Morning Meditation

The 23 Psalms (Bobby McFerrin's version)

The Lord is my Shepard, I have all I need,
She makes me lie down in green meadows,
Beside the still waters, She will lead.

She restores my soul, She rights my wrongs,
She leads me in a path of good things,
And fills my heart with songs.

Even though I walk, through a dark and dreary land,
There is nothing that can shake me,
She has said She won't forsake me,
I'm in her hand.

She sets a table before me, in the presence of my foes,
She anoints my head with oil,
And my cup overflows.

Surely, surely goodness and kindness will follow me,
All the days of my life,
And I will live in her house,
Forever, forever and ever.

Glory be to our Mother, and Daughter,
And to the Holy of Holies,
As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be,
World, without end. Amen

I'm 55; I've Been Revived

When I was three, I could perform the "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" song.


When I was four, I could position my feet behind my head.

When I was six, I could swirl my hips and send a Hula Hoop spinning.


When I was seven, I could pat my head and rub my tummy.

By the time I was 33, I had trouble doing jumping jacks.

By  35, I couldn't learn how to do the Electric Slide.




By 40, I couldn't touch my hands to the floor.

So why, at 55, do I think I can learn how to hula?

Cuz, I'm 55 
and I've been revived. 

And, nobody has told the little girl in me, whom I've recently discovered is still very much alive, that she can't.



  

Nobody, that is, until I took a hula class earlier this month, then my own critical voice starting blaring: "Who do you think your are? Are you crazy?" 

The first time I saw hula danced it was at the ocean's edge at the beach near my home. There was a man turned toward the horizon, his legs moving like the waves of the ocean, his hands motioning in prayer. I was mesmerized. This was nothing like the hula depicted in Elvis Presley movies. 

This was praise. This was prayer. This was love in liquid motion. I want to learn how to move like that! I went home and put "Learn to hula" on my "Things I Want To Do Before I Die" list.

Now, 15 months later, I'm embarking on lessons. In four months, I want to be able to hula for my hubby. Even if its only a three-minute hula. Buddy is thrilled. I am humbled. 

My Writing Sister, Salle, who also hulas, recently emailed me to ask how did I feel while dancing. I wrote back: "To my dismay my hips won't sway."

Yet.

Stay tuned!














 

An Auspicious Occasion: The In-Laws Hug and Mug

You may find this hard to believe, but I actually missed the day my parents, Vernon and Marion, and Buddy's mom, Elly, met.

It was just recently--Friday, July 3.

I was here in California teaching summer school, when my future mother-in-law, Elly, and sister-in-law, Lynda, were traveling through New Jersey where both Buddy and my parents live.

I could not be there, but Buddy proudly made the introductions. I sent MarionBelle a picture of my wedding dress to share with my new mom and sister. Buddy showed our families my wedding band. I was on the speaker phone for all of the "oohs and aahhs" and for Buddy's toast to the coming together of our families.

Here, Elly, my younger sister, Paula, and Buddy's sister, Lynda, pose for a picture. Lynda e-mailed this week to tell me Paula was "the hostess with the mostest," serving iced tea and cheesecake to everyone.  (Prosecco was served for the toasts.) 

 Elly looks on while Buddy and my father rib each other. Lynda says she love the way my dad "busts Buddy's chops!" Buddy loves it!

Ah, my Buddy-La in between our two mothers. Aren't they beautiful? I really want to tell you their age, but I haven't asked their permission. You could never guess.

The Date We Mate

Time sure flies when you are planning nuptials.

Recently, Buddy and I discovered that we had not updated all of our friends and family on our wedding plans. Our original wedding scenario involved getting married in October 2010 on a golf course in Ft. Myer, Florida.

Our plans soon changed as we discussed the logistics of me trying to plan an east coast wedding from the west coast, and the challenge of getting both east coast friends and family, and west coast friends and family all together in one place to celebrate with us. My fibro started flaring up just at the thought of it.

That was a sticking point until we realized that hosting an intimate gathering in both places (California and New Jersey), some time after a private wedding, would be ideal. We liked this idea so much that it liberated us to think more creatively about our ceremony.

