24 HOURS IN GRANDMA LIFE, PART 2

I was up at 6 a.m. after a fitful night of not much sleep.  I usually get up at 6:00 anyway so it was no big deal to be ready to greet Son One at our agreed-upon time of 6:45 for him to drop off their dog for the day.  We all realized at some point that with them off on their snowshoe hike and us in Seattle with the girls, their dog would be alone in his crate for about 12 hours at their house.  Nope.  So of course we agreed to dog-sit.   We'd be gone about 5 hours, but that was more manageable for him.

Son and pup showed up at 7:15, running late, so Son One stuck the crate in the door, said "Hi and Bye" and took off.  Rocko was a ball of energy and running around like crazy like he always does when he first arrives.  I knew he'd have the girls up in no time, and of course that's just what happened.  He sniffed them out in their downstairs nest and ran down to greet them.

I started making the fruit salad I'd planned for breakfast.  In short order Jewel was upstairs announcing, "Rocko pooped on the carpet."  Angel was right behind her grabbing paper towels for clean up.  Sigh.  I trusted them to get the job done, plus, I just didn't want to deal with it.  I kept my salad-making going.  Angel went to the bathroom down the hall, came out and said, "Oh no! Rocko just peed in the hallway!"  This time I was annoyed.  He had just arrived!!!  Angel, again, went into clean up mode while I took Rocko outside -- sort of a horse/barndoor situation.  He just looked at me, sniffed around for 30 seconds, and wanted back inside.  I decided to try to wear him out a bit by throwing the ball for him, but that only lasted a few minutes.  Back inside we came.

The girls went back downstairs, but were up again a little after 8:00 at my urging since I needed them eat, get dressed, and ready for our trip to Seattle, with a plan to leave around 9:30.  They behaved as if they had all the time in the world.  By then, Hub had come down from his morning routine upstairs.  While the girls ate, again taking their plates downstairs, he and I had a few moments to chat and have coffee where I told him of all the events that had transpired since I last had seen him awake just before 10:00 the night before.  I admit, I shed a few tears of overwhelm and self-recrimination.  I just felt I should be able to handle all the ongoing "chaos" a bit better.  How do some people move through these things with such ease?  He was, as always, a great listener and encourager and propper-up of my sagging self-esteem.

I took Rocko out again for more ball throwing before he'd have to be alone for several hours.  Hub went to the garage to clear out his snowboard gear from the car so we could all fit in for the drive to the candle place.  I cleaned up the kitchen with Jewel chatting in my direction as she played one of her computer games on her tablet.  She wanted me to create an "avatar" of myself to play with her, so I stood beside her at the counter where she sat and we started to created the face/hair/clothing of this computer generated "me".  I chose a chin shape that she said wasn't right.  I said I thought it was fine.  She said, "But you have the chin of an old hag."  

O.K.  I know I should have laughed.  Under other circumstances and with a bit more sleep I would have, maybe.  But instead, my heart sank and I just stood there silently, blankly, wondering how to respond.  She immediately said she was sorry; that she didn't mean it; she just meant I'm old  -- with which I do not take exception, but still it stung.  I know this is what they hear in our youth-obsessed culture; she didn't mean it as overtly insulting.   She was truly sorry she'd blurted it out.  She knows my stance on ageism.  LOL  Struggling to feel relevant and on top of things anyway, I just calmly and as cheerfully as I could, told her I needed to use the bathroom and she could finish the avatar and show me when I returned.  I went up to my room and cried.  I allowed myself a 5 minute pity party about how tired I was and how hard I was trying and how much I loved my grandkids and wanted to be able to do this for them, but maybe I'm not cut out to be a "fun grandma"...on and on.  Then I pulled myself together, put on a little make up, and went downstairs to face the day...again.

We all gathered and I said, "Grab your coats!" to which they replied they did not bring any.  It was pouring rain and about 38 degrees outside.  I left Angel to tough it out since she would mostly be inside making her candle, but I grabbed an umbrella and one of my fleece jackets for Jewel, who refused to wear it.  I brought it along anyway.  We headed out and the drive was fine.  Hub dropped us off at the candle place and went off to park the car.  The older girls settled; Hub returned after parking;  he, Jewel (who said she was cold and put on the previously refused jacket, along with gloves we found in the pockets), and I started to explore the neighborhood for the next hour while the candle event was going on.  The area where we were is not really kid-friendly.  It's very urban, hip, and sophisticated and not exactly a family fun destination.  But we found a big art supply store and enticed Jewel to go in with us.  She had a blast.  Lots of art supplies, but also little this's and that's like cool pencils, papers, games, puzzles, rocks, magnets, and toys.  

At one rotating stand there were colorful rocks of various types, geodes and the like.  One bin had round balls stuck together like a bracelet.  She picked the whole thing up, thinking it literally was a bracelet, and trying to try it on, the magnetic hold released and one-inch balls when flying off her hand and skittering all over the floor with a crash.  She was shocked and embarrassed.  But the very cool young sales-woman came over to see if we were OK, laughing and encouraging that the accident was no big deal as we skuttled around trying to find all the balls rolling on the floor.   

After that fiasco, we went in search up and down the aisles looking for affordable markers that Jewel wanted.  Why are dogs allowed in stores?  In the very aisle we needed to be in, a dog had taken an enormous dump and no less than three young sales-women were in the process of doing clean up.  (I felt this was going to the be theme of my day!)  We finally were able to access the markers, pay for them and get outside again in time to go pick up the older girls.  We still had 2-1/2 hours to kill while their candles 
"cured" and would be ready for pick up.

We got everyone in the car again and drove down the hill to the tourist attracting Pike Place Market.  There is so much to see and do, we thought they'd love it.  Jewel said she doesn't like big cities because it's too crowded and every one litters. She didn't like seeing the fish stalls because she feels sorry for dead animals and she wants to be a vegan.  She held my hand through the crowd, but with a glum look on her face as we made our way trying to keep Hub in view as he went ahead trying to find a kid-acceptable place to have lunch.  She said she wanted to go home.  Everyone was hungry.  

