Ohm.....

I am on the first day of  a five day retreat at the Kripalu Retreat Center in Western Massachusetts. JB and I arrived last night and for the first time in probably years, I was in bed by ten o'clock. We are here to settle down, relax, and follow a routine that is spiritual and restful. 

I am also here to work on my novel as much and as often as I can. I hope to finish a full edit by the end of the week and if I'm lucky, read it from start to finish and see what I have. There are solariums and cozy rooms with comfortable chairs and couches, overlooking the lake, where I can write. People here are quiet. Last night we did our first meditation and I was aware of my body, my sore back and tight throat, in a way I often don't think about. My back pain is a hindrance, but last night I let myself feel the pain instead of trying to avoid it. 

Kripalu is a quiet place, filled with daily and optional events like yoga, meditation, chanting, drumming, and workshops centered on breathing, health, and well being. The center sits on a lake with mountains in the background. Three buffet meals a day are included in the daily price and each meal is definitely healthy but also uniquely delicious. Breakfast is silent, a unique and nice change from what you'd expect in a room of a hundred or more people. Our room is spartan: a bed, two lights, one closet. The bathroom and showers are down a hall and shared. JB and I have splurged and signed up for massages and facials. We have been here a few times before, but never for five days and nights. JB has brought an art piece she's working on. Tonight we are going to a workshop on Animal Communication. Tomorrow JB thinks she'll go to the 6 am yoga class. Not me. Not yet. But I plan to be up by six.

This afternoon we went went to a workshop on the importance of routine. Since we moved to Provincetown, because JB was sick and then I was sick and because I've transitioned from paid work to way more free time, I have no routine. I'm thinking about that. I can't imagine going to bed as early as ten each night, but I'm thinking about it.

I looked around at other people in the solarium where I wrote today, and I was reminded how lucky I am to love to write. I'm excited about this novel, about this Macabee family I'm writing about. 

Actually, today I'm content. No worries. JB is good, Jess and her husband and the kids are good, we have money in the bank, and I'm here in a sacred place trying to spend sacred time. I have plenty of complaints but not today. 

And how happy I am to post again here!

love

kj

Finally!

• It's been so long since I've posted here I had to create a new password. I still can't figure out how to post photos and I'm sorry about that because I have a lot to catch up on.
• 
  
• Thank you so much for the comments looking for me.  I'm well, except for a back problem I can't yet shake. It affects my walking and that's a huge loss for me. I'm still hoping it's a temporary problem.
• 
  
• These days I've almost wrapped up my paid work and am settling into Provincetown by the sea after almost a year of renovation and reconstruction of our house. It looks absolutely beautiful, but a week after we paid the final check, problems became apparent. No heating duct to the new addition master bedroom, exterior water damage to our new kitchen wood floor. A few other biggies as well. We've tried to get the problems resolved with the contractor but haven't. This means arbitration and legal action. No fun. It's a first world problem and nothing that extra money won't fix, but it's also a violation of trust. I'm trying to stay calm about it, successful about 65% of the time so far.
• 
  
• Most recently my heart has followed a six year little boy named Devin Suau who out-of-the blue got this horrible and cruel brain stem cancer called DIPG, and died two weeks ago after nine months of the doctors telling his family there is absolutely no treatment and no survivors in the last 40 years. It's been tragic and I'm proud to say my daughter Jess has helped Devin's family--her friends--in irreplaceable ways. You can read about Devin on Facebook at #whynotdevin. It will make you sad, but it will also do your heart good. 
• 
  
• I am finally knee deep in completing my second book. It's been a long haul. I'm not a great writer but I'm a great quality controller, meaning the book won't find its way into the world until I'm satisfied it's as good as I can make it. I struggle especially with the order of my chapters. I just can't seem to tell the story in the zig zag way I want to.  This is a book about a family, about devotion, and about forty years in the life of a gutsy woman I admire named Christine Macabee. 
• 
  
• I wish I could show your pictures of my four grand kids; I will once I know how to post photos again. They are a joy to me, ages 10, 8, 6, and 4. Spunky, poor listeners, always interesting. 
• 
  
• I'm writing on a new laptop, sitting on a new couch, looking at a new living room where tomorrow a new propane stove will be installed. I'm beyond excited thinking about the warmth of a stove all winter. 
• 
  
• What else? I'm overweight and wish I were motivated. I keep hoping I'll wake up one morning and be ready to take care of this. I'm thoroughly disgusted with Donald Trump and thoroughly depressed to think that almost 40% of Americans like him. He's a dangerous man. Praying for the Congress to grow some you-know-whats.
• 
  
• I'll end now with the hope my future posts are more interesting. I'm glad to be here. Finally. And I hope all is well with each of you. Barbara and Friko, I especially think of you. 
• love
• kj

Spring

It's been a wild month. Winter has given way to Spring and that's a wonderful thing. I'm a happy gardener and I like nothing more than seeing new growth and planning my own plots of land. 