You know what that means...barefoot on the beach. Romantic! We have chosen to... I can't write the word. (I don't like the word.) It starts with an E, except its not really the "E-word" because its not a last minute plan and its not coming to you as a surprise; its just a less stressful approach than Plan A. 

With a slight shift of perspective, we are now planning a vacation with the awesome addition of taking wedding vows while there, rather than planning a wedding production.That suits us both quite well.

So here are the specifics: 

When: Friday, November 27, 2009. Yes, we chose this date, the day after Thanksgiving, because it
underscores how we feel about our union--ever so grateful. It is, coincidentally, the wedding anniversary date of Buddy's parents, who were married for 61 years! That makes our choice extra special.

Where: On the beach in lush Kauai, Hawaii. (I have picked a flowy chiffon dress, perfect for the beach. We are hooking up Buddy's wedding outfit as I write. Think: linen.)

Time:  10:00 am

Keep us in your prayers!

Dinner Time and the Living is Easy

These are my parents: Vernon and Marion, also known as Meadie Peadie and Marion Belle, M&M, and Pop-Pop and Grammie.

When I visited New Jersey last month, Buddy and I had a real treat. We prepared dinner for my father's 85th birthday.

 Wearing white aprons, we set the dining room table, Buddy prepared an antipasto, I poured the champagne, and they sat, relaxed, and let us serve them.

Here they are, satiated, after a meal of chicken and mushrooms in a butter/wine sauce, roasted asparagus and roasted garlic, and a strawberry, chocolate and freshly-whipped cream parfait.

The next time Buddy and I will have this pleasure will be in August when my parents celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary. That's right: 60 years!

I would love to hear from any readers who have known my parents during this time. What do you remember about the effervescent M&M?

What Happens When the Caretaker Needs Care?

(This blog piece is the third in a series on fibromyalgia.)

Raised in the tradition of "the strong Black woman," it took me 50-odd years to learn how to be gentle with myself. Had I not been floored by fibromyalgia, who knows when, or if ever, I would have learned to listen to and respect the needs of my body.

For 25 years I dealt with chronic insomnia, migraine headaches, muscle spasms, and debilitating exhaustion and depression, harshly criticizing myself for not being hardy enough to cope with the demands of life.

So, what did I do to address the mess that had become my life? What any self-flagellating martyr would do...add more stress!

In 2000, when my former, visually-impaired husband, Chaz, unexpectedly lost his job as the result of the dot-com bust, I volunteered to support us both while he re-tooled. We cut out all the fluff from our budget, I added more classes to my teaching load, and he returned to school to become a massage therapist.

Two years later, at the end of his studies, Chaz developed sciatica, the result of a bulging disk, and discovered he had spinal stenosis. So on top of his visual impairment, he developed a mobility disability. We struggled for four more years on one income, while Chaz, who wanted to avoid surgery, tried many methods of mitigating his back pain, to no avail.

In the meantime, I was functioning on fumes, barely getting through the work week before completely falling apart on the week-end. My therapist, at the time, gently but firmly urged me to take a stress management course offered through my HMO. I resisted, insisting that I did not have the time, nor the energy. Rosemary insisted that I could not afford not to spend the time and energy to learn how to sustain myself.

Thank God/dess for Rosemary who cared about my well-being when I was only caring for Chaz.

I enrolled in an eight-week mindfulness course offered through Kaiser Permanente. The program was based on the book by by John Kabat-Zinn, entitled Full Catastrophe Living: Using the Wisdom of Your Body and Mind to Face Stress, Pain, and Illness. (Kabat-Zinn is the founder and former Executive Director of the Center for Mindfulness in Medicine, Health Care, and Society at the University of Massachusetts Medical School. He is also the founder (1979) and former director of its renowned Stress Reduction Clinic and Professor of Medicine emeritus at the University of Massachusetts Medical School.)

Through the program, I was reintroduced to yoga, t'ai chi and meditation, disciplines I had practiced earlier in my life because they were "cool." Now, I practiced them because they were the only methods that helped me to manage the insomnia, pain, depression, and the anxiety I was experiencing as I struggled to keep our marriage emotionally and financially above water.