We finally found a spot where we could all sit down.  Restaurants are expensive, but at this point we just said, "Order what you want."  I was going to cheap out at the $5.00 hot chocolates, but Hub overrode me.  He knew better than to throw roadblocks at this mostly pleasant respite.  Lunch was fun and relaxing.  Well worth the $114 we paid for simple fare, nothing fancy.  (What the hell?!?)  By the way, my animal-loving "vegan" had a cheeseburger and ate every bite.  LOL

We decided to ditch the Market at that point, having barely seen anything, realizing it was not fun for the kids.  We loaded up the car and headed back up the hill to the candle place, but still had time to kill so wandered around a bit, strolled through an upscale toy and clothing store.  We picked up the candles, headed back home, dropping Friend off on the way.  Back at our house our two girls were quiet and calm, seemingly content.  Jewel had napped on the way home.  Hub went upstairs to install the new bedroom blinds that had been delivered.  The girls and I went downstairs to "veg out" with a movie I agreed to rent on Amazon, "Wild Child".  I was looking forward to some mindless teen chick flick  entertainment.  

Jewel had found my old Betsy McCall doll on a shelf downstairs and had been enamored with her.  She's about 60 years old and has one outfit that came with her.  Jewel decided to design her a new dress.  So for the entirety of the movie I was trying to watch, she sketched a dress and took measurements of the doll, asking me for help reading the tape measure, how to spell words, etc etc.  I watched the movie with one eye while engaging in the design details of a new dress for Betsy with the other.  The movie ended and we adjourned to the fabric box to choose fabric for the new dress. She changed her mind on the fabric design after finding a pattern more favorable.

I am no seamstress, but I figured, "How hard can this be?"  Hard.  The first attempt was a disaster and went in the trash; the second slightly less so, but we made it work.  I cut out the shape of the dress, got the seams started and we took turns hand-sewing until we had a rather shapeless but workable enough new dress for Betsy.  Deciding to add a belt made all the difference.  Accessories often do.  Jewel and I were both pretty proud of our collaborative efforts.

After chasing Rocko around to retrieve the spools of thread he was chewing on after raiding my thread box, I cleaned up all the fabric, thread, needles, scissors, etc and did dinner prep.  Hub came downstairs and sauted shrimp and dressed the salad.  Shortly after finishing dinner I got a text from Son One saying they were home and he'd be over shortly to get the kids and the dog.  I sort of stood at the window in anticipation.  LOL  Not really, but I did start to project myself into an evening of pajamas and a grown-up movie in a clean and quiet TV room with Hub.   And later, when I got to that TV room, I discovered Angel had cleaned everything up to its previous tidiness and not a trace of the "sleepover party" remained.  Plus, before going home she had sought me out to thank me and tell me she loves me and was so happy we treated her to the sleepover and outing.  Heart melts.

Today I am feeling 100% rested, enjoying a quiet Sunday, and doing some self-admonishment for my self-criticism around not being completely and totally joyful about every moment of the 24 hours of Grandma-ing.  Hub helped me get perspective by telling me I should give myself credit for doing a damn good job in spite of my challenges around high sensitivity to noise, demands, and the unfolding chaos of the unknown at every turn.  He's right.  Yay, me.

So, to be clear, none of this is meant as complaint.  I have lovely, normal, amazing grandkids.  What I recall is that raising kids is hard and relentless work.  I did it for 20 years, getting my two boys from zero to eighteen -- and beyond, if one counts the horrors of the college years.  I wouldn't want to do it again.  AND, I am incredibly grateful to have my granddaughters close, both physically and emotionally.  It is a labor of exhausting and joyful love.  It's like living in a colorful kaliedoscope of chaos and beauty, ever spinning, ever surprising.  

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

TAKE ME TO CHURCH

Thinking about Jesus today.  I heard this song yesterday on the radio (Take Me to Church) and I love it so much.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MYSVMgRr6pw

Then, early this morning I was surprised by....church!

Hub and I woke up to a rainy Easter morning today on Kauai.  I threw on a sundress and headed to the Terrace downstairs where breakfast is served to grab our mugs of free Kauai Coffee and pick up the newspaper  -- my morning routine.   But when I stepped off the elevator I was struck by a loud "rock" band playing something Jesus-y in the Courtyard.

I peeked 'round the corner to see nearly 200 people packed onto folding chairs at an Easter Sunrise Service.  I was greeted with a huge smile and an invitation to take a seat.  I demurred, but stood in the back, rapt with attention to this spectacle.  I watched as more and more people joined, as greeters hugged and shook hands, as the childrens' choir (preschool to teenagers) sang like angels.  The guest preacher, from Seattle!, gave a pretty standard Easter message befitting the Evangelical bent of this brand of Christianity, including the altar call to those ready to surrender their lives to Jesus.  (No takers on this Easter morning, but many likely had already done that judging by hands raised in the air during song and prayer.)  The pastor hammered home the God is Great message and assured everyone that no matter the harshness of life on earth, "the last will be first in Heaven" and "Jesus is with you!  God is waiting for you!"  This elicited some Amens and raised arms in praise of the Lord.  Everyone was smiling!  Some were crying.  The music swelled.  A local pastor stepped up to invite everyone who "wants more Jesus today!" to come to a 10:00 a.m. service at a local church with lunch served afterward -- featuring his own mother's Home Cooking!

I tell ya, I get it.  The showmanship and message of love and relief from suffering is an affecting one. I thought back to my Christian upbringing at first in the friendly Methodist church of my childhood, then the more austere brand of Protestantism of my Lutheran years after marrying into a conservative Lutheran family and being expected to become one of them.  Then we swerved left and attended a Congregationalist church for awhile, before finding Unitarian Universalism.  Easter Sunday was a favorite worship experience in all of those earlier Christian denominations.  What's not to like about petticoats, patent leather shoes, and Hallelujahs?

But "Take Me to Church" (partly about the Church's punishment of homosexuality) also reminds me of the hypocrisy, the judgements, the literal (and sort of made up) interpretations of the Bible and Jesus' teachings that turned me away from the Christian church.  When a certain brand of Christianity became intertwined with political conservatism I became judge-y too.  How could two diametrically opposed worldviews exist in one entity?  Feed the poor = cut food assistance.  Welcome the stranger = close our borders.   Care for the sick and vulnerable = gut healthcare.  Serve the poor = subsidize billion dollar corporations.

