In Memoriam: Romanov

Romanov loved getting new toys.

In the days leading up to that day, I was gathering some of my older writing with the intention of creating some post-dated blog posts that would come up every day while I was out of town.  Thursday morning Rob and I went to the store to buy some last minute traveling needs and we picked up two new toys—one for Romanov, one for Snowdoll.  We do this every year on our birthdays, mine and Rob’s and sometimes even on the puppies’.  The truth is, Snowdoll doesn’t really care. Romanov loves having new toys and, whenever he receives a new toy, he is so happy, so eager to show it off, that, whenever someone comes over, he will grab his new toy and bring it the way a small child does, showing off the latest, greatest toy.

So we found toys, chosen for their texture, one Romanov particularly likes in his toys. It would give him something new to enjoy before the surgery and then, again, when he had recovered from the surgery.  And with the surgery that Friday, a new toy was timely.

Of course, the surgery itself was scheduled around my birthday because we used my birthday gift money to pay for the surgery.  Romanov had a sort of ulcerated sore near his anus and, although it was critical or even necessary for him to have the surgery, we wanted him to feel more comfortable.  So I paid for the unnecessary surgery that killed him.

Friday morning, Rob took Romanov to the veterinarians and came home as we waited to receive the call to tell us Romanov was out of surgery, recovering from the anesthesia, and would be ready to come home.  The vet called hours earlier than we anticipated, explaining that the blood work revealed Romanov has stage 4 cancer and the surgery wouldn’t do more than make him more comfortable.  I didn’t want to proceed, knowing that stage 4 cancer is incurable, that we might need the money to make the ultimate decision for him, to provide him with the necessary pain medication to alleviate the pain that comes with pervasive, metastasized cancer.  Rob pointed out that we should do anything we could to make Romanov more comfortable, and I agreed.  We gave the vet the green light to go ahead and perform the surgery.  Then we waited again for the call.

We received it.  Romanov had come through the surgery well.  The vet had removed a tumor the size of a handball and excised the ulcerated flesh, using sutures that would gradually resolve. We scheduled a post-surgery follow-up and Romanov came home.  He could barely walk and it took more than a few minutes and some help from Rob to get him into the house.  He was so very doped up that he collapsed as soon as he was in the door and Rob had to push him aside to close it.  Sprawled out as he was, we let him lie there, undisturbed, and we stayed in the same room with him, not wanting him to be left alone. 

Saturday we had maneuvered Romanov onto a sheet so we could more easily move him from room to room, something he didn’t especially like.  I insisted he be moved to the great room because it has carpeting which would be easier for his puppy paws to “grip” when he was ready to get up. He wouldn’t eat but he would take some water.  Only a small amount.  We even raised the blinds so he could look out the window, to enjoy the view of birds or chipmunks hopping about.  We’d laid out some plastic so we wouldn’t have to worry about Romanov urinating, lay blankets beneath him, which we changed out, whenever he did.

That day, I only left Romanov’s side to use the bathroom or refill my glass of water.  At the suggestion of the vet, we slipped a towel around Romanov’s body and used this to help lift him onto his feet, sort like a belt, enabling him to walk a few steps around the room.  We did everything we could in the room.  I exercised.  We ate dinner.  Everything close to where Romanov lay.  And, when it was time for us to go to bed, we lifted the sheet and carried Romanov into the bedroom where we already had some plastic and a quilted blanket waiting for him.  We even lay him comfortably on his side on his favorite side of the bedroom.  Thanks to the pain medication, we all slept better that night. 

Better but not well.

Sunday, I suggested to Rob we get some chicken so I could make some broth and buy some organic broth for him in the meantime.  When we moved Romanov into the great room from the bedroom, I noticed his paws were unusually cold.  I took my meditation blanket and lay it across him, trying to warm him up.  I went over to Romanov several times, holding first one paw and then another in my hands, trying to warm them up, concerned that I could not.  I got up to get myself a drink of water and noticed, as I passed him, that his eyes were rolled up in the way that scares me when he is sleeping with his eyes open.  I normally would wake him up because it disturbs me so much but this time, because I knew he was supposed to be recovering, I just slipped by as quietly as I could. 

When I walked back into the room his eyes were open.  His eyes were open, and I stopped because, in that instant, I knew.  I sat down beside him, staring at the blanket, willing it to move, to rise, to show some indication of breathing.  And it seemed to move, of course, because the vertigo will cause things to move in and out, because I wanted it so very much, because my will desired nothing more than to see Romanov breathing in that moment. 

Purple orchids from Joe & Erin

I reached under the blanket. I touched his ribs, to feel his heart or breath or anything.  He was cold beyond his paws now.  He was gone.  I knew this.  I picked up my phone which I had kept close throughout. I called Rob.