Soon after taking the mindfulness course, my therapist added a psychiatrist to my medical team. He prescribed an SSRI (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors) to help with the depression. Next, he added a tricyclic antidepressant, which when taken at bedtime in dosages lower than those used to treat depression, can help promote restorative sleep in people with fibromyalgia. At that time, I had not yet been diagnosed with fibromyalgia; rather, we were treating symptoms without knowing the cause. Tricyclic antidepressants also can relax painful muscles and heighten the effects of endorphins, the body's natural pain-killing substances.

Finally, the doctor prescribed Gabapentin (Neurontin), a medication originallydesigned to treat epilepsy that was often used to reduce certain types of pain.

Chaz Departs, YaYa Starts (Taking Better Care of Herself)

In June of 2006, Chaz finally submitted to back surgery, and I looked forward to a time of repair, rejuvenation, renewal--for both of our bodies and our marriage. But my optimism was short-lived. In early August, barely able to walk without the assistance of a cane, Chaz announced he was leaving the marriage. And he packed and was gone within a week!

There was no looking back. Chaz did not want to seek couple's counseling nor pastoral counseling, he did not want a trial separation. He no longer wanted to be married. He offered this frail explanation: "I can hardly take care of myself much less you!"

I was floored. I was flummoxed. I was flabbergasted! And, not by my own volition, I was suddenly refocused. "Now," my wonderfully maternal therapist told me, "I want you to take all the love, care, and compassion that you have devoted to Chaz all these years, and devote it to your own well-being."

Doing so has not been as easy as swallowing a handful of pills, but it has been the gift of my chronic condition. In the ensuing year, I discovered that all the medications the doctor had prescribed were used to treat the symptoms of fibromyalgia, an ailment that no one in the medical profession had mentioned as a possible cause of all of my symptoms.

In the past two years, I have learned an important lesson about caring for my illness: no one is going to advocate for my well-being better than me. I had to insist that my primary care doctor look at my medical records over the past two decades and see the connection between my symptoms. In truth, I had to educate him about fibromyalgia!

Today, I know I need 8-10 hours of sleep in order to function effectively so I guard my sleep time with a vengeance. Along with drugs, yoga, and meditation, and meting out my energy very carefully, I stretch three to five times a day, walk regularly, participate in water aerobics (irregularly), receive massages--when I can afford them, sit in the sun daily, and enjoy the loving touch of a caring partner. (More about that next week.)

Frankly, I Don't Give A *$%!!

I recently found myself in the awkward position of trying to explain to someone near and dear to me why it was I was unwilling to commit to an engagement three weeks ahead of time. She would not accept my "no" but rather adamantly advanced her agenda--that of getting me to attend a meeting "that would change my life for the better."

Clearly she was not listening to me, hell-bent on racking up points for netting a new member for her organization du jour. But in all fairness, I accept some of the responsibility for our frustrating conversation. Perhaps I was not speaking clearly. Maybe I was being too diplomatic. But in all honesty, I was afraid to out myself as a fibromyalgia sufferer.

I was too embarrassed to admit that I function on finite energy and when all the energy I have on any given day is spent, I have no reserve from which to borrow. I was too much of a coward to acknowledge that the daily pain with which I live requires my best energy to manage. I was too proud to acknowledge that the overachieving, success-driven, self-actualizing woman she once knew had retired her superwoman tights and cape long ago. Now my favorite outfits consist of silk pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and a heating pad.

I didn't tell her that I'd rather spend time listening to birds sing or the ocean roar than listening to a motivational speaker pump up an audience; that I'd much rather spend a quiet evening laughing and talking with her than sharing the details of my life with a bunch of people I do not know. I did not tell her, "Frankly, I'm not looking for new friends, new projects, or new inspiration," though I wish I had.

Indeed, I wish I had told her,"If you really want to help improve my life, come on over and finish bringing in the groceries from my car. Better yet, offer to go grocery shopping for me!
Take the overdue books back to the library. Maybe you could bend down and pick up the shells that FuBu knocked off my desk. Would you be willing to brush Mookie's coat? How about vacuuming the carpet for me? You want to help improve my life? Gift me with a weekly maasage for a month. I'm pretty sure that would provide a tangible improvement to the quality of my life."

At 3:00 in the morning, I regretted that I had not said any of those things. But in the light of the day, I realized: Why expend the energy? She wasn't listening anyway.