But this is Easter.  It is a time to reflect on a New Beginning.  Jesus was a new beginning in his time and I take his example as the meaning of this day.  Appropriated from the Pagan rituals of renewal and regrowth, fertility and abundance, Jesus is said to have risen from the dead.  (Maybe.  Jon Snow did it...Game of Thrones reference for the uninitiated; also a handsome guy, as all movie Jesus' are as well.)  If he did it then, I truly wish he'd come on back again now and take a look at what is being said and done in his name.  (I'd like his return to NOT be accompanied by that whole Rapture thing...messy.)  Maybe we'd find out this is exactly what he intended.  Or maybe he'd lead the Resistance, as he did in his day.

After Christian Church I joined Hub in practicing Qigong on the beach (Ancient Chinese ); I did today's Oprah/Deepak recorded meditation on Hope (Vedic tradition); I chanted along with my favorite Kirtan artists: Krishna Das, Jai Uttal, Gina Sala (Tantric, Vedic, Hindu); I watched Valerie Kaur on YouTube (Sihk).

And  I will hold the lessons of the Fierce and Gentle Jesus I believe he was, and try to be more like that.  My "religion" is eclectic and curious, finding the common Capital "L" Love (thanks for that, Gina) in each practice.  With this Love as guide,  I renew my urge to find the courage to resist wrongs,  to find gratitude in every day, to see the Divine in all, and to sing Hallelujah! for this gift of life.  May we all RISE UP in Love in service to the greater good.  Amen.

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

Photo Credit: A painting by R. (Richard) Hook

POST-MARCH EUPHORIA

Well, silly me.  Nothing to worry about.  No Anarchists, no opposition "haters", no rowdy marchers, no danger of  being crushed or trampled by the crowd....just 130,000 smiling, happy, positive, determined women, men, and children under mysteriously sunny skies being all polite and funny and creative -- quintessentially Seattle -- in a 3-mile phalanx of humanity moving slowly toward that beacon of modernity, the Space Needle -- where all dispersed and jammed every single bus, monorail, and taxi for hours upon hours (but more about that later...)

I will say we did it in style.  One of our group had an "in" at the historic Camlin Hotel and booked us a bunch of rooms.  It has an old world elegance, updated for the 21st century, but still feeling like you step into the 1920's inside with gold-gilted mirrors and a grand piano in the lobby.  (Much classier and understated than those "other" gold-encrusted gaudy T-Towers, of course.)  Our group of 20 gathered in a back "party room" and proceeded to create signs, eat snacks, have a glass of sparkling this or that, and get to know each other.  There was a core group and then friends of friends.  Many of us were strangers from one another.  I led a sharing circle where we each spoke to what brought us to the march, what were our hopes and fears about the experience, what support did we need...and how do we get from the hotel to the starting point over a mile away early on Saturday morning:  logistics.

Some of us got up early and bussed to the park where the march would start.  Some of us decided to join the march a mile in, at an official "entry point" along the route.  We later found out that the park, which was projected to hold 25,000 was soon overwhelmed with 50,000 or more people spilling into the neighborhood streets.

 My group decided to bus to the first entry point -- a plan several hundred other people also made.  We arrived to a large, colorful, cheerful crowd awaiting a first glance at the marchers headed our way.  A large lead contingent of police cars and cops on bikes came by, then the marchers.  We soon wove our way into the throng and off we went -- part of the excitement, part of the presence, part of history.

I felt a wave of so many emotions; so grateful for my friends and sharing this with them; grateful for the positive vibe all around me and the feeling of safety, shared values, and sense of community where babies to teens joined with adults of all ages, to the very aged with walkers and canes all putting our bodies on the streets and cheering from the sidewalks all along the march route.

Pink-eared 'pussy' hats (as in cat) were the predominant headwear -- women, men, children and dogs donned the knitted hats, a nod to the infamous crude quote by the man who is now the president about the female body part he feels entitled to grab when with women he finds attractive.  We took his crudeness and owned it as our own -- Pussy Power.

There had been a call for silent march and for the most part it was.  We had quiet conversations with each other and offered words of complement and encouragement to those around us, but there were no loud chants or shouts or songs or anything negative at all!  It was a wave of love or at least good humor where satire was more effective than anger.

We reached the Space Needle, hearing that some of our original group were still almost 3 miles behind us, having taken nearly 2 hours to exit the park!  We three Shiny Sisters Ubered back to downtown Seattle and took our place on the sidewalk, watching the marchers pass until the end.  It was a moment of profound delight and pride.  Not one altercation.  No incidents of violence or discord.  And that seems to be the case across all marches everywhere around the US and the world.  I've heard of no arrests, even at the massive 500,000- person march in Washington DC.   Love Wins.

And then you have to find your way home....  We three retrieved our bags from the hotel and made for the bus station to hop onboard and head 25 miles north to home.  Not too many people at the stop, so we felt confident.  Then the first articulated bus came by jammed with people and the driver said "no more room".  Some at the stop said that was the FOURTH full bus!  Hmmm....a little discouraging.  But we waited for the next bus.  Same thing.  It was getting dark.  We were tired.  On to Plan B.  If we took a bus south to the beginning of the line, we could get on and get a seat before it did the whole route and was jammed!  Brilliant.

We schlepped our bags to a different bus stop and hopped onboard a mostly empty bus that goes underground through the bus tunnel.  We were relieved, chatting away, people watching, reviewing the day and when we emerged from the tunnel it was full dark and we were rolling past Safeco Field at a high rate of speed and onto I-90 east to Bellevue.  Hmmm....we'd missed our stop and were now expressing about 10 miles out of our way.  Damn!  That wasn't the plan!  But what can ya do?

Fortunately one of us (not me) pulled up the bus schedule and figured out how to get home from Bellevue -- only two more buses!  Once at the transit station we had to run to catch the next bus or wait an hour, but we made it.  We were finally on our way to at least be in our home county!  But alas, soon we were at a dead stop on the interstate due to a horrible roll-over accident and all lanes briefly blocked for emergency vehicles.  We broke out the chocolate and potato chips.  It was well past dinnertime.

Once past the accident and on our way again, we relaxed into knowing we'd soon be at the bus station that would get us to the bus home.  But then....the driver slowed to a crawl and pulled over on the shoulder of the freeway and turned off the bus.  Everything went completely dark for a moment.  Now what???  We have no idea. He cranked the engine and we were soon on our way, but something was obviously wrong because he was hanging in the right lane going about 40 MPH.  We made it though, got on the bus home, and nearly collapsed into the car when a kind husband met us at the station.   The trip home was nearly as long as the march, but hey, it was another Shiny Sister bonding experience where we got distracted, had great conversations, disagreed, got a little pissed, people-watched, ate, read Facebook posts to each other, and laughed A LOT.  Typical outing for us.