But. I'm unsettled and I don't like it. After four months away JB and I won't be back in our own home for another 2-3 weeks. We've had to leave our rental on the bay and move to another temporary place while the construction and renovation of our house continues. It's a bit of a helpless relationship--dealing with contractors. You can prod and try to manage but they call the shots in getting things done. We have a contract that says finish by May 15th and my fingers are crossed.

I'm also aware of a very unsettled world. I'm shocked at the power Donald Trump has amassed already. I hope I'm still alive to see his influence waned and gone. I hope there is a pendulum that swings back to tolerance and inclusion. And peace. I don't know how "we've" collectively stopped caring for one another so dramatically. 

Last night I had dinner with twelve friends from high school. We will all turn 70 this year. It is amazing for me to say outloud I will soon be 70. That's not an age that can be fudged. The conversations about achy bodies and joyful grandchildren and no-bullshit living and the importance of memories left me thinking that my own experience is more common that I think.

I'm currently unsettled because I have reasons to be. I want to get back home and plant my seeds and six packs. And not just in soil. I want things to slow down bit. More time to finish my novel. Enjoy the kids. Feel the sun. Walk in low tide sand. Be kind. Be astonished. Lighten up.

Fingers crossed.....

love

kj

'

Hello!

How happy I am to be back at my blog! For the last few months I've been unable to include photos and that's very much cramped my style of communication here. But as of this morning, it looks like that problem is fixed. So my first update is my current location.

1. JB and I are staying on the bay in Provincetown, while our house is being renovated. This 3 months away from home, two miles down the street, means that we are waking up to sunrises like this every morning, each day watching the flow of the tides and the bounce of light off the water. 

It has been restorative. It's so lovely. Thank you to the universe for offering up an affordable rental that is perfect in every way.

2. #whynotdevin: at the end of January, a 6 year old little boy who is the son of my daughter's good friend Christine was out of the blue found to have a cancer called DIPG. Its location on the brainstem means that there is no treatment, no cure, no survival. In 40 years, not one child of the 200-300 kids each year in the USA has survived more than two years. The average life span with DIPG is 9 months.

Something remarkable has happened with Devin and his family. At first his parents asked, "Why Devin?" Then, as they refused to accept the fact that there is no hope and he will die, they asked, "Someone has the be the first one. Why not Devin?"

They, my daughter Jessica, and now many many others, started a national campaign to raise awareness and research funding for DIPG and to save Devin's life. Google or Facebook whynotdevin and you'll see what is happening. The fight has gone viral. Please help with prayers, wishes, donations. The tumor is aggressive and time is critical. We are truly manifesting that Devin will survive and thrive.

3. The renovation of our house: it is a much larger project that we ever imagined. New foundation, new shingling, new electric, new kitchen, new bath, new roof, upgraded windows and insulation and of course, all kinds of fun shopping and planning and designing.  It's been scary financially but JB and I are willing to let our knees knock as long as we don't jump in blind. 

5. Grandchildren: Last June, in the panic of Jessica's cancer (mis)diagnosis, we quickly rented a studio apartment so I could help with the kids and help however else needed. The little one room apt has been a godsend because our grand kids can come and stay and play. Here we made flowers with 5 year old Logan and he taped a flower garden to the picture window. 

I am in love with these kids. I love that I am lucky enough to have children whopping up my life.

6. And finally, TADA: if vision becomes reality, this will be our new Cape Cod kitchen. To say we are excited is a vast understatement. With luck, the whole renovation will be done by mid May.

7. And one more finally: my book manuscript is done. With the help of a few trusted readers, I'm in the revision and editing stage, hoping to begin shopping for an agent or publisher in a month or two.

All in all, I'm in good shape. Excited. Curious. Grateful. I say this with recognition that the world is 50% terrible; that the USA president is dangerous; that the age of Aquarius is in hiding. 

love

kj

Here I Am

I don't have pictures. But I can tell you that I am sitting on a couch in a rented vacation apartment watching seagulls fly over the bay, right in front of me through a sliding glass door. I will wake up to the sight of a glorious sunrise also right in front of me for another two months, until the renovation of our currently uninhabitable house is complete.

I can tell you that my partner JB has had a hell of a time with anxiety for many months and we are finally seeing some daylight. Every day she battles and her tools are finally working.

I can also tell you that my daughter Jess has a very good friend who like her also has 4 children and the youngest of her four boys, Devin, age 6, has been suddenly shockingly diagnosed with DIPG. It is a cancer at the brainstem with a zero survival rate. Zero. Not one child has survived longer than 2 years, and it could be 8 months or less. My daughter has mobilized to help Devin and his family and this is no small matter. In three weeks, a statement has been made: "Somebody has to be the first." 