Snow White and The Eighth Dwarf

Q: What do Fibromites have in common with Snow White?

A: Sleepy (the first dwarf on the right) is our constant companion; and some would say Grumpy (the dwarf in the middle) is a regular visitor, too.

But, rumor has it, there was an eighth dwarf: Achey, a fellow Fibromite. Achey did not get out of the bed early. He did not sing: "Hi-ho. Hi-ho, its off to work we go." He was not able to go out and search for diamonds with his fellow dwarfs.

You never saw or heard of him because he was so fatigued and worn out from managing the pain of  fibromyalgia (FMS) that he could never hang out with the rest of the crew.

If you asked Achey, he would tell you that FMS  is a pain in the neck and in the butt...and in the occipitals, in the trapezius, head, chest, lower back, hips, gluteus, and knees. Literally.

Let's ask Achey.

YaYa: What are your common FMS symptoms?

Achey: I hurt all over and nothing seems to eliminate the pain. I have trouble going to sleep and I have touble staying asleep. And when I wake up, I have trouble going back to sleep. I pretty much feel like I have the achey part of the flu--all the time. My concentration and memory are severely affected by the lack of sleep. I hate not being as sharp and witty as I used to be.

YaYa: Oh, Achey, that must be stressful--mentally, emotionally, and physically.

Achey: It is. FMS is stressful and down-right frustrating. Many-a-day, I wake up with my clothes and pick axe right beside the bed. One part of me wants to jump out of bed and go mining with the other dwarfs, but my body feels like it has carried a ton of diamonds up a hill during the night. Its like my mother used to say: "The Spirit is willing, but the Flesh is weak."

YaYa: Does anyone know what causes FMS?

Achey: Its a mystery. That is a part of my frustration. Nobody knows for sure. But there are many theories. Researchers believe that the factors that cause or trigger FMS include:

*  Injury or trauma that affects the musculoskeletal system
*  Injury or trauma that affects the nervous system
*  Early emotional trauma
*  Neurological changes, such as disruption in the pain threshold response
*  Changes in muscle metabolism that cause fatigue and decreased strength
*  Profound sleep dysfunction
*  Response to an infectious virus or bacteria
*  Hypometabolism, an underactive thyroid, or thyroid hormone resistance
*  Post-traumatic stress
*  Lyme's disease

Some even believe fibromyalgia is hereditary.

YaYa:  How was your fibromyalgia diagnosed?

Achey: I searched high and low for years for answers to my ailment. I've heard that it takes the average sufferer about five years to get an accurate diagnosis.  One reason is because the symptoms of FMS mirror other illnesses like multiple sclerosis, lupus, and rheumatoid arthritis.

YaYa: Are there tests for FMS?

Achey: Well, there aren't any laboratory tests to diagnose FMS; but tests are used to rule out the other conditions. The American College of Rheumatology has established criteria to use for diagnosing fibromyalgia, though.

First, you must have a long-term experience of widespread pain in all four quadrants of the body. That means you have to have pain above the waist on the left and right side; and, below the waist on the left and the right side for three months or more.  The diagnosis includes pain at 11 of the 18 tender points.

YaYa: Is there a cure for fibromyalgia?

Achey: No, not yet. But just having a name for what I have been experiencing is helpful. There is no cure for fibromyalgia, but there are treatments which can help a Fibromite cope with the illness. I use several, including: medication to help with the non-restorative sleep, yoga, meditation, stress-reduction techniques, massage, chiropractics, and water exercise. You'd be surprised at the correlation between sleep and pain management.

I feel better some days. Not pain-free, but better. At the rate I'm going, I should be able to attend the 75th anniversary reunion of the dwarfs in 2012.

May: Fibromyalgia Education and Awareness Month

Tomorrow, May 12, has been designated National Fibromyalgia Awareness Day. The theme this year is "Fibromyalgia Affects Everyone."

The slogan sounds a bit hyperbolic to me, but I will let you be the judge. Over the next several weeks,  I plan to answer some basic questions about this puzzling syndrome: what is it, what causes it, how do we treat it?

If you or a loved one lives with fibromyalgia, I hope you will find the blog entries for the rest of this month helpful and hopeful.