So, the march was much more than the march.  We were part of history, we showed up and "spoke" with our presence that we will not be silenced and we will be watching and participating in working for our values, our vision, our Democracy.  We were part of a huge community of souls around the globe (millions all over the world marched on 1/21/17!), among the citizens within a free and proud United States, members of a small community of friends old and new in Seattle, and held within a smaller knot of friends- to-the-end from our own county to the north.  Eventually each of us ended up singularly in her bed last night, grateful for all of it -- even the interminable bus adventure.  Can't wait 'til next time....WE RISE!  STRONGER TOGETHER!

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

CALL ME SENTIMENTAL

Nobody likes a sentimental old fool.  Nor a young one, either, really. Sentimentality is typically scorned, ridiculed, and to be avoided at all cost.  It's just not cool.  Irony is cool.  I love irony.  Even so....

Imagine my lifelong struggle to hide the significantly wide vein of sentimentality that flows through my heart and spills in a waterfall of tears when my attempts to sandbag it into submission fail.  People squirm.  Or treat me like a pitiful child.  Or laugh.

I can armchair analyze that they are merely uncomfortable acknowledging their own tender hearts and this causes in them the knee-jerk need to ridicule in another what they don't like in themselves.  (That's called acting out of Shadow -- thank you, Carl Jung.)  I frankly think they should do their personal work around this and grow some self-acceptance and compassion, but that's not my call to make.  I just have to deal with how to express my own authentic heart and respond to the reactions I get without judgement or shame.  A tall order.

My first memory of this particular ridicule was in 7th grade.  I adored Mr. Carter, my Language Arts and Social Studies teacher.  He was kind, but firm; encouraging and funny; sensitive and tough.  He  drew me out of a shell of shyness such that I felt more confident just walking into his classroom every day. I worked hard in his class, learned a lot, and developed a life-long love of the subjects he taught -- literature, writing, history, and geography.   I sat in the front row and hung on his every word.  At the end of the year, he stood up at the beginning of one class to announce he wouldn't be back the following school year.  He was leaving our Junior High.  I was shocked.  Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks falling onto my desk.  Before long, as he continued to talk, I was sobbing.  Then I heard the snickers, the whispers behind me, the chuckles.   Mr. Carter looked over my head and in no uncertain terms reprimanded those who were giggling and making crying noises and motions (fists rubbing eyes) and told them that being sentimental was nothing to be ashamed of; that it befitted a person who has a big heart.  I will always remember his defense of my reaction, but over the years my sentimentality has not been easier to bear.

I cry easily and mostly when I am touched to the core of my heart by a kindness, by gratitude, by appreciation, love, success, accomplishment, a Hallmark card.  Really, I am so easily manipulated by sentimentality that even when I know it's happening I am in full weep mode before I can tell myself they are just trying to get me to buy a new car.  I can be ambushed by movies, YouTube videos, literary passages, personally written kind words on a greeting card, inspirational speeches, Obama winning the Presidency (twice), treasured memories, weddings and funerals (life passages of any kind, really), hymns and carols, old toys, and photo albums....they all get me going.  It's a constant challenge.

I think my family has mostly come to terms with my teariness.  But I still try to hold it way back since I don't know for sure what the response will be in any given situation.

When Son-Two graduated from high school (10 years ago already!), some extended family came to town to share in the festivities.  They also came to see my mother, who had recently moved to an Assisted Living facility with increasing struggles with dementia.  As we all gathered 'round the dining room table, and joined hands to take turns saying what we are thankful for, as is our tradition,  I was overcome with gratitude for our being together -- such a rare occasion.  I found myself weeping as I tried to express my thanks for their making the trip to join in our family celebration and to support Mom in a difficult time.  One family member, uncomfortable with my tears, said -- "Oh, now we all have to cry-baby our way around the table!"  I was stunned, even as I understood the outburst from this person.  But I immediately squelched the tears and the feelings, building a little fort around my heart in that moment to stay safe from further ridicule.  I became the little 7th grader again, which is how I feel every time my heart swells and tears come in public.

Once a week my family gathers for Family Dinner doing the hand-holding thing.   To a person one common thread is gratitude for family gathered together.  I hear them all say it and feel thankful that this is a value shared.  But when I sit and look around at my little family: a husband I've know since he was 17, two grown sons, a daughter-in-law, two granddaughters, I am so filled with love, with gratitude, with so much I want to say to each one about what they mean to me -- all the memories I have of the silly, sublime, and even challenging times we've borne together, that I can barely speak or the floodgates would open wide.  So I just smile and say "I'm so incredibly thankful for all of you and for us being here together."  My voice cracks a little bit, but I contain the depth of feeling that courses through me, not wanting to scare the children or mess up my make up or cause others to look down in embarrassment for me.

I guess that's why occasionally I have to write about it when I'm home alone and can let the tears fall with every word.  My heart holds more love for my family, for my friends, for my many blessings, for my very life, than I can ever express.  But I know.  And I think Mr. Carter knew too.

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

WHAT IS ROMANTIC LOVE?

It’s Valentine’s Day.  So, I will now define romantic love!

How about Love is a Drug?

• More than a metaphor, being in love really does cause a drug-induced euphoria when  “love crazed” endorphins  flood the brain with a “feel good” rush.   But we eventually suffer a rebound effect when the drug wears off and to quote from a Jackson Browne song: “your perfect lover just looks like a perfect fool”.

Or do we go with the Soul-Mate idea?

• One perfect love in one perfect universe and how amazing to have found each other!  Really?  I’m a little too cynical for that concept.

Or we could examine the Psychological Shadow.

• The need to “marry our mother or father” so we can continue to heal the psychic wounds of childhood…unbeknownst to each other, of course. 

Or could love be a connection to our Best Friend?

• Someone who knows us better than we know ourselves and always has our back, until they don’t…

As for me, All of the Above.

I fell into infatuation at 17 with the high school quarterback, star pitcher, straight-A student, and all around cool guy.  I wore his class ring and told my girlfriends this was a wonderful insurance policy because he would at least have to see me one more time to get his ring back if he ever decided to break up with me.   Thus began (in my pre-feminist years) our first lifetime together.

We eventually married, that boy and I.  And before long I resented his seeming perfection, his perceived judgments, his ability to ignore my very considerable need to be reassured almost constantly of my desirability and worth.  For goodness sakes, he was acting just like my mother!!!