And the answer has gone viral: #whynotdevin 

You can find Devin and his story there on Facebook. He's been on the news and well wishes come from everywhere and he's taken root in my heart. I'm not alone. Please pray for him, send him a card, help with GoFundMe, and pray again for the miracle he deserves. If you know the Pope, please ask him to pray too!

I have plenty more to catch up on here, but I think for now I'll leave it at #whynotdevin. 

I hope all is well in the world of each of you, barring unreal politics. I have finished my book and am editing the manuscript. It is a joyous feeling.

Love

kj

Advice in the New Year

"Write your sorrows in sand and your gratitude in granite"

This comes from a wise and far away blogging friend, who sometimes writes in letters and a language that I don't understand, but not this time. We live in different countries and are influenced by different cultures but after many years of blogging, we know each other's heart.

I will remember this advice so well that I'm hoping it may have the same effect on you.

Happy year ahead, with love
kj

ki-jaana-main-kaun --thank you for sharing, my friend hdwk xoxo

Mish Mash Musing

This time of year, I miss the way blogging use to be. Before Facebook, I and about 30 or 40 connected folks would blog weekly, often more, and share all kinds of small and large thoughts and talents and going-ons. I loved connecting with my blog friends all year, and especially sharing the holidays together.

I felt like I had a reason to take photos, to write poems, to share what wisdom I might trip upon. I miss so many people! 

For what it's worth, this Christmas and the wrap-up of this year is ending with hope. There's been real and potential illness swirling around me and my family for a number of months and that takes its toll. But we're all okay--improving daily, and I am nothing if not grateful. So this Christmas I have no complaints. 

I have holiday advice if you have an interest:

1. Expect nothing. Not community, not civility, not presents, not well being. And then let whatever good happens wash over you.

2. Give. This always makes me feel good. Find someone or some reason to give and offer your time, your money, a gift, a surprise, a meal, a donut, a kind word. You'll be the better for it. Guaranteed.

3. Wait to worry. My old standby mantra. Don't worry a minute before you have to. Because if you wait, chances are the reason to worry may have morphed or lessened or maybe even disappeared. 

That's it from me. Thanks as always for stopping by my beloved blog. I'll be visiting you too.

And thanks for the friendship. It counts for a lot.

Happy happy holidays with

Much love,

kj

 

My Mom

There was never a time

Those last seven years

When your smile was lessened 

By any fear.

You moved to a place

Far away from your home

You knew not a soul 

And you moved in alone.

A walker, a wheelchair, your memory gone

Yet whenever you saw me it was like a new dawn.

You'd ask, “How did you even know I was here?”

And I learned the right answer, I learned to be clear:

“I will always know Mom, there will never once

When I don’t know where to find you, not a day or a month.

Always you'd greet us, so happy and kind;

Every day you lost memory, but never your mind. 

You died with such grace, Mom,

No complaint or false fright

We watched you breathe softly and pass into the night.

It’s been two years already, 

 I’m so proud who you are

And I know there’s a card game

Taking place on a star.

It appears that I am writing again, regularly, and happily. I've had a reason to look back at my words over the last few years and some of them may find their way to my blog. Like this one, which is kind of topical for me since the holidays are here and I think about certain people who have come and gone. I'm no fan of that. 

Divine Justice

Twice I’ve tried and failed. I hate regrets and I have two big ones.

Through an intermediary I send word to my first deep and true love. It is 25 years later and I calmly see my part in the painful bitter betrayal that choked us both. The response back is a non response: a dollop of vanilla variety silence. If I read into it, the non words are clear:  ‘I am ignoring you. Leave me alone.”

The second regret is less complicated but equally unfortunate. I lost a good friend to a bad decision, one that was not then and definitely not now worth anything close to the cost. It’s been four years. I’ve sent a couple of cards and left a couple of phone messages, apologizing, lamenting, hoping for a reconnect. I’ve gotten word back, olitely and indirectly, that the time is not right… maybe some other time. 

I am looking for redemption and find it buried in rejection.

Isn’t that just the way sometimes? You have to let go of someone you wished you had gripped harder or softer. You have to accept what you can’t make right. That’s your only chance. 

I’ve phoned my friend Dory and we’re sharing a double scooped hot fudge sundae in downtown Northampton. It is a warm breezy Sunday night in June and gratitude skips around our ankles. Dory has made a few regret calls herself lately, with similar results. 

We are two minds now less emcumbered by several less people. 

It’s a divine loss and the ice cream is also divine. Just ice and no heat. 

Isn’t that just the way sometimes?

love

kj

I Can't Say Why...

this is herring cove in Provincetown at sunset. I can view a similar scene
just about every night and I am reassured of holiness.

I should say something,

this week knowing

how much has changed

in the flick of a ballot.

I am not a fan

of the man. 

Anger builds and fear swells. 

This country damaged and misled:

I should tremble but not yet I don't 

I should despise but not yet I won't.