As a functioning(most-of-the-time) "Fibromite" I want to tell you about this syndrome, how it affects the daily lives of those of us suffer with it, and how we cope. We hope with increased awareness, knowledge, and understanding, improved funding for fibromyalgia research will ensue.



FIBRO WHAT?

 Fibromyalgia Syndrome (FMS) is a chronic, wide-spread pain syndrome that involves muscles, connective tissues (tendons, ligaments), bursae, and joints. FMS involves abnormal pain processing, sleep disturbances, fatigue and the resultant cognitive and memory impairment, or fibro fog as those of us plagued by it have affectionately named it.

 FMS sufferers do not get much, if any, stage 4 Delta sleep. This is the healing phase of sleep where the repair of bodily tissues takes place, as well as the restoration of the immune system. Muscles in Fibromites do not recover overnight as in normal individuals, leaving us feeling as if our bodies have been marched over, multiple times, during the night.

FMS can be accompanied by such ailments as swollen glands,  irritable bowel syndrome, gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD), migraine headaches, anxiety, depression, and sensitivity to environmental elements, like noise, odors, bright lights, and changes in barametric pressure and temperature.

The severity of the symptoms can wax and wane, but for many, fibromyalgia can be extremely debilitating and interfere with basic daily physical activities and the overall enjoyment of life.

Stay tuned for more on fibromyalgia:
May 18   Causes and Diagnosis
May 25   Treatments and Tips for Coping
June 8     Loving a FMS Patient (an interview
                 with my Buddy.)

I've Got The Flu, Boo-Hoo

BE BACK NEXT WEEK!

I Am Reminded of an Earth, Wind, and Fire Tune

Earlier today, Buddy and I were having a conversation about devotion, when, as often is the case, a song came to mind. Do you remember this one? 


               DEVOTION

Through devotion, blessed are the children.
Praise the teacher that brings true love to many.

Your devotion opens all life's treasures
and deliverance from the fruits of evil.

So our mission: to bring a melody,
ringin' voices, sing sweet harmony.






For you, here's a song to make your day brighter,
one that will last you long through troubled days.

Giving your heart the light to brighten
all of the dark that falls in your way.

You need devotion.
Bless the children.
Deliverance from the fruits of evil.







In everyone's life there's a need to be happy.
Let the sun shine a smile your way.

Open your heart, feel a touch of devotion.
Maybe this song will help uplift your day.




Make a better way.
You need devotion.


 Lyrics by Phillip Bailey and Maurice White

The Book That Was The Nook

I looked in the jewelry box.
I looked in the toilet bowl.
I combed through the kitty litter...thrice.

I looked in the cats' food dish.
I searched in the dishwasher.
I poured the coffee out of the pot...no ice.

I gently shook Mookie and FuBu.
I cleaned off the dining room table.
I emptied the vaccuum...no bling.

I crawled on my hands and knees.
I cleaned out the fireplace.
I got ashes in my face...no ring.

Where else can I look?
How 'bout in one of your books?
Sure 'nuf that's where the ring was nesting.

**********************************************

 This is the book in which I found my engage-
ment ring: Mars and Venus Together Forever by John Gray. I wasn't even reading this book at the time. However, I teach Interpersonal Communication (relationship skills) courses so I always have a stack of relationship books around the house for reference, and my ring apparently hid out in one!

One of my neighbors suggested perhaps the fact that the ring snuggled into the crevice of this particular book was a sign that the book has something special to offer us. If that is so, I wished I had paid attention to the pages between which the ring was tucked.

Buddy and I both agree that we will read this book together and keep it on the shelf with our treasured photos and mementos.

She Lost Her Ring, What a Ding-a-Ling

What happened last Tuesday night when YaYa mixed excitement with last-minute packing and a desire to make her engagement ring sparkle before heading off to meet her future-in-laws?

She lost her ring.
What a ding-a-ling!
And now, she's pulling out her hair.

That's right folks. It was midnight and I was finally attending to the last item on my "Get Ready for Florida Trip" check list. I had taken off all of my jewelry (two rings, a pair of earrings, and a necklace) earlier in the evening and placed them on a pretty, rose hand-painted saucer in the bathroom.