So we entered the rough seas of our second lifetime together… joined in a perfect storm of immaturity, curiosity, exploration, a year-long separation,  and the general craziness of the 1970’s….most of which I remember through a fog…but I know it was a time of great turmoil, some regret, and in retrospect, gratitude. 

Once that craziness was past, I was relieved when I realized we’d weathered the storms of societal and psychological upheavals and were still standing.  Side by side.  Soul Mates!   I was so glad the hard part was over! (HA!)

Then along came a baby.  Then another.  He had a demanding career. I was a stay at home mom trying to figure out what my identity was.  We had a big house and a big mortgage.  

We made commitments to committees… saving the world from nuclear holocaust, reforming the education system, electing a slew of Democrats. 

We moved through a spiritual quest that took us from Lutheranism, to Congregationalism, to Unitarian Universalism with side trips to several other isms.  

We discovered a form of personal growth work that led us to involvement in men’s and women’s circles that may have saved our marriage and our lives… and which took a lot of our time and energy.

I found a career, we faced the challenges of teenagers, and cared for aging parents.  

Thus, our third lifetime together was a blur of years that caught us up in a cyclonic swirl of busyness, exhaustion, joy, grief, and the nearly non-stop seeking of some sort of peace.  

Did we remain Soul Mates through all of this?  What is a Soul Mate anyway?  At times we barely saw each other!

And then there is now (note: circa 2010) -- a transition time. Children grown and almost launched, careers mostly behind us, downsizing the big house on the horizon…we even went to the RV show the other day.  We are discovering who we are all over again.

And what about love?   I’ve learned that the magic of “love” is no easy parlor trick.  Love is listening, supporting, forgiving, paying attention, and just being there.  It is being open to change, setting aside defensiveness and ego, talking until understanding dawns, and never losing sight of the other as a person of value, worth, and dignity.

So today I reflect on the daily mutual commitment that has resulted in the many lifetimes I share with my partner…

…filled with gratitude for the infatuation that brought us together, for the psychological growth that helped us know who are, separately and together,  for the best friend who reminds me who I am when I lose my way,  and for the soul who has joined with mine on this particular path in this particular life.

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

(This essay was presented at a 2010 Valentine's Day Service at the church I used to attend regularly.  I was asked on occasion to write and present a "personal testimonial" on the topic of the day.   This one still rings true, although six years further down the line we find ourselves savoring with even greater gratitude our 43 years and counting marriage, more committed to family and close friends over anything else, and completely in love with our granddaughters, who have come along since then, in a way neither of us would have predicted.  And so it goes....)

MY DAY WITH AMMA, PART 2

For seven hours we'd been in the arena where Amma, the "hugging saint", was appearing when our group was called to line up for seating in the "Dharma Line".
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dharma  A volunteer checked our ticket (Group X) to ensure we weren't cutting in ahead of others.  She asked if we wanted to be hugged separately or together -- we did notice some couples and even families all got one big hug.  We debated this, thinking it could be a nice shared experience, but in the end I wanted my own hug -- both arms around just me.  I need all the help I can get!

We then were asked to sit in a line of two adjacent folding chairs along a center aisle, moving up to the next set of chairs in front of us for about 15 rows, as they were vacated by the folks ahead. Eventually we reached a little "holding area" with chairs in a circle just at the edge of the stage.  We were asked to remove our shoes and stow our backpack in a big blue plastic tub.  I could feel my heart start to pound with nervous excitement.  We were so close now and I wondered if indeed, I'd get the "bliss blast", if I'd collapse from the Amma energy field surrounding me, if somehow all would be revealed in just one hug from this amazing woman.

Everything seemed to speed up at this point.  We moved rapidly around the circle and soon it was my turn to ascend the stairs to the stage.  There were still about 4 more chairs to advance from there to Amma's arms.  The stage was jammed with people.  There were rows of folding chairs arranged on either side of Amma's perch, facing her.  People who'd already had their hug were invited to sit here for a time, soaking in the proximity to her, until they had to move off the stage to make room for the next people ascending.   The stage was also crowded with volunteers and attendants to Amma, all directing traffic and crowding around her, helping move people through the hug moment.

I got to the first chair, then was asked to kneel about three people back from my turn.  I got down on my knees (thank you yoga practice!) and felt hands on my back inching me forward as those in front of me got their hug and moved on.  It was very crowded and I felt like I was being pushed into the back of the person in front of me -- similar to getting into a rock concert where there is only general seating.


Then I was being pushed forward with a hand on the back of my head directing me firmly into Amma's bosom.  But not before I caught a glimpse of her white robes, stained at the shoulder with what I took to be smeared makeup, sweat, and general human facial debris left behind by those in groups A-W.  The thought that I should hold my breath flitted through my mind.

I felt Amma's arms enfold me around my shoulders and mine wrap around her at the waist.  She feels
like a mother should -- all soft and round, with a hug that is simultaneously firm and gentle.  And she smelled amazing -- a mixture of sweet and savory -- flowers and spice.

I tried to tune everything else out -- Hub behind me, the crowd of attendants, the other devotees, and

knowing my image was now projected on the big screens for the crowd to see.  I just wanted to be in  the moment.  She bent her head to my ear and whispered a Sanskrit phrase over and over, maybe ten times.  I wish I could remember it.  I know a bit of Sanskrit and I know one of the words or syllables

was "ma" or "mama", but there was another shorter consonant-vowel sound in between the repetition of "ma" that I just didn't get.  So, likely I missed the spoken wisdom, at least in a form I could understand.

And just like that, it was over.  The hug was maybe 30 seconds long.  At the end Amma handed me the traditional "sweet" and a flower petal.  Attendants sort of yanked me to my feet and turned me toward the stage seating area where I could sit and bask in the glory of the moment until it was time for me to depart from close proximity to Amma and return to the masses.

Once off the stage, Hub and I left the arena right away.  We both agreed that she is a good hugger.  We also both agreed that we didn't feel the "bliss blast", nor were we anywhere near collapsing from an overwhelming energy force.  We popped our "sweet" (a Hershey's Kiss) into our mouths and identified the tiny flower petal as having come from red geraniums.  We also agreed we were glad we came; glad we were among the millions who have flocked to Amma, as part of the spiritual phenomenon that has sprung up around her.