Crazy, I believe the worse won't stand

Crazy, I believe this trouble gets us truth

I'm sorry we are all so pained

But I'm betting in the end we gain.

I can't explain why or how I am reserving judgement about the terrible miscarriage and mistake of electing Donald Trump as America's President.  For some  reason I think he is going to blow the lid off the racism and fear-mongering and divisions that have festered in the land for some years now, and for some reason I think a majority of people--decent people--are going to scream and insist 'Enough' and 'No More.' I don't know what that will look like--how severe the correction will be--but I believe there will be a correction that is already overdue.

I'm sorry the USA is putting us and you though this, World. It must be our Amrican nature to roll the dice. This time that recklessness will break our hearts, but I don't think the damage will drown us. 

I can't tell you why I think this way. But for some reason I do.

Love

kj

Am I an Elite?

It could not be a more beautiful Autumn here. I am writing every day, benefiting from the ocean air and sunsets, and planning for a huge renovation of our kitchen and second floor. We will have to move out of our house for three months this winter and soley by luck, we've found an affordable two bedroom incredible place to stay, directly on the bay. I will watch the tides and the weather coming in and changing with the eagerness of a puppy.

I am also following the human and political drama of the American Presidential Election. I do not support the candidate who targets Muslims and Mexicans and speaks with uncensored vulgarity. Still, I try to dig into how he can possibly have the support of so many Americans. I know at least two dozen decent thoughtful people who agree with him and I find that boggling. 

The candidate likes to point fingers at the 'elite' who are rigging the election against him. "Washington insiders," "Not regular hard working Americans," "People who read the New York Times and watch CNN."

I don't live in Washington DC and I read and listen to all kinds of commentary and news, including the Times and CNN. Am I a regular hard working American? 

I think so. 

I'm a college graduate and I'm white and along with JB we have income and savings that got  us a second home for a time and allowed us to get our daughter through college. I don't worry about making rent and we find ways to travel as we wish. I'm older now so I work only part-time, on my own terms. I spent a recent five years in the middle of an impoverished community serving white, black, and Hispanic families. My Father was a mason who left school in sixth grade and my Mother was a seamstress who came to the USA speaking only French and dropped out of school even earlier. I grew up in a middle class industrial town in Massachusetts, my family owned the house my Father and uncle built themselves, I went to a state college, I started my own business, I'm quick to volunteer. 

And:

When Obama was elected to the Presidency, I accepted, with relief, that the melting pot of different nationalities and races and religions and sexual preferences won out: that the melting pot would finally take root. I knew there was an real and mostly white anger that the country had changed, that manufacturing and employer loyalty had fled, that people on entitlements seemed to have it easier. I knew that but I thought the majority of Americans had spoken democratically and decisively. 

I was so wrong. That anger simmered and Donald Trump has now given it a legitimacy that borders if not crosses race baiting and violence. It's US and THEM.

He blames the problems and the differences on the elites. 

Based on education and income, that must be me.

But that must be him too. And all of government. And all of our educational institutions. And all of Congress. And the Generals. It looks to me like it's everyone but the powerful mostly white males who like to rule with authority and are not interested in nuance or balance. And it's not the folks who feel like the wrong direction has ruined the country.

It's not the folks who have felt powerless, who long for job security and a time that won't be coming back again no matter who is President . This man says he will take the country back to the 1950's. Back to when jobs were permanent and unions had clout. Back to when black people were second class citizens in silence. Back to when the United States had no interest and no need to collaborate or cooperate with other countries. 

It is my hope that the damage already done settles down and enough people understand we have to heal. 

Am I an elite? I must be; I qualify. But I don't feel a whole lot different than most other people I meet and know. I'm likable and fair and it shows. 

My biggest fault is that no matter how hard I try I cannot understand how and why good people I know continue to support a man who is pretty much a pig.

love

kj

A September Song

I look at this scene almost daily.  It is a view from my side yard, where JB and I sit, a block from the bay, and where I imagine what it must be like to live in a treehouse.  

I haven't said much lately about the land by the sea where I now live. That's because I stepped away from the the rhythm of the ocean tides and the pink-orange colors of sunset at Herring Cove. I stepped away because of real problems but no longer.  I've still not returned--not yet--because I am consumed with finishing a novel I started writing six years ago. I am into that lovely zone of timelessness when one is doing something one loves and because of that, I have to push myself away from the manuscript. 

And this too: my daughter and her family have bought a lake house in Maine. They've watched the sunrise and sunsets this summer, and every night they speak about the beauty of that. Their young children  each morning walked into a back yard that is a beach, a beach yard with a hammock and kayaks and a small boat and rocks to fish from. I don't know if I've ever felt as content for my Jess as I do now And I say this after eight weeks of surety that she had cancer. (Misdiagnosed!)