Now, I carried the saucer into the living room, sat on the couch, and poured the jewelry into a canister in a polishing solution, put on the lid, and shook it a bit. Following the instructions, I let it sit for about five minutes.

When I opened the jar and took the canister out, everything was present and accounted for--except the engagement ring! I kid you not. My engagement ring had vanished. What is this? Some kind of magic trick?

Okay. Funny. Ha Ha. May I have my ring back, please? Pretty please? Pleeeeze? Okay, this is not funny, anymore. I want my ring!

This story does not have a happy ending. Yet.

After concluding that I dropped the ring on the short trip from the bathroom to the living room, I searched high and low for two hours. I went to bed. No ring. I only slept two-and-a-half hours. Woke up and searched some more. No ring.

I left for the airport demoralized.

I actually had a wonderful time in Fort Myers with Buddy and his family, embarrassed though I was.

While there, Buddy and I developed a plan for how I could methodically cover every inch of the carpet, on my hands and knees, to find the "temporarily misplaced ring."

Finally, we joked, how great it would be if I had a metal detector. It could make this task less daunting.

Hey, not a bad idea.
So, if I have any fellow Santa Cruzan readers out there: Does any one have a metal detector they would be willing to loan me?

I'm desperate!

YaYa's Meeting Mom

Spring Break has started and I am just as excited as my students. I do not have any tests to grade. I do not have any papers to read. I do not have any green eggs and ham to eat.

What I do have is a plane ticket for a 5-day trip to Fort Myers, Florida, to meet Buddy's mom and youngest sister,  Lisa.

 I met his two other sisters, Lynda and Judith, in February when we flew to Portland, Oregon, for a long week-end.
They were delightful, and I imagine I will be greeted with the same openness and warmth when I meet "Ms. Eli."

I'm excited. Happy Easter, everybody!

We Rocked or Did We Rolled?

This morning, I sat at my desk earlier than usual to start my blog. As  my fingers were  poised lightly on the key board, I began to feel dizzy, then the lamp shade began to tremble, and I felt a familiar rolling motion underfoot.
.                   

Yup! We had an earthquake on this sunny, breezy Monday in the central coast of California.
.

According to the local television news station, it was a 4.3 on the Richter scale and lasted 10 seconds.  It wasn't a "there's-a-big-hand-pushing-my-building" type of quake; it was more like a "there's-a-wave-passing-under-my-building" type--the kind that is almost enjoyable to ride if you weren't so aware of the harm that it could cause. I did not even have time to get up and stand in the doorway--the best place to be while experiencing a temblor--before it stopped.
.

The news began to report about 15 minutes after the quake and claimed no fires, no downed telephone wires, no canned food crashing off supermarket shelves, no harm, no foul.
 .

Oh, yeah? Tell that to my computer and internet connection! When I returned to my desk, my computer was frozen. I rebooted but could not get back onto the internet to write the blog piece.
 .

Now, I'm miffed.
 .

How dare Mother Earth choose this moment to rearrange herself and let off a little pressure, right as I am ready to write?  Doesn't she know I'm on a deadline?

Honestly, I had to chuckle at myself as I heard my inner voice say: "Here's a place you can choose your response rather than just react." So, I recited the Serenity Prayer:

                    God: Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

                              the courage to change the things I can, 

                              and the wisdom to know the difference.
 .

Rather than rant and rave about the inconvenience, I thanked Mother Earth for the small quake (now we are less likely to have a big one), and I went about rescheduling my day.  

Instead of writing and conducting research, which was the orginal plan; I cleaned off my desk, filed a bunch of papers, and called a number of friends back east--most of whom tried to convince me that it was time to move out of California and back to New Jersey.
 .

I snickered at that suggestion for earlier this year the New Jersey county in which my family and sweetheart live had four small quakes. The residents were shocked. Some reported thinking there had been an explosion nearby; some thought a bomb had been dropped on their neighborhood, while others thought it was the end of the world. The Jersey quakes, ranging between between 2. and 3.5, were pretty light-weight, as quakes go.
 .

I just talked to my neighbors, Maggie and Lou, and they didn't even feel our 4.3 tremblor. Business and usual for them.
 .

