  I've lamented that it comes so close to Christmas and as a kid it frequently got all rolled into one.  (Now I insist that my gifts NOT be wrapped in Christmas paper!)  But having a holiday birthday is kind of fun too, because the world is already in a festive mood!

This year was a "big" one -- 65.  Our culture has decided this is a milestone birthday, but in thinking about it, that basically came about due to a financial/career decision made at some point that 65 would signify the traditional retirement age and the age at which we Elders get on the dole and can receive Social Security benefits and Medicare.  Now that the retirement age is all over the map and Social Security can be taken "early" or "late", those things don't really signify anything at 65 anymore.  I did get to sign up for Medicare and experienced the learning curve of what the heck "supplemental" insurance is.  But other than that, so far 65 feels a lot like 64.  And likely like 66; we'll see.

I was flattered by the offers from family and friends to throw me a party.  I like my birthday, but I don't like birthday parties.  So I declined.  What I like is an extended birthday celebration, so that's what I created and was treated to.  Perfect-o!

On Birthday Eve I went to my usual morning Yoga class, then off to a Holiday/Volunteer Appreciation Luncheon put on by the social service agency where I worked for 10 years before retiring.  I'm officially volunteering there now two days a month, so I got an invite and a gift card.  It was a nice kick-off to my birthday weekend to spend time there with my BFF and former supervisor, although a bit startling to realize I only knew about a dozen of the 60 or so in attendance.  Time marches on.

That evening a dear friend hosted a dinner party for me.  We six gathered to enjoy her considerable culinary skills in a home decorated beautifully for the holidays.  My women friends (we three are the "Shiny Sisters", a moniker we've adopted and I don't recall why...but who doesn't like shiny things???), gave me lovely gifts, one of which is a bit over the line of R-rated, and a hoot!  Then I was surprised by an after-dinner gathering in the living room where Hub and my friends feted me with prose, poetry, and song.  It was so moving and so beautiful for me to hear (BEFORE the Memorial Service) the ways in which I have touched their lives, the things they appreciate about me, their wishes and blessings upon my "Third Age" stage of life.  Such creativity from my poet, theater, and musician friends!  And Hub moved me to tears by bringing a recording of a song that has special meaning for us -- sort of the story of our tumultuous early married years and the gratitude we have for  our ability to survive and grow in love together to an age we never could have imagined back then.

On birthday morning, I sat around drinking coffee and chatting with Hub, a favorite pastime and one that happens too rarely as we go about our hustle, bustle lives.  Early afternoon I headed for the spa and treated myself to a 90 minute "Vitality" treatment:  foot soak and foot, ankle and calf massage, then a relaxing full body massage with hot stones, then an "anti-aging" eye treatment.  I don't know if I reversed aging at all, but at one point I flashed on that old query:  "On your deathbed what will you wish you'd done differently?"  My answer: I didn't get enough massages.  I'm gonna fix that in 2016.

Late in the afternoon we met friends of 32 years for Happy Hour at one of our favorite local places with a view of Puget Sound and the ferry landing. But the view was secondary.  What I know is no matter where we meet, I am always renewed by their company -- the history of old friends shared, the goofiness, the wit, the laughter.  It was a highlight.

From there we drove to Seattle (in a traffic snarl, reminding us why we so rarely make that trip anymore, sadly) to attend a Kirtan with the amazing Gina Sala.  I'm going to plug my other blog here so you can read about a Kirtan if you don't know what that is (and poke around in the blog for a minute.  I keep telling you it's not just for Yogis!)  : http://circlingthemat.blogspot.com/2015/12/make-joyful-noise-kirtan-coming-to-yoga.html  I was transported, as always, by the warm energy of those in attendance, the music, the mantra.  Ahhh...

On post-Birthday morning, my "kids" all showed up for brunch prepared by Hub.  I had lots of help from our 6 year-old Angel to open presents, the food was delicious and my gratitude for every single moment with them was beyond measure.  I don't know what I thought it would be like to have grown children, their partners, and grandchildren in my life -- I don't think I had a clear idea of it.  Or if I did, I might have assumed they would only show up out of obligation and avoid us when they could.  Imagine my delight that they actually seem to ENJOY family time and coming home to see Mom and Dad.  So blessed.

The afternoon found us in front of the TV, our Sunday ritual, cheering for the Seahawks.  They won!  Then off to a Holiday/Caroling Party which had nothing to do with my birthday, but I included it in my personal festivities nonetheless.  It is such fun to hang out with friends who are musicians.  We are not musical at all, something I regret, so maybe that's why I am drawn to those who are.  We had such fun singing and banging away on various percussion instruments while those who can played guitar and piano.  Plus, yep, I got another lively rendition of Happy Birthday and a Tiramisu cake!