Because of that surety, in a panic I found a studio apartment near her so I could help with the kids and help my daughter when she lost her hair and became too tired to move. I had to sign a one year lease and that has turned into a blessing--the apartment is adorable and cozy and convenient. We never would have spent the money to rent it had the circumstances not been critical, but now that we have, I can be here a couple of days a week, hanging out with my grandkids, learning to play the guitar, writing, writing.

There was a sophomoric time in my life when I longed for a soho-type loft. With this place, I have it.

The reason I'm writing this post tonight is not for any of the reasons I've just talked about. I'm writing because I visited my 99 year old Godmother today. Our visit was about planning a party in late October for her 100th birthday.  I'd asked her for  a list of people she'd like to invite. In her best handwriting she's written out names, addresses, phone numbers, an explanation of who is who. 

My Godmother is an amazing woman. She lives alone, she gardens, she feeds birds and squirrels in her driveway, she cooks and bakes, she reads the newspapers every day. Today she showed me an article on Koko the ape, his daily routine and how he mourned the loss of his pet cat. 

And she told me how she remembered me as a fun little girl, how I crawled into bed with my grandmother when she was sick and how I visited my grandparents every day, evaluating if the supper menu was better than my mother's. I asked her if I had been a good kid. She said yes, yes, you were.

I am organizing this 100 year old birthday party in late October. I asked my godmother if she wanted to speak at the party and she said, 'maybe, but mostly I want people to meet each other.'

I want that too. Her family was separated when she and her sisters were orphaned so I don't know her sisters or nieces and nephews. I don't know her friends. She gave me a list of 40 names today. I expected 15. On her 100th birthday she will celebrate with all the important people in her life.

I'd say that will be a great gift.

Happy September, everyone. FYI: the optimist in me has made a comeback.

love

kj

The Return of Me

No new photos, no extra wisdom, just a feeling that it's time I checked in here and confirmed that I am finally healthier and more grateful than not.

I'm coming off probably the hardest year, or two, of my life. My mother died, JB's been emotionally unwell, Jess had cancer before they told her it was a misdiagnosis, and my annual physical brought up more body systems with problems than any one person could even have. That last part, except for a painful and stiff back and pelvis, I'm actually alright and every day feeling more like my old self.

                  

JB and I moved to this lovely ocean community just a year ago. Living here in Provincetown, at the land's end, is a dream to many, a goal for many for some day. For us, however, it's been burdensome to live somewhere so special and to have too many challenges and problems to even minimally partake and enjoy its beauty, its light, its people, its zaniness. 

I think that limitation is now changing. Jess is well, JB's improved, I'm okay. This means I've been able to write again. I started my second novel about 18 months I finished my first. Never did I think six years would pass and I would not have finished this story.  It's about an American family and about devotion. Parts of it are funny. 

Now I'm in a groove and if I had the time I could write 12-14 hours a day. As it is, I'm writing regularly and I'm psyched. I have a goal of a finished draft by December. Then I will search for an agent and a publisher. If no one bites, I will publish it myself. 

I am not a great writer. I wish I were, but I'm not. My skills are basic and I lack technique. So I'm not going to be offering a New York Times best seller; I know that. But I care about these characters and I know not to let go of the manuscript until it reads just right to me. I know I will give it my best try and my best work and I'm satisfied with that. 

Otherwise: I am also taking guitar lessons with my nine year old grandson Ryan. And his seven year old brother Drew is taking piano lessons in the next room. After the lesson the three of us walk to the corner for Asian food. This was my idea because the boys come from a sports family and I figure why not push a bit of music too, and who knows, maybe poetry after that? We've had four lessons and the three of us love the whole time together. 

That's it for now. Oh more more thing: the American political situation is bad. I'm very very very hopeful that no one with orange hair gets anywhere near the White House. 

Love love

kj

A Most Incredible Update

Two days before the start of chemotherapy, a very fancy doctor with cold eyes informed us that the pathologists no longer agreed. He said there were some who now questioned that Jessica age 38 Mother to four young children and my precious daughter had lymphoma. He said more time and tests were needed. 

Four weeks later, this Wednesday, a different doctor, this one engaged and kind pronounced that a misdiagnosis had been made. He said an inflammation had been mistaken for lymphoma. He told Jessica to step back into her life and live it as she had before. 

Lucky. It was not an easy seven weeks at all but luck won out. 

In seven weeks I learned (again) without a sliver of doubt that I would give my life for Jessica. I would on the spot die. (I like myself even more because of this.) I also learned that Cancer and even Fancer (Jess' term for 'fake cancer') shakes up the snow globe of a  life in ways that if you're lucky enough you end up appreciating more not less.

Which brings me to this poem I wrote for Jessica some years back. Slightly edited, but still the same….

(Thank you so much for your support and prayers. It's meant a lot.)

Jessica

Take both eyes, both hands,

My legs and arms, 

Even take the precious German clock

And every special book.