“Come home now.”
“I’m on my way.  What’s wrong?”
“Just come home.”

I could not put an answer into words because words would make it more real.  I hung up.  I put the phone down.  I put my hands on Romanov, buried my finger in his fur, started to cry.  I even tried to close his eyes but could not.  His eyes would not close.  I took his paw in my hands again.  So cold.  I sat away from him, making space for Snowdoll as I called her over.

She wanted nothing to do with him.  She just looked and rushed away.  She knew as well. 

When Rob came in, he left the bags in the kitchen and came into the great room, dropping down beside where Romanov lay.  He bowed himself over Romanov, sobbing as I had been, wrapping his arms around him. “Come on, buddy.  Come on.”  I think I said something about its being too late.  Rob’s hat fell askew as he buried his face into the same fur where I had buried my fingers.  Rob was prepared to simply bury Romanov in the back yard but I became hysterical, fell to my knees, demanding we have him cremated.  We had to do this.  I didn’t care if we couldn’t pay the IRS or buy food for a week or a month or a year.  We had to have Romanov cremated.

Rob demurred.  After all, we both want to be cremated, and Romanov deserves the same honor we would choose for ourselves. 

I made the calls to find a cremation service drawing on a list of resources I had already created to help a friend whose dog is in decline but still with us even as I write this nearly four weeks after Romanov died.  I chose well.  While we waited for the man to arrive, I remembered we had never made the paw print imprint with the kit I’d bought years ago while out shopping with Mary.  I started hysterically crying again, not even realizing I had stopped.  “We have to get his paw print.  We have to do this.  We have to do it now.”  Rob clipped some of Romanov’s pad fur and we prepared the mixture, working together to get the best print we could. 

The man who came to take Romanov for cremation complimented Snowdoll on how beautiful she is, complimented Romanov as well, saying what a beautiful dog he is.  He was.  Rob suggested that I go into the bedroom while they took care of things.  I wanted to protest but I saw the body bag and realized I wasn’t strong enough for any of this.  I took Snowdoll into the bedroom and we waited there.  While we were in the other room I didn’t know that the mand had brought with him a way to get a paw print from Romanov so we made a wonderful choice and he left with Romanov and we had two paw prints for him.

That was four weeks ago today.  A couple of days later, the man returned with the ashes in a sort of jar that had been painted with stone texture paint.  I had already decided I wanted a memorial pendant.  Rob wanted one as well.  We offered the man a tip, at least to pay for the gas coming to our home, but he refused, asking only that we send him photos of both our dogs because he had been telling his wife how beautiful our dogs are.  Were.  Are.

I don’t cry every day now. Only every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and always on a Sunday.  I hold onto the grief because that is the only way I can hold onto him.  For now.  Eventually I’ll reach the point where I can let it all go.  I’m just not there yet.  Not now.  Not yet. 

Rob and his buddy.

Weighing In On What I'm Supposed to Do and How I Choose to Be

Dede Craig King posted something that pushed me to put into words something that’s been on my mind for a while and it has to do with food, eating, hunger, and stuff I’ve been dealing with lately.

Specifically, Dede said this:

I don't get hungry the way I'm supposed to, rather I have to see food or be reminded of it to remember to eat.

When I was younger, even into my 20s, this is exactly how I was.  I would eat when I was hungry, often going nearly a whole day without doing more than eating a little fruit or toast, eating one meal, typically dinner.  Having children forced me to be a little more focused on when we ate and a schedule for meals entered my life.  Mostly, however, I ate leftovers, which is not unusual for mothers.  I mean, you hate to see the food go to waste and when a toddler is done you don’t want to push them to eat more.  So I often finished a bowl of pasta or ate the last corner of a sandwich. 

Image found here.

No doubt I was not eating enough calories or getting the full range of nutrients I was supposed to get.  In my early 40s, I finally slowed down to look at how I was eating to compare my typical daily diet with how I should be eating.  After all, we all know we are supposed to eat a certain amount of protein, carbohydrates, healthy fats.  I definitely was not getting enough protein so I adopted the Atkins Diet and there were the usual nay-sayers about how I’d start having cholesterol problems and, when I stopped, I’d regain any of the weight I lost.

I did gain weight, eventually, but not when I stopped rigidly following the diet.  My cholesterol levels didn’t change, nor did my blood pressure.  Eventually, I did gain weight but that was because I was stuck in bed for a year and I think it’s safe to say that anyone would gain weight under those circumstances. 

Anyone. 

Image found here.