So, now I'm 65 and I think the celebration was worthy of that milestone.  I appreciate those who endure and indulge my birthday every year.  I crammed a lot into that weekend, as well as a get-away BD/holiday weekend the week prior and a sweet and festive BD breakfast with my BFF a few days later.   Then Christmas came along, so it was a busy week.  I've always said December 26th is my favorite day of the year -- a day for relaxing and letting the craziness of December start to fade away; my goal this week is to do just that.

At least, that's the view from here...©

I'LL HAVE THE STEAMED YONI, PLEASE.

OK.  Let's explore Yoni Steaming!

First, "yoni".... anyone?  Let me help:  It's the Sanskrit word for "vagina" or "womb". The male counterpart is often referred to as a "lingam" but this isn't a direct Sanskrit translation.  We will go with it for now, though, since it is used in common parlance as such -- if you commonly parlance in these things.

At the World Elder Gathering we attended in Hawaii, there were breakout sessions designed for women only, yoni steaming being one.  I read the description of this deeply spiritual practice of womb honoring and it cracked me up.  I admit right here and now the ONLY reason I signed up was for blog fodder.  I mean, really!  Who wouldn't???  Besides, even after reading the description of the practice, I was unclear how my yoni could get steamed (other than the usual way).  I was on a research mission.

I showed up to the session with nine other women and found a circle of yoga mats, each with a 5- gallon bucket placed upon it, surrounding a beautiful altar laid out on a colorful scarf in the middle of the circle.  The young woman leading the session greeted us with a brilliant smile and warm, welcoming manner.  She was beautiful, 25 or so I'd guess, wearing a midriff baring halter and long skirt.  She had perfect skin.  I notice skin these days since I'm currently undergoing topical chemotherapy on my hands for pre-cancerous lesions, but that's another story.

I chose my mat and bucket and looked around.  The other women (ranging I'd guess from 55-75 years of age) looked as bewildered as I, but certainly game for the experience.  There was also giggling.

Our leader asked us to sit quietly and started us off with a guided meditation on the deep spiritual significance of our womanly bodies, focusing on the womb and its many wonders as a place of procreation, shelter, a place of power, and insight.  I'm a sucker for a good guided meditation.  I was getting into it, but kept being a tiny bit distracted by the technicality of having no womb.  (Hysterectomy: 2001)  I wondered if I was committing fraud by being there.

Next we did a check-in where we went around and talked of our responses to the meditation, so I mentioned this fraudulent feeling and my years of infertility and anger at my body and parts that didn't work right, tears welled in my eyes...what the hell?!?  This wasn't funny anymore!  I actually dropped my cynical, "I'm only here for the material" stance and shared honestly.  As did everyone else.  We were assured that the "womb space" remains regardless of actually having the anatomically correct apparatus.  I found this oddly moving.

But then it was finally time to start the actual steam, so I regained my bemused affectation and waited patiently while our leader poured a hot (steaming!) herbal potion into glass mixing bowls (like a yummily-scented tea).  The herbs were a mixture meant for post-menopausal women.  She knew her audience.  Once poured, each bowl was placed inside the 5-gallon bucket and a beautifully crafted smooth wooden toilet-type seat (think luxurious outhouse) was placed over the bucket.  We shed our undies, picked up our long skirts, and lowered our nether parts onto the seat where the steam was rising to bathe our yonis in a nice warm elixir of nurture.   It felt pretty great.

The idea was to do a 20 minute sit.  (I thanked my Yoga and meditation practices for the core and back strength to remain in an upright and unsupported position for this long).  While sitting, our leader did a simple singing bowl performance (so soothing) as well as a Goddess chant in Sanskrit (beautiful voice).  The yoni tissues, being warmed by steam, relax and swell and she says the vaginal space opens to allow the steam to rise to the womb space...I don't know about that.  But it did feel nice -- not in a sexual way, but more like an "ahhhh...." relaxing massage sort of way.  She encouraged us to vocalize with her.

I've done this before in other settings, including Yoga classes, and always feel a bit self-conscious.  But we all sort of started to hum or hiss or sing as she made the singing bowl ring and it was actually quite lovely.