What sticks with me?

1.  I am deficient in the "guru worship" gene.  I think some people truly believe they find a guru who speaks to them and inspires them in a way that I have yet to experience with anyone.  So, maybe I'm missing out.  Or maybe I have a heightened degree of discernment.  I have held many people in high esteem, as teachers and role models, and most have disappointed me in some way if I put them on too high a pedestal.  I have then had to get over my disillusionment and realize that human foibles affect us all.  I gratefully take their teachings, often with humility, awe, and great respect, but I leave the over-all "guru worship" that is sure to disappoint.

2.  I realize I may not have gotten the full Amma experience.  Other friends of mine went to her Devi Bhava evening sessions.  At these there is a ritual for world peace and Amma provides mantras -- Sanskrit prayers for meditation.  She hugs all night long -- starting around 9:00 p.m. and going until the wee hours of 3-4 a.m.  I think the very nature of being up all night might heighten the altered-reality experience a bit.

3.  I most remember "the hug" as the one I gave Amma.  Yes, her arms were around me, but what is most prominently grooved into my mind is the feeling of my arms around her.  I can still conjure up how good it felt to hug her, to smell her, to hear the soft and strong sound of her voice in my ear.  I felt we were exchanging energy.  It was not a one-way hug for me.  I was not only "receiving"; I was "giving".  I've not heard anyone talk about this.  It's always "Getting a hug from Amma"-- an uneven exchange of energy.

4.  I came away thinking, "Well, that was nice, but not life-changing".   And yet...coincidence or the result of the energy field, I don't know, but for a few weeks (beginning before the hug and continuing since), I have felt a shift in my perspective.  Generally quick to judge, easily frustrated by people who "bug" me, I've become more accepting, less critical.  Whenever I see someone being weird, or jerky, I just say, "Well, I don't know their story."  If I am interacting with someone who is difficult, I maintain my own equilibrium and just keep breathing through it, detached and interested in the dynamic more than the outcome.  Whenever I feel my anxieties try to take over with "what if" thinking, I stop myself more quickly and just notice this is happening.  My fear seems to subside faster, my mindfulness practice seems easier, my mantra has become "Just Live!"  I appreciate the moments, the emotions, the sensual nature of life with more presence.

I don't completely credit my Amma hug with these shifts in awareness.  I have been on a spiritual and personal growth journey for most of my adult life.  The Amma hug was one among many profound experiences along the way.  I think self-awareness, growth toward spiritual attunement, and finding and enfolding ourselves in loving community to the benefit of all are why humans are here, what we are meant to be doing to further Creation.  Amma was a step on the path.

Still, I admire Amma.  I think she is truly a saint of humanitarian dedication, building an empire of good works in the world and all gratitude goes to her for the many lives she has touched with her vision and example.

But I think the bliss blast at Amma events is generated by a few hundred people gathered under one roof, in a loving state of mind -- projecting all of their own love energy onto a woman named Amma, perhaps not realizing this same bounty of love is within each of us all the time.  We are all hugging saints.

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

MY DAY WITH AMMA, PART 1

Amma.  The "Hugging Saint".  Maybe you've heard of her or saw her featured on a segment of TV's 60 Minutes a few years ago.  She is an Indian woman in her 60's who has risen to be one of the most important and revered spiritual teachers of our time.  She is also a humanitarian marvel, creating systems for helping people all over the world, often in places where red-tape, corruption, and policy mean many in poverty go without the most basic of needs.  Somehow she makes happen what needs to happen to serve the underserved.  Her story is quite remarkable.

More info here on her website: http://amma.org.  I also thought this NYT article was a good one:  http://www.nytimes.com/2013/05/26/business/ammas-multifaceted-empire-built-on-hugs.html?_r=0

Amma tours the world, making appearances in large venues where people line up to wait for hours for a hug from her, to take part in the "vibe" of her religion, which is by all outward appearances a Hindu-inspired practice, but which she defines simply as "Love".

Last Saturday I went for the first time to get my Amma hug.  But here's the thing:  Hub and I were rather ambivalent about going.  She comes to Seattle every year and we always say we will go but then we don't.  But this year we were more motivated because her appearance was not in Seattle, but in the city where we live, at a sports arena about a mile from our house.  How could we pass this up?  This world-renowned saint was practically on our doorstep!  So we headed downtown, found parking, and thought we'd see how long the line was...still giving ourselves the option of cutting out if it looked daunting, as it might since we got there a bit late.

Outside the arena we were met by greeters wearing red scarves, who smiled broadly and welcomed us.  One young woman asked if we'd seen Amma before.  We said no, we're newbies.  She replied, "You will love this experience!  The first time I saw her I was blown away.  When she entered the hall I actually collapsed!  Her energy is amazing...overwhelming...."  Maybe she would have gushed on and on, but we sidled away from her, eager to get in the ticket line and a bit bemused by the adoration, skeptics that we are sometimes.

Once inside there was quite the throng, but it seemed well-organzied and we thought, "well, we're here; might as well do this" and we stood in a serpentine line of patient, soft-spoken, rather jolly souls all eager for their "hug ticket" stamped with a number that would tell us where we'd fall in the day-long hug line.

After 30-40 minutes we made our way to the usher who gave us our tickets, stamped X-2, which seemed pretty far down the alphabet.  Again, we almost bailed.  But Hub asked if we could leave and come back closer to hug time.  The usher hesitated, then allowed that we could leave, but she highly recommended that we stay and be in the energy of the experience.  There would be food, beverage, shopping, meditation workshops, music....  Fine, but we still figured we'd just leave for awhile.  I mean, it was a beautiful Saturday and I didn't want to be stuck inside all day.  We had a number of  chores to do at home -- choosing paint color for our exterior house painting project, deciding on our new DISH-TV package,  getting our in-ground sprinkler system going for the summer....Could be we weren't quite on board with the spiritual aspects of the Amma adventure in that moment...Ha!

Once through the line, we were seated in an area in front of the stage, where rows of chairs on either side of Amma's dais were being set up.  Her perch was surrounded by colorful curtains, robes, drapes and flowers.  Dozens of volunteers rushed about seating people, guiding people, working the food services, serving in the dining area, selling merchandise of all kinds -- clothing, oils, candles, cards with photos of Amma, T-shirts, books, CDs, DVDs, Hindu deity statues.  It was a veritable marketplace.  I've read that Amma travels with nearly 200 devotees who staff her appearances and at each stop there are scores of local devotees who join the staff for the length of her appearances -- here it was 3 days.