Take my bank account,

All twenty photo albums,

My garden in August

And the miraculous April rain.

Take it all if you can promise. 

I knew in the instant this would be so.

I’m in to any burning house,

On to a frigid raft at sea,

I’m ripping the mangled steel with my bare hands.

Anything, anything for this girl.

The edgeless corners of the truest love

And the endless reserve of cavernous protection

Surround this child who lives within and without,

This fantabulous kid with the crack up wit

And the tender expansive heart.

Take it all, whether you are a son-of-a-bitch

Or an evolving angel, 

Whether the cost is temporary or forever,

Take it all, and then shelter this child

Through every molecular motion and moment. 

She sits at a prestigious desk; 

Makes decisions, honors words;

Seeks out  bargains and eats salads; 

And on Sundays shebrings Sprite to her grandmother.

She is an anchor in an unsteady world.

She is hybrid fuel to those who love her.

She is a reason to push

And the forever foremost answer

To everything that could ever matter

Given the chance to love like this, 

The price of my sightless limbless body

And wiped clean barren possessions

Amounts to nothing more than shiny pennies and

And effortless will. 

This kind of devotion can't be bought. 

It has no price.

love

kj

Rosie Girl

I wrote this poem to my dog Rosie soon after she died. That was well more than ten years ago and I came across it again tonight. I'm still asking the same questions….

love
kj

What’s To Know
Rosie girl, tell me about heaven.
I expect you to greet me, you know,
Your soft stub of a tail wagging so effortlessly
that I will see you even in the back row,
and even in the faraway barley fields,
Your enthusiasm rocked by the flow
of something never lost,
Something never handed over.

Tell me what I should know about living
So I can get it right.
Tell me if abundance is real,
and if it is,
Tell me I can turn in my leash for a dance card
and stroll and roll through the back woods
knowing that every sacred scent is in place.

Tell me, Rosie, that it is enough to try.
Enough to care, enough to prepare,
Enough to get it right simply because
it’s all right.
I’m unable to know these things myself
but I trust you, Rosie. I know you know
what matters most
and what matters not at all.

Can you tell me about hearts?
Mine is pretty deep these days,
but still I wonder how far hearts can stretch
especially in the moments when they work overtime.
I wonder if perhaps a heart does not break
But maybe snaps instead,
a little fragment breaking off so it can rest somewhere in isolation
where certain memories and longings cannot be harmed.

Sometimes I wonder if I am up to the task
of letting every broken fragment finds its resting place--
Even if it means I can’t be whole.

Tell me Rosie, do I have to be whole,
if given the chance for love to stretch me
so far beyond my safe walls
that I forget I am confused and instead
feel only gratitude and greatness?

Rosie girl, I will spend my days
asking questions like this
and letting the answers and clues
Guide me home.
And Rosie girl, I will run straight to you
even before your ears shoot up
For our hearts’ reunion of a lifetime.

The Apartment

Here I am once again lamenting with good reason. A few weeks ago my beloved daughter Jess had a routine procedure and routine labs following a routine flu and to our complete shock she has lymphoma. Cancer. Good God. 

She will have chemotherapy at the renowned Dana Farber Institute and the doctors and pathology reports say the goal is cure. It appears a routine flu that led to a routine procedure and routine labs (we're told) may have saved her life. We are however stunned. Jess has four young children, the youngest is 2, a loving and equally stunned husband, good friends, and wonderful in-laws. But I live almost three hours away complete with summer vacation traffic.

So in fast speed fashion, I started looking for a little space near her that I could rent. She'll need help with the kids and maybe trips to chemo and medical appointments and maybe just knowing her Mother is close by. (I wish I could change places with her: in a flash I would.) 

It turns out apartments close to Boston are not cheap. I called about twenty places and wasn't comfortable with any of them. Except one.

I somehow have secured a studio apartment in a renovated mill building where thirty condominium owners live. They had this community room that nobody used so they decided to convert it to the only apartment in the building. It has the same high end touches that the condos have: exposed brickwork, a private outdoor patio, a granite walk-in shower, central air conditioning, a washer and dryer, a full efficiency kitchen, and  a layout that feels much larger than the studio space it is. I am over the moon with my good fortune. Jess can come here and be sick if the kids are too much  and I am five minutes away. The space has the feel of a New York Soho loft. I imagine I will have time during many days when I will be on my own and I think I may write well here.

The downside to this, besides for the reason I'm here at all, is that JB is back in Provincetown and we will have to figure out when I'm there and when she's here. It will be a challenge. Both of us have been unwell and on edge for our various reasons and Jess with cancer has tipped us perilously close to defeat. But somehow the apartment's helping. As I write this I'm looking out at the stone patio and there are birds and one sweet chipmunk scurrying around. 