Until I detected a disturbance on the other side of the room.  I opened my eyes and realized our leader had walked to the entrance to dissuade a MALE conference attendee from walking through our Yoni Steaming space to get to his room.  Uh...NO!  I saw her motion to him silently to go away, as she shook her head no.  He ignored her!  He walked right through (along the wall at least, not in the middle of our circle).  It totally funked my vibe!  I was so pissed at male privilege, discounting women, abuses suffered at men's hands -- maybe I projected a bit of historical patriarchy on the poor guy who just wanted to take a nap, but sheesh!  I do have to think he didn't know what he was walking into and was likely completely appalled to find ten Elder women sitting on buckets, "vocalizing".  I hope the image haunts his dreams for years to come, because he acted like a total lingam!

When steam time came to an end we de-throned and arranged ourselves in a lying down position on our Yoga mats for a few moments of Savasana (basically lying still in a quiet, meditative frame of mind).  Then we sat and did a check out and to a woman, there did seem to be a theme of feeling nurtured, healed, and renewed by the experience.  Go figure.

I left still thinking the whole idea was a bit bizarre.  And I do see the humor in suggesting this as a "girls night out" activity.  But let me say this:  When women come together, stories are told.   This exercise ended up being surprisingly moving.  Once past the curiosity and giggles, we shared our stories -- of shame, abuse, infertility, miscarriage, abortion, of being sexually active or of sex being a distant memory -- the stories of women's bodies, women's lives.  By focusing our attention with loving intention on a body part that is both worshipped and vilified, both caressed and violated, we took back what belongs to us.  We loved ourselves back to wholeness.  And that is no laughing matter.

At least, that's the view from here...©

ELDERS IN THE JUNGLE

I am so happy to be home.  I am not a good traveler, actually.  I used to long to run away, crave a change of scenery and an escape from my "real life".  Now I am sort of amazingly content to stay home.  I still enjoy the occasional change of scenery, but I rarely feel a craving or need for it.  When I do, a few days away and I'm renewed and ready to come home.  Everything I love is right here.  Plus, traveling is full of "hassle-factor" frustrations and physical discomforts -- two things I've worked hard to NOT have in my life!  (Like NOT having WiFi on the trip and unable to blog it in real time!)

But anyway, we just got back from the "Big Island", Hawaii.  We had not visited there for 27 years -- I recall Son-One was 3 yrs old and held my hand the entire time.  Literally.  And thanks be to the gods, I remember even at the time telling myself that in spite of how clung to I felt, to cherish that time since it wouldn't be long before he would shun my outstretched hand.  I was right.  Son-Two was 18 months old and hated every minute of the trip, fussy and out of sorts most of the time.  Now he loves to jet off to new places.  I wonder now why parents even want to travel that far with little tiny children -- but we saw plenty of them doing it, as we did so long ago.

This time it was just the two of us and the impetus was to attend the World Elder Gathering of the Mankind Project, in which Hub has been actively involved for nearly 20 years.  Yep, from parents of wee ones to "elders".  We've come a long way.  The gathering of about 150  elder men and women (over 50 years old) was held at Kalani Resort, in the Puna District south of Hilo -- the jungly wet side of the island.  We lucked out and had perfectly sunny skies nearly the whole time (one night of rain, while we slept).  Kalani is beautiful.  Here, cruise through the website:  https://kalani.com  Our accommodation was the largest of the Treehouse rooms and it was heavenly to sleep in a room largely enclosed by only screens, letting in the welcome breezes (when there were some...it was very hot and humid!  We were grateful for the fans!) as well as the sounds of nature, including the invasive Coqui  tree frogs that set to "singing" at dusk and well into the night.

The schedule was jam-packed with programming for men and women separately and men and women together.  One co-ed presentation that most motivated me was by a physician who spoke about nutrition and advocated a mostly vegan diet both for health and the planet.  His claim was that most modern ailments are diet-related and I saw his points.  Hub thought he was a bit on the extreme side, but we both noted places where we could be more conscientious consumers of food and resources.   Kalani itself it devoted to sustainability and healthy cuisine, so we got a good start at the retreat.  Today I'm getting a new crock-pot.

At one of the women's sessions we created a croning ritual that was joyful and moving.  I know the word "crone" has taken on a seriously negative connotation, but it is actually a term of respect and recognition of a woman in her wisdom years and I can embrace that.  The ritual was for each woman to enter the circle, wearing a length of fabric as a belt,  and state an answer to the questions:  1.  What have you learned?  2.  What are you now learning?  3.  What will you teach?  It was profound to hear the answers. Then, as she stood alone, five women at a time approached her with a 3 foot length of ribbon upon which was written a characteristic that had served them in their lives and with which each wanted to bless the new crone, i.e., love, compassion, strength, humor, courage, etc.  Each woman tied her ribbon to the belt and said "I bless you with...courage (or whatever her word).  At the end of the ritual the crone stood alone in the circle wearing her new crone skirt flowing with 20 colorful ribbons writ with words of affirmation and received the blessing of the group.   It was quite beautiful and for some extremely emotional.