We settled in surprisingly quickly, taking in the scene and sort of soaking in the vibe.  We saw some people we knew who were local volunteers who told us we were in for a life-changing experience; that we'd get a "bliss blast".  We were still not so sure of that, but we decided we were in for the duration by that time.  We were curious, and hey, who knows?  If a hug can be life-changing I'm all for that.

About an hour after we got into the arena, Amma came out onto the stage.  I did not collapse.  I just sat and watched her attendants seat her and make sure she was comfortable.  An announcer introduced local dignitaries who seemed bewildered at times, but did not embarrass themselves.   A swami led us all in a meditation that was surprisingly long and deep.  There is something to be said about meditating with hundreds of people in one space.  Amma said a few words translated and I don't remember them.  Nothing that moved me.  Then she started hugging.

And we started people-watching.  This was the biggest continuously polite, smiling, mellow crowd I'd ever been part of.  It was truly intergenerational too.  Older folks mingled with surprisingly well-behaved children, hipsters and women who looked like stereotypical "church ladies" who'd maybe wandered in from Bible Study sat side-by-side.  I saw people in Indian dress and those in bermuda shorts, some in Seahawk shirts and most everyone wearing malas -- more than could be counted.  It was a predominantly Caucasian crowd with Indian folks likely second in number.  Those of Asian, African American, and Native descent were in the mix too.   We milled about and bought T-shirts and had some great Indian food and Chai tea.  We observed, chatted, read, and waited as the volunteer flipped the sign numbers indicating which group was currently invited to get in the hug queue.  We chanted with the live Kirtan band and listened to a long multi-versed Sanskrit chant that started to give me a headache and could have used a bit of editing in my judgement.

Large projection screens on the stage showed a continuous live feed of Amma hugging the constant stream of people who  approached her where she sat.  I noted that each person's head was shoved into Amma's bosom by an attendant and Amma's arms went around the person.  Sometimes she bent her own head to theirs, but often she just hugged and talked to her attendants quite animatedly, nodding, smiling, pointing, like there were just hanging out having a conversation, unperturbed by this line of people kneeling at Amma's feet with their heads chucked into her torso.  On a couple of occasions Amma took phone calls during hugs -- an attendant held a cell phone in front of her as she spoke via speaker it seemed.  But even if she seemed distracted, at some point she did bend toward the supplicant and seemed to tune in to that person if only for a few seconds.  Then that person was finished.  I could tell as they parted that they were handed something from Amma, and it was on to the next...for hours and hours and hours.

Yes, we also watched the clock. The time seemed both to creep and move swiftly.  Maybe there was some crazy magic in the air.  We had been inside the arena for seven hours, when finally our grouping was called to the stage....

STAY TUNED FOR MY DAY WITH AMMA, PART 2  and my view from here.... ©

ALTERED STATES

I have re-entered the Twilight Zone.  There is a little self-deprecating joke I tell about the first year or so after Son-Two was born --  "I seem to be present and smiling in all the family photos, but I really don't remember a thing!"   Hahahaha, funny...except that it's true.  Motherhood Amnesia.  I had a high-energy 26 month-old and a colic-y newborn.  I did not sleep for months...years.  Hub had a demanding job with erratic hours.  I had no extended family within 2000 miles.  Thank god for my mom-friends, who supported me and kept me (mostly) sane.

All of that is so far behind me now, that not remembering every detail is expected.  But much of it is coming back to me.  Remember that little baby granddaughter's birth I wrote about in February?  Well, she's growing, healthy, strong, cute, sweet....and today is 4 days shy of 3 months old!

Also, my Granny Nanny stint is in full swing.  I just finished my third week of baby care, three days a week.  Hub is on board too, but as timing would have it, he's had work conflicts galore with his part-time "just filling in" gig and I've been on my own...a very familiar pattern.

I had forgotten how all-consuming an infant is!  Bottle, diaper, playtime, nap, fuss, settle, repeat.  Oh...and walk the floor, juggle and jostle, sing and coo, change clothes, rock,  dance, look in the mirror, survey the garden, take a stroller stroll.... Our ten hour days together are ten hours of non-stop baby, Wednesday through Friday!

I have been outfitting myself with "baby stuff" -- a carseat, a swing, a play mat, a port-a-crib, diapers, wipes, toys, clothing.  Still, I'm amused at the "baby bomb" that seems to hit our house within 30 minutes of her arrival.  I forgot how nearly impossible it is to keep things tidy when the first and only priority is baby.  Things accumulate!

Plus, I know I might be a tad overly attentive.  She prefers to nap on my lap.  I prefer to let her.  She sleeps longer and more soundly and I get to gaze at her perfect little face as she rests so cozily in my arms.  Just like every other gushing grandma, I'm in love.

I also notice, my "other" life goes into hiatus on the days my Jewel is here.  We are cocooned, so far, in our own little world.  I haven't ventured out and about with her, still learning her habits and routines.  So, truth be told, I'm feeling a bit ambivalent about that.  The altered state, the Twilight Zone of stay-at-home Mommy-ness is a familiar quandary.  I love that the days spread before us with no real obligations, yet there is a sense of isolation too.  What DID I do in that other life?  Where did my friends go?   I was always meeting someone, doing something, going somewhere, and now, well, not so much.   And even on my "off" days, it's hard to switch gears out of the loving heart space and physical care of being with baby into the skill set needed to organize and facilitate a task or committee or group discussion.

We will find our rhythm, I know, and she will join my friends and me at coffee or maybe at a meeting for one thing or another.  I'll get back out there and able to be more integrated.   But just like when my sons were little, the real priority won't be "out there" so much on Jewel-days,  but "in here" -- in the circle of love and care that I have the privilege to provide for her.

I never expected this.  I am so grateful.  And tonight.....well, I'm tired.

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

VALENTINE'S DAY LAMENT

Seems like I write about my mom a lot.  An armchair analyst wouldn't have to stretch far to intimate that I may be working through a few issues.  Nothing major, mind you.  I just have a few teeny tiny regrets about how impatient I was with her at times.  She didn't "get" me and my feminist ire, social justice protests, and committee meeting priorities -- and I thought I was oh so insightful about her.  Ah, youthful arrogance.