I caught a break with this apartment. That's positively good news. And one thing I know about myself: I can build on good news. 

love

kj

Medical Baseball and the Umbrella of Grace

Since the beginning of my blog in 2008 this is the longest I've gone without posting. There is also a change in content because I like my blog to be upbeat and creative, informative. But instead when I do post I've been writing about myself and not in my normal optimistic way.

Here's a nutshell: JB and I moved to an ocean dream house last August. Even prior to that JB was in a wrestling match with anxiety, not because because of life events but because of genetics. You may or may not know that the management of anxiety is an art, not a science. The medication part is a trial and error process and it can take months.

So we move in August and from there, I have a routine annual physical. The blood tests are suspicious. So I have some diagnostic medical work ups--scans and specialty exams-- and they are normal except as an aside, the workups discover other areas that merit more workups and scans and specialty exams. That's where I am now--knee deep in unknowns that do not appear to be life threatening or life limiting but I'm not feeling quite right. That's the backdrop to last Thursday and beyond. I am at a friend's wake and I pass out, twice. I'm out long enough that it was a dramatic event. Poor JB. It was scary. We went to the hospital by ambulance. With a siren. 

Now comes the grace part. 

Five weeks ago JB and I traveled from Massachusetts to Arizona to visit a friend I hadn't seen in 35 years. She's had ovarian cancer for 7 years and she asked me to come. On the way JB and I won $ 6300 playing the slot machines in Las Vegas.

When we arrived in Arizona, my friend had just been given a prognosis of 4-6 months but it looked more serious than that, my friend's adult son had just moved in to help her, her ex-husband Max was there too, and her current husband was in the quickly advancing stage of dementia and decline, which no one had talked about until we got there. 

I've been able to help with this: getting hospice involved, arranging cognitive medical care, assuring that wishes were honored and financial matters corrected, reconnecting with my friend as if no time had passed, building on a bond with my friend's son Eric that had ended when he was about 8 years old, and realizing that my long long friendship with Max has morphed into family status. My friend died peacefully a week ago and her family will have no regrets and great memories. I know I had a part in that. It was a privilege.

Thursday night at the Emergency Room, with JB and my daughter Jess (mother of four small children: what a gift that she could be there), I am in the middle of test upon test as Max and Eric walk in. They have left the funeral service to come to the hospital. Jess hasn't seen Eric since they played together when she was 6 and she has never met Max. 

Here's what happened: the five of us sat in the ER cubby for 90 minutes, talked, shared, remembered, laughed. Then when I was discharged we went out to dinner (I moved slowly.) It was such a relief from sadness for Eric and Max and such a distraction for JB and me. And another thing: so often, by necessity, most of the time I step into my daughter's life. This time she stepped into mine. It was precious in a way I will never forget. I wonder if others (you) understand this, how precious the memory of a bad situation can turn out to be?)

I am now home again. I will see my local doctor on Monday. I am concerned about all these symptoms that don't seem related to each other and the truth is I don't feel great and haven't for a couple of months. But I'm not so concerned that I'm convinced I'm on a path of crisis. I'm bothered that I'm missing too much of Springtime by the sea; that my little yard doesn't have my gardener's touch; that I haven't made new friends here. But I know to wait to worry. So far I have no actual bad medical news.

Meanwhile, I keep thinking about the last few days. The ambulance ride was a low point. Poor JB was so scared. And then, in the process of burying a wonderful woman who fought to live and died in peace, five connected people came together in an Emergency Room cubicle and shared something deeply healing and deeply important; something that will be long remembered. 

I'm convinced this is how grace works. 

love

kj

On Life

Be warned: I've written this mostly for myself. I'm pondering joy, how to let it come, how to chase it down, how to hold it tight. 

I took a walk with JB yesterday and hundreds of black birds nestled overhead in the trees. It must have been some kind of special day for them because they sang more than they squawked. The weather and my perspective was grey and chilly and all those birds singing added an aura of intrigue that shouldn't have but it molded into sadness.

There are times when I feel so utterly alone and sometimes I welcome those times because I figure I need the experience for a time when that might truly be the case. It's a foreign place for me, really--to feel and be alone--and I think it would be a plus if only the feeling didn't include sadness.

You know those sappy inspirational quotes exhausting the serenity of living near the ocean and spending the day reading books and living leisurely?  I know a couple of people who tell me that's how they actually live. Because I live near the ocean and have time to read books I think that should be me too. I view those people with awe.

I still work because I want to. Money has ceased to press on my day-to-day. I've had a few medical scares this year and my back screams at me to lose weight, but all in all I'm healthy. JB and I have been together long enough that the fibers of being known and permanent love and shared interests carry us past our differences. My daughter is married and it's a good marriage with four children who never fail to delight when they run to me when I pull into their drive way.  I'm smarter than I ever thought I'd be and I have the creative benefit of loving to write.