Therein lies an implication because western medicine has traditionally approached healing from a generalized perspective.  What holds true for the many is true for all.  Up until recently this was especially problematic for women who were told they needed more iron because research showed that men naturally have more iron in their blood so women, who have less iron, are obviously more prone to anemia.  Men also had more heart attacks and it only took a few decades and a quickly rising number of heart attacks in women for someone somewhere to discover a connection between iron levels and increased risks of heart attacks.  Women, who naturally get rid of excess iron once a month, were told they needed to take iron supplements because they were anemic based on natural levels for men.  Yep.  Nothing wrong with that logic.

We’ve come a long way, baby, and the medical industry no longer makes generalized statements regarding what is good for women based on what is good for men. 

Image found here.

We still have a long way to go to realize that what is true for many is not necessarily true for everyone.  Which brings me back to this whole concept of how we are supposed to eat because, when I expressed my concern regarding my weight gain to my doctor, she suggested I try Weight Watchers and for the first time I was tracking every bit of food I ate, making sure I was hitting my daily points each and every day.  This often required my eating when I was not hungry or looking at how many more points I had left after eating a satisfying dinner and trying to add more food to the end of my day so I wouldn’t fall short. At the same time, I was beginning to exercise regularly so I went from a sedentary life to an increasingly active one when I joined the program.

Week after week, I went to the meetings and I weighed-in.  After six months, I had lost no weight at all.  Nothing.  Not even the first five pounds that would have earned me a keychain reward, a reward I watched other newer Weight Watchers users earn.  But not me.  And I had Rob there supporting me, encouraging me, and reminding me that I had to find something that was worth 3 more points before I could stop eating for the day.

Does anyone else think it’s insane to eat when you are not hungry because someone out there says you are supposed to eat?

Don’t get me wrong.  I know Weight Watchers works and I know why.  I can also tell you why it did not work for me.  That, however, is not the purpose of this blog post.   

Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about food, about our culture’s relationship to food, and about my body.  What it means to be a middle-aged woman and how I seem to be putting on weight regardless of how I eat and how much I exercise because I keep listening to those who know better than I and want to tell me what I am supposed to do.  Because if you don’t eat enough protein, you won’t have enough iron and can’t really build muscle mass but you also need carbohydrates for easy energy and cell formation while you also need to eat enough calories because you don’t want to slow down your metabolism and start storing fat.  Oh, and don’t forget that women-of-a-certain age usually gain weight (as if we were supposed to gain weight) and probably don’t need as many calories but you’re supposed to eat so many calories or you’ll go into starvation mode and your metabolism will slow down which it does anyway because you’re older now and . . .

Image found here.

During my trip I decided to just stop.  Stop listening to them and do something really crazy (and not so crazy making).  I decided to listen to my body.  I know my body needs more protein and I don’t believe for an instant that my body needs to eat when it is not hungry just to reach some mandatory caloric intake established to meet the dietary needs of the many.

I am not the many. I am me.  When I get quiet enough (i.e. when I stop listening to them and start listening to me), amazing things happen.  I reconnect with my body.  I feel my hunger and notice that not all hunger is the same.  Sometimes my hunger is dehydration.  Sometimes it’s boredom.  Sometimes it’s just an urge to have a savory or sweet something in my mouth, something that can be satisfied with a small snack rather than an entire meal. 

For some people, anger or fear or stress feels like hunger.   Sometimes loneliness or sorrow feels like hunger.   We feed our emotions with food when our bodies are not needing to be fed.

I am allowing myself to eat when I feel hungry but I don’t run to eat food every time I feel hungry.  I pause to experience this hunger that was denied me in Weight Watchers and which I would find impossible to experience if I were to eat the recommended 1444 calories a day I’m told I should be eating. 

I haven’t lost any weight but I have a renewed relationship with my body, a more positive attitude towards the foods I choose to eat, and I feel connected with myself in ways I haven’t felt in the years since I stopped listening to what I knew on an intuitive level and asked my doctor and other experts what I was supposed to do.  It’s only been a few weeks but this is working for me.  And my food hasn’t tasted this good in quite a while.

Trip North Part Five (the final post about this trip)

My mother and I left Kripalu on Wednesday, the 24^th, after listening to an introductory talk on Ayurveda.   The woman who led the talk recommended a book which my mother and I both looked for in the gift shop but they were sold out.  However, we did find a gift for her friend Cathy whom we would see the next day.  Not that I needed another book.  With two signed books and a dvd set and a couple of other books bought for others, not to mention the cd I bought for Rob, there simply was no need.    Besides, we were going to meet Cathy at Barnes & Noble and I don’t know that I can ever get out of there without my mother buying me at least one book.