Well, anyway, the other night as I stood over the stove stirring curry for one (Hub was away on a snowboarding adventure), I felt pretty lonely and my mom popped into my head.  I could hear her say to me, as she often did on the phone after my dad died, "I get so lonely sometimes."  Here's a good example of my lack of compassion and understanding..."Well, why don't you get out and make some friends?  What about those ladies at the church?" (My parents moved 4 years earlier to a small town away from the city they'd lived most of their lives in order to be near my brother and his family; they never really made good friends there.)  I said it nicely, encouragingly, but still.

I've come to realize that even when one has tons of friends, and I am fortunate enough to have a goodly sum, there is still loneliness at times for the intimacy and comfort of a partner or housemate who is there for you, who brings you joy and companionship without it seeming like an occasion for chatter, laughter, a project to work on, or an event to share.

Then it hit me.  My mom and I could have been those friends.  We could have been roomies, comfortable together, if life had dealt that hand.  Not as we were back then.  But as I am now.  I figure the me in my 60s has a lot in common with my mom in her 70s.  I wish we could share stories of having grown children, being grandmas, go over old family photo albums, write, crochet, sew, clean out cabinets (I'd let her cook and bake...still don't have that in common), watch a little TV, go for a walk, practice some Yoga. (She did Sun Salutations every morning for 20 years or more...before I even cared a whit about Yoga, which is now my passion).  All the things I find myself doing now as an empty-nesting, retired woman heading toward elderhood (OK, fine, already there, I suppose) are things she enjoyed too.

I think I miss her so lately because we finally have so much in common.  Believe me, I never saw that coming!

I think it's too bad I've only come to appreciate my mother in her elder years now that I am an elder too.  I was so busy with kids, friends, volunteer work, a career, a big house, a husband.  I loved my mom and we got along, but so often I felt we had such differing values and views and goals.  Now it's all evened out -- and she is gone.  Sort of that Cat's in the Cradle song in reverse, I guess.  That one laments a father who missed his kids' growing up years.  I am a daughter who missed years of her mother's adult friendship.

Makes me sad on this day set aside for love.  ©

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

WITH THIS RING, I THEE WED

I'm struggling here.  I feel I should have lots of wisdom to impart upon the occasion of this month's personal milestone -- having been married for 40 years, to the same man.  But I'm coming up short.

Someone told me I should write a book and "tell us how it's done".  Wouldn't that be nice?  A "how-to" manual in a one-size fits all format.  It would have saved me a lot of heartache had someone handed me that 40 years ago.  But that's not how it works.  We all make our own way in relationships.  Sometimes the way works; sometimes it doesn't.  Sometimes we ought to run for the hills; other times hanging in there is the best course.  Who am I to know what would work for someone else?

This is do know.  I said I was married to the "same man" for 40 years.  That's not really true.  Nor is he married to the "same woman" who stood at the altar with him on that hot July afternoon.  Hub and I often joke about our "many lifetimes" together.  We recognize the changes we've undergone, separately and together, and realize that we are no longer the same people we were then in some very essential ways.  I love that!  I guess I love it because I think we are better now, but not as good as we are gonna get.

And therein lies what works for us.  We've learned that change is inevitable, that introspection and the desire to live a life of integrity, accountability, commitment, and inner peace are touchstones that allow us to stretch into unfamiliar lands of exploration and discovery.  We are willing to wrestle with our personal demons, acknowledge them, heal them, and move into the light of self-knowledge that precedes meaningful personal growth.  We have the compass of those guiding principles and find we are lost less often and have an easier time getting back on track when we do lose our way.

Also, we love each other.  We accept each other.  And most importantly we respect each other and have each other's backs.  I am like a Mother Bear when I feel Hub is unjustly treated; it's hard to get back in my good graces if you mess with my man.  As for him, he is my constant champion, always believing in me, cheering me on.

We also tend to agree, usually, on the stuff that often creates un-breachable rifts in couples:  money, religion, politics, sex, how to raise kids...basically, we have the same "world view".  We both tend toward introversion.  We like the same music and movies and sports teams.  We value family.  We have mutual friends and give each other lots of space to enjoy individual friendships as well.  I think many of these commonalities were there from the beginning, or maybe it's the many years of trial/error/compromise that has created so much "alikeness" at this point.  Reminds me of people who tend to look like their dogs.  We often choose those who are a reflection of ourselves -- we are compatible.

But there are points of difference too.  Sometimes we choose those very unlike ourselves, being drawn to that very different-ness as a way to experience another way of being without having to really be that other way.  Hub and I have made some peace, although frustration sometimes rears an ugly head, with those places that we probably won't ever share with the same passion.

He is an outdoorsy, athletic, mathematically-inclined, rational individual, who knows what he wants and how to get it, and is persistent enough to ensure he is successful in whatever he undertakes.   I think he sees life as a problem to be solved and he is sure he can do it.  He can be sort of serious. I, on the other hand, could spend days in a bookstore and/or coffee shop, love pop culture, the world of words (reading/writing), have a "messy" mind that seems to see all sides of every issue and "feels" rather than "thinks" my way through situations.  I see life as absurd; if you are articulate and can make me laugh, I'm yours.

Together we get to be all of these things.  I visit beautiful places in nature, love football, and have learned to be organized and work toward goals.  He shares my passion for Ecstatic Dance, Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart, and can often "go with the flow" now even better than I.  In some ways, since retirement, we've even done some role reversal -- he lazing about 'til noon most days and me up at 5:30 ready to tackle a to-do list.  Weird!

So, anyway, I don't know.  There are no easy answers to how to stay married for 40 years.  Those many lifetimes together have sometimes just been an endurance race....hanging in there.  And sometimes I have thought about what my life would be like without him, losing myself in a fantasy of singleness, freedom, no more negotiating and compromising....and it feels both liberating and lonely. At other times those many lifetimes together have just been the air I breathe.  I am so connected to this man and our marriage that without him I'd feel cut loose in space, floating forever alone, unable to ground myself in all that I have known and loved, without him by my side.  I know how that sounds.  I still mean it.

We are a couple; we love each other; we re-commit every single day that we wake up together and move through another day together and go to sleep at night together.  We are here, companions on this path.  We aren't going anywhere else.  We don't know what future lifetimes await us -- certainly there will be joy and challenge, just as there always has been.  Our desire now is to be fully present in each moment, moving into our Eldering years with grace and gratitude, together.  We'll do our best; life will do the rest.

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