To be clear: I have no doubt I'm committed to my own happiness. But at that point things get murky. I had this epiphany this week: with surprising precision I remembered the two months I came to the Cape to write a manuscript on Happiness. I sat on our red sectional couch each morning, the early morning sun poured in, I had my Peets coffee, and I began to write. I wrote for a couple of hours and then my dog Rosie and  I walked one block to the bay beach and I let my mind think and wander and I watched her swim and I chatted with people about what a great day it was, and then I came back to the red couch and followed the same pattern through lunch and then dinner. By the end of the day I'd written for ten hours or so and I was thrilled. JB would come down on weekends and that was nice too.

Where the heck has that 'me' gone? Here I am again on the Cape and on this couch. It's not red but teal this time and the morning sun is more subdued in this house. But I have an exciting book to write and the bay beach is still a block away. What's changed besides the fifteen years between then and now?

I can answer this in a flash: a too-tight body, some too-soon losses, the too-high price of prickly wisdom. But there's something deeper. There's a core of 'me' that's this close to knowing how to really BE. Here. Now. Sometimes I already know. But other times I watch the knowing slip right through my fingers. 

I starting writing this post three days ago, in a funk. Tonight I'm at the end of a good day and I have a feeling. What I'm looking for isn't out there. 

I tell this story in the the training programs

I sometimes do:

"Long ago the wise and powerful gods of the world wanted to protect the secret of happiness. "Let's hide it at the bottom of the deepest ocean," one of them said. "No, they'll find it there. Let's bury it at the top of the highest mountain." "No, no," another said, "One day they'll have planes."

Then the littlest among them said, "I know! Let's hide it inside them. They'll never think to look there!"

love

kj

Is it?

It's easier to write when I'm looking up and harder to write when I'm falling down.

I'm not exactly falling but I'm in and out of the local health clinic like I have a membership. Twice I've had symptoms that really scared me and twice when I stopped being scared I've promised to wring every juicy moment from this life that is mine.  

Today I asked my doctor, "Is it age?" He smiles. "The problem is your mind is still a very smart 4o."

I smile back.

Is it age?

This year,
not last or the one before that,
for four seasons now
I'm giving blood
and getting news:
this works but that might not.

I'm a weary pocket
filled with coins
waiting to cash in,
ready to roll
but lying prone
when I should be
jiving.

In this year
the doctor reassures
but here's another test,
this one for kidneys
that one for lungs.
A knee, a back, two hips
and a damn tooth.

Body, it's spring:
time to wise up.

Travelin'

I'm in Pismo Beach California, having left Burbank yesterday and soon to be in San Luis Obispo. I was in Burbank for a work assignment and I'm here visiting old and new friends. I'm also airport phobic (no idea why) so it was no small matter that my flights from Boston through San Francisco to Burbank took 16 hours and included two canceled flights and one skin-of-my-teeth standby. I came a distance for a 10 AM meeting in Burbank that couldn't be rescheduled and at 6:30 pm the night before I have no guarantees (Grrrr United Airlines) I'll be anywhere near Burbank, not even the next morning. 

Not to mention my luggage. I've flown in the equivalent of a fancy teeshirt and comfy pants. Not business attire.

The whole time I kept saying, "Wait to worry, wait to worry," but my nerves would have none of it. 

I'm writing this two days later and I made my meeting.

I stayed at the funky1960's orange formica decorated Tangerine Hotel near Warner Brothers Studios (no I didn't tour, a small regret) and my junior high school friend Max picked me up there. We stop in Carpenteria and have lunch with my friend Lori: she and I do some welcomed and good reconnecting.  Max and I drive along the Pacific Coast to his home in Pismo Beach and last night he and his wife and I went to a bonfire on the beach in celebration of the marriage of a doctor and a nurse, both women.   (I knew neither.) There was an ample bowl of Reeses' Peanut Butter Cups and Hersey's chocolate and hot dogs and fixings, all there to be roasted in the fire in the sand. Hot dogs and S'mores. The evening air was cold and it rained but in between the fire performed perfectly, except the heat made our eyes water.

Today Max and I will continue to catch up on forty-plus years of our lives since high school. We both talk non-stop and we both know full well that we are confirming and cementing that we will now stay close friends. 

Tomorrow Max will drop me off in San Luis Obispo where I will spend the night with Sharon Lovejoy, my friend from these blogs. We call each other honey and her house and yard and studio and illustrations and articles and books have  been featured in plenty of magazines. I will be delighted to have a night and a day with her.

When I return in two days to Ptown, it will be Spring. Crocuses and daffodil stems will have cracked open the soil and I will sit in the side yard or on my couch and wonder if I'm better off having a plan of what-when-why-how to my days ahead or just letting it all unfold. I don't mention this quandary lightly. 

I'm not a good traveler. But I travel anyway. I'll wonder about that too.The thing is, a blank canvas doesn't stay blank either way.

love 

kj