One afternoon there were breakout sessions for women on various topics.  I chose Yoni Steaming.  Of course.  Because how could one pass up an opportunity to experience that???

At least, that's the view from here...

Most were from the US, some from U.K., a lot from Australia.

The Gathering in the main building.

Sitting area in our "treehouse" (Second story walk-up on a hill really felt like a treehouse!)

ADJUSTMENTS MUST BE MADE

Once a month I facilitate a group called WISE -- Women Investigating, Supporting, and Exploring -- a gathering at my Unitarian Universalist church for women over 60.  We investigate what it is to be an "elder", how our culture views us, and what we can do to bust a few myths of aging. We support each other with sharing of  joys and sorrows, challenges and victories. We explore where we are and where we are going next, setting goals, making plans, making peace, and still raising our fists, fighting to the end for a better world.  We laugh a lot too.  

Yesterday we exchanged recipes, which is about the most traditionally "old lady" thing we've ever done.  We had a blast, each pulling a recipe out of a passed basket, then listening as the person who brought the recipe told the story behind it; why it was special to her.  We also talked about what kind of Christmas we are having this year:  Joyous, Lonely, Cranky, Broke, Sick…  there are all kinds of responses to this season, not all of them Merry and Bright.  Our minister gave a really good sermon on this topic right before our WISE gathering.

Something that came up for one woman was acknowledged by many.  There comes a time, often, when we are no longer the hub of the magic.  We are "retired" from being at the center of the festivities, as kids marry and move away, go to the in-laws instead, or just decide they don't really like Christmas.  Maybe we've lost a spouse, or have moved to a smaller house, or just don't feel like continuing with all the hoopla.  Sometimes Christmas sucks.

We decided there is a degree of freedom in stepping back, but there is also the possibility of a great deal of grief when our role changes, often not of our choosing.

My "kids" still come to our home for the holidays and I am grateful for that.  Yet there are times when I feel sad about losing the place of importance and primacy in my grown sons lives.  We were so close when they were young and my life pretty much revolved around them.  Gladly so.  Yet, the successful outcome of all of those years of dedication is bittersweet…they grew strong, independent, and capable of creating families and lives of their own.  

There are times when I miss the "old days" and indulge in a bit of longing for more closeness and intimacy at times.  I feel a little sorry for myself and that feels good -- to acknowledge my sadness and aloneness.  Then I dust myself off and realize the days of holding them in my arms, tousling their hair, hearing their most secret hopes, dreams, frustrations and griefs may be gone, but...

My job isn't really finished.  I continue to teach and show them the way, just as I always have.  I continue to model for them what I hope for them to experience as "elders" -- a life that is lived at a slower pace, but one still filled with passion and purpose.  

I can still reach out to them in ways they can accept now -- with a text or a phone call or a Facebook post, a small gift, a word of encouragement, a reminiscence, a loving hug, a weekly family dinner.  I am there for them, a constant in their busy lives, even when they don't notice.

I am there, just as they will be for their own kids, in some far-off future Christmas season when they will shed a tear, too, for what has passed, what has changed when they are no longer the Center of the Universe for their grown children.

And that's as it should be; it's just hard sometimes.  Our work is to acknowledge new realities and adjust accordingly, with love for them…and ourselves…at Christmas and always.

At least, that's the view from here… ©

WISE TO BE W.I.S.E.?

Why do women squabble and quibble?  Do men do this?  If we are dabbling in stereotypes anyway, I suppose men do have their career hierarchies, muscle mass, and penis size issues to deal with.  But, being a woman, I think I have a pretty good view from the front on a lifetime of tits (haha) for tats that females seem to bandy about.  And we all have our Egos which, poor things!, just insist on having their way.

So, over the weekend I was at a party when a woman from my church, maybe 10 years my junior, and whom I admire for many reasons, said she needed to talk to me about something.  That "something" was the name of the women's group I've facilitated for over 4 years.