As for my computer, when I turned it on this evening, a message appeared on the screen saying that the date mechanism had been incorrectly reset and I needed to rectify it in order to get back on the internet.
 .

The reset date? December 30, 1969, 20-odd years before there was such thing as an internet. Apparently, not only did I feel the earthquake this morning, I also spent most of the day in a time warp!

Less Mental Work, More Wonder

In ways unclear to me, I have begun to see my life in a new way...at least for several minutes a day.

Those are precious moments when my perspective  shifts...and, zoom...my vision widen and sharpen simultaneously.

Or perhaps I'll hear a whispered, yet very clear and elegantly simple answer to a question I have pondered for the last twenty years of my life.

I marvel and delight at these insights.

Sometimes they are quiet confirmations of things I already know, but don't trust that I know.

Other times they are new, fresh, and instantly recognizable as the key that will liberate me from an outdated or fallacious belief I've lugged around way too long.

And sometimes, the insight comes as a sign...something symbolic in nature...and I must interpret its meaning. That's when I put on my thinking cap and mud boots, and my analytical mind takes over and does what she enjoys doing: mucking around...digging deep, mining for meaning. (Uh-oh, watch out.  My friend Ricket says I can be obsessively analytical.)


 Signs or Wonder

On both Saturday and Sunday mornings of this past week-end, I sat inside urging myself to go out and enjoy the bright sunshine. But I lallygagged for another hour or so, watering my plants and signing along to Handel's Messiah, at the top of my lungs. On both days, when I finally stepped outside, the sky opened up and rained big drops, even as the sun still shone.

In serious pursuit of the divine messsage, I queried Buddy: "What do you make of this? I know it was a sign! Two days in a row, I delayed, and then it rained when I finally walk outside. What to you think it means? Maybe it was a sign to stop puttering around, and get up and get productive."

Buddy: Did you see a rainbow?

YaYa: What rainbow?

Buddy: Your experienced a sunstorm twice. The perfect conditions for rainbow!

YaYa: Oh, My God/dess! I missed the pretty rainbow!

Me and my analytical mind...so busy digging for the meaning, I missed the wonder.

Embracing Souls

Gracefulness has been defined

to be the outward expression of

inward harmony of the  soul. 

--William Hazlitt

Help! I've Been High Jacked!

Just when I was beginning to praise modern technology some one ups and high jacks my personal email
address!

Wasn't it just last week I confessed that technology "has provided me with the greatest amount of satisfaction and happiness I have had in my life." (Exaggeration always comes back to bite me in the butt.)

Just a few nights ago, apparently someone hacked into my email, high jacked my contact list, and sent spam to everyone on the list--in my name. (Let your guard down for one minute and...bam!)


I feel betrayed by my whole computer system. How could this have happened? More importantly, what can I do about it?

Creating a new email address is just one step in a process. Can any of my readers suggest what else I can do to protect myself in cyberspace?

There is another way to view this incident. (I look...and I must giggle.) For more than two years,  I have needed to change my personal email address because it was created by Chaz, my former husband, and the address contained letters from his name. The time had come to do something about that.

Change was afoot, but I was dragging my feet. (I feared fiddling around with my computer and its programs.)

So...boom...
a problem arises...
which necessitates a new address, pronto...
I figure out how to take care of the problem
(this is a big deal for a computerphobe)
and one more thing on my mile-long To-Do List is done!

Signs and Wonders!

One Never Knows Does One?

Dear Readers: Welcome to the first Monday blog. For now and into the foreseeable future, I will publish My Seat on the Beach on Monday afternoons rather than on Friday evenings. The new schedule will give me an opportunity to take my blog to the next level: I plan to write responses in the comment section to further discussion there... and here.

When I started this blog, it was with the intention of establishing the discipline of writing at least one piece per week. At the time, I did not foresee that I would develop a readership of people who enjoy responding to each others' blog comments as well as responding to my blog entries. I confess, I love reading the blog conversations and banter as much as writing the entries.

So, I want to get in on the action. With the new publishing schedule, I will have time to correspond with my readers during the week through the comment section. I can imagine new blog topics will grow out of this exchange, new friendships will develop, and old friendships will be renewed.