We call ourselves the W.I.S.E. Gathering -- Women Investigating, Supporting, and Exploring.  It's a group formed to give voice and visibility to women over 60.  So yeah, we card at the door; gotta be 60.  We love welcoming those into our midst who have "come of an age" to join in.  Initially we got some guff for what some called our practice of age discrimination (there were numerous other all-ages women's groups and gatherings, just sayin'), but that criticism has largely passed, I think.  Yet now I was hearing this:  It's really the name of the group that is the rub.  "If you are the WISE women does that make us (younger women) the "dummy" women?"

My initial thoughts, upon hearing this were along these lines:  "Hmmm…no, of course not!  Hmmm…I feel bad about this.  Hmmm...this is pissing me off.  Hmmm….interesting that I am being triggered by this feedback.  Hmmmm…what the hell?!?"

I was determined not to be defensive, to breathe, breathe, breathe, and keep listening.  The name, it was suggested, should be something like "Silver Sages".  (Uh-huh, not too keen on using stereotypical physical characteristics as an identifier, but maybe that's just me.)  The rationale she shared is that wisdom can be gained at any age, but you have to be old to be sage.  My take?  Semantics.

But I have been pondering this ever since.  I am sort of amazed that some women in my congregation are annoyed by our group because of a word, one that in traditional cultures is an honorific used to denote an age and stage of life.  I agree, age does not automatically confer wisdom.   I know some batshit crazy and very unwise women of all ages.  

Yet…having lived a long time means having (usually) gathered the experiences and perspectives that seem to even out the psychological volatility and emotional vulnerability of a more youthful age.  It seems to focus one in a way that was not possible when younger.  There is time to reflect, to see the end times not that far away, to wrestle with the urgency of life and to do the work and feel the joy that commands our immediate attention.  But this time of inner exploration can often force us into a state of marginalization by our culture (and our friends and families.)  There is a drive to "keep busy" so we can still feel vital and be seen as such.

So what jazzed me about starting this group was to keep us more than "busy" with kitchen duties and social event organization and book club facilitations -- all incredibly noble and worthy pursuits, but not at all the complete picture.  I was starting to see a "kindliness" veneer slapped over the fire I knew was still smoldering.  I wanted to make a place where we could shout out our anger, pain, sadness, and JOY at living fully, completely, and meaningfully as Elders.  I wanted to create a place where the word "elder" didn't get mistaken for "elderLY".

At our first meeting 4-1/2 years ago I expected maybe 5-6 curious women to show up.  The small room overflowed with 24 women -- and we have averaged about 18 for each session since.  Struck a nerve, apparently.  Filled a need, apparently.  We did a little consciousness-raising exercise that first afternoon.  I asked women to shout out cultural stereotypes of aging women.  The list we came up with consisted of 24 negative characteristics and 8 positives.  After meeting together monthly for 8 months, raising consciousness, rejecting society's biases, and forming a sisterhood of women sharing passions, activism,  hopes, and dreams, we looked at the stereotype exercise again.  By our last gathering of that first year we had accumulated 81 positives against 39 negatives!

And to me that was what this is about:  remembering who we are.  Or maybe for the first time affirming who we are.  At 63 I am among the youngest in our group.  That means that most are a good deal older than those who take exception to our name.  It seems there is never an end to discrimination against women, both overt and covert, but for most of the women in our group they came of age at a time when women were denied so much in so many ways it's almost comical to think of it (if it wasn't so sad.)

I became an adult in the early 70's -- a time that swept me up in women's liberation activism and created opportunities that were unheard of for women 10 years my senior at the same age -- and not even recognizable to women 10 and more years younger, who reaped some of those benefits.  (I will never forget a woman in her early 30's who publicly thanked me and my age cohorts for the work we did that allowed her to take so much for granted in her own life -- to play sports, go into a non-traditionally female career, to own her own home.)

Reading Mark Nepo's "Finding Inner Courage" this morning, I ran across his reference to psychologist Erik Erikson and his work on identifying psychological stages of development.  The task of old age (he says 65 and over) is to "find meaning in the whole of one's life in the face of one's immanent death, and the good outcome (of this search) is expressed in the virtue 'wisdom'."  We are doing this work together in W.I.S.E. and I hope I don't sound defensive when I say that whatever wisdom we have come by, those of us born before 1954, was hard won and ours to embrace in a name that affirms.

And I know well that all of us, regardless of age and regardless of what name we give to our gathering spaces, need a place to come together to do the work of our distinct ages and stages of development-- honoring, supporting, and cheering each other on wherever we are.  Maiden, Mother, Crone, or Wise Woman, Sage, Elder…we're all in this together.  Let's get on with it.

At least, that's the view from here…. ©