The irony of all of this is: Until three years ago, I was a technophobe and techno-Scrooge. I teach communication courses at a college in San Jose, CA--public speaking, interpersonal communication, small group communication, and argumentation. Make no mistake, I have a bias in favor of face-to-face communication--no keyboards, no icons, no buttons, no earphones--no muss, no fuss.

I hate that people expected me to answer email. I have a cell phone I barely use (and don't ask me my cell number; I don't know it.) Digital cameras discombobulate me, I-Pods perplex me, and Blackberries make me itch. Most of the time, I don't even answer my home phone.

So, I have to laugh at myself when I realize that menacing machinery has provided me with the greatest amount of satisfaction and happiness I have had in my life: 1) My Seat on the Beach--brought to you by modern technology, and 2) My reunion with Buddy--made possible by. none other than the technological advances I have scorned.

One never knows, does one?

Leave Room for the Miracles--Part Two

YaYa: Buddy, will you tell my blog readers what you thought when you received the condolence email from me?

Buddy: The day I read your note, I immediately exhaled and thought: “There you are! Where have you been? What took you so long?” But I thought the brief response I composed and sent back was perfectly generic and non-commital. (Laugh)

YaYa: We probably should give some background on our unusual friendship. Do you want to start?

Buddy: We became friends, almost thirty years ago, when we were in our mid-twenties. We bonded quickly and intensely.

YaYa: We shared an affinity for cooking together, eating, dancing, and the outdoors. Buddy had a motor cycle then (and now) and, oh, how I loved riding on the back of that bike. What a liberating feeling!

Buddy: But our burgeoning love did not have a chance to fully flourish. My circumstances…it was an inopportune time…

YaYa: We could not fully commit to each other. The relationship, after a lovely and soulful six months, ended swiftly…and painfully.

Buddy: Timed passed. We did not hear a word from each other for six years, but I thought about you more than you'll ever know.

YaYa: And then…and on this part we are fuzzy …we ran into each other but we don’t agree on the details. My friend Gus seems to remember that one evening he and I were at the movie theatre and saw  Buddy there.

Buddy: I don’t recall that. But here is what I remember of that time: My son was 4 years old and my former wife had recently told me she was leaving the marriage. The legal process of my divorce went relatively smoothly. What it did to me on the inside is another story.

The gavel came down on my marriage one spring afternoon after our being in court for less than an hour. In a coma like fashion, I walked out of the court house to begin the ritual of going through pictures, documents, etc. It was during that time, once again, that visions of YaYa came to me stronger than ever.

YaYa: When we saw each other, my heart went out to you. You were a mess. But in the new year, I would be leaving for California, so I knew we had to maintain a strictly platonic friendship. I tried  to get you interested in one of my sister’s friends. How insensitive of me. I had no idea what kind of pain you were in then. Now, after my divorce fiasco, I understand how very raw you were at the time.

Buddy: It is amazing to reconnect after all these years. I had not seen you since the spring of 1986 when I helped you pack your belongings to move.

YaYa: The irony of it all was not lost on either one of us back then.

Buddy: We kept in touch, periodically, for the next four years.

YaYa: I finished grad school in June of 1990, and in the fall, Buddy and I started making plans to see each other again. But then I got cold feet. I had just started a new career, teaching in a college setting.

I knew if I saw Buddy again… let’s just say… I did not wanted to be tempted to return to New Jersey. Buddy was running his Dad’s business, so I couldn’t imagine that he would move to California; and a bi-coastal relationship, at the time, was unfathomable. Better leave well enough alone. So we severed our ties again. Always, a clean cut.

Buddy: So we had not talked or written to each other since the end of 1990.

YaYa: That’s right. And I met Chaz six months later and married him two years after that. You and I have not been in touch for 18 years.

Buddy: Yup. I had no idea you had married, until I saw that hyphenated name. And then I thought: “This beautiful woman for whom I have kept my heart open all these years just couldn't be married.”

How long did it take for you to tell me you were divorced?

YaYa: I waited for a little over two weeks. I had to think. Truthfully, I did not expect to hear from you. I was sure you were remarried with a slew of children. But when you responded, I knew if I walked through the door that you had just flung open, this would be our opportuned time.







Starting this Monday, March 2, My Seat on the Beach will be published on Mondays.