Back at my mother’s home, we dropped off our things and ran errands.  First we picked up Lizzie and then we picked up Beauty.  Lizzie is my mother’s shih-tzu and Beauty her parrot.  The former loves me but the latter loathes me.  I don’t even try to build a relationship with her any longer.  Life’s too short and my fingers too delicate.  Larry, who had been quite sick while we were at Kripalu, was still feeling poorly but he had seen his doctor and felt somewhat better. 

He did not feel well enough to join us for dinner and my mother and I headed to a Thai restaurant.  However, we decided to get ice cream instead and it was delicious.  Naughty.  Delicious.  That evening, we had a relaxing time, listening to some beautiful music while Lizzie fell asleep in my arms.  She had been staying with the groomer who has a few dogs of her own so poor Lizzie was understandably exhausted.  I, too, was tired, and slept so well that night that I was surprised to wake up and find the sun already making the sky glow.  

Thursday my mother and I headed to Barnes & Noble to meet Cathy.  We had lunch there, talked a while about different things.   We all then went to look at books.  First we looked for a book for Bibi and we found an updated version of The Velveteen Rabbit but we specifically wanted the one with the illustrations my mother loved.  We then looked for the book on Ayurveda but it wasn’t there. 

Back at the house, we did some laundry and I started repacking, already getting ready for heading home.  I had woken up feeling sad again about Romanov and that feeling stayed with me.  We went to The Chef’s Table for dinner, a lovely French restaurant.  The food was wonderful and, when we returned to the house, we relaxed for a little while, talking about the children and Rob, Larry’s weight loss, my exercise routine, and avoided talking about my weight gain.

One of the things that comes up during each visit is my traveling and the difficulty I have with flying.  Larry really wants me to fly to other countries but there is a reason to hesitate.  It would be horrible to go to a place I have longed to visit only to struggle with the vertigo to such a degree that I cannot enjoy the visit at all, see any of the museums, go to the restaurants, or experience the culture as fully as possible.  We all understand why we all want me to travel and why none of us are eager to make it happen.

Friday, I was awake before everyone once again and I did my morning practice in a wonderful silence, with the sun filling the room.  I had coffee and I read.  My mother and I were going to the Frick Collection, one of the few New York City museums I had never been before.  In the car into the city, I was looking at the familiar neighborhoods going by and I realized how much I want to share my home town with Rob.  And that’s when I realized that Rob and I should go to New York for our first real trip together.  This way, if I have to sit out part of a tour or can’t walk through another wing of a museum, I won’t feel like I’m missing out on anything.  The idea of sharing my home with my husband felt so wonderful.

Image found here.

The Frick Collection is small but remarkable, with paintings by Whistler, Sargent, Rembrandt, and so many others.  There was an Impressionism temporary exhibit which had pieces by Lautrec and Degas, many preliminary sketches for familiar paintings.  Familiar to me, anyway, and I have always adored seeing sketches for things like paintings, buildings, and even designer clothing.  The size of the entire exhibit was just right, not overwhelming for me and I was happy to buy a book of the collection to take home with me so I could enjoy the memories of the visit.  Unfortunately, I bought a Spanish book and I ended up giving it to Matt who had just spent the past couple of months in Costa Rica.

When we were back in New Jersey, my mother and I went to visit her friend Barbara who has pancreatic cancer.  She had her pancreas removed which was like being turned into an instant diabetic.  We’ve been sending batches of no sugar added cookies to my mother to share with Barbara.  It was nice to meet her, to meet her beautiful greyhound (she and her husband rescue them), her husband and her parrot.  After our visit, we had to go to the supermarket because the handyman who had been working in the kitchen was going to make sure my mother and Larry at least had access to the kitchen for the weekend.  He would be back on Monday to do more work.

Back at the house, my mother and I told Larry about my idea to go to NY with Rob and he loved it. Now it’s just a matter of our planning the trip, finding an appropriate dog sitter for Snowdoll, and hopefully having a wonderful trip.  We went out to dinner at Varka where Larry and I shared a fish he had never had before.  I was genuinely surprised there was something he had never tried before and the Fagri was delicious.  If you ever have the chance to try it, I highly recommend it. The texture was buttery and the taste delicate.

Yes, I had dessert, an almond cake with figs and chocolate. 

Saturday I had the pleasure of having lunch with my step-sister.  Part of the previous day’s shopping included picking up all the things we needed for the lunch which was a wonderful salad, quiche, and an open blueberry pie for dessert.  One of the things we had also bought was a box of Good Humor Ice Cream Toasted Almond bars.  I was under orders to eat all six bars before I left.  Thankfully, Janice was willing to help me finish the box as we had a wonderful conversation.  Her mother had died the Friday after Thanksgiving and it was one of the many things we discussed.  And Romanov.  And of course all of the other things I had discussed.  She is an amazing woman and I always have a glorious time with her.  I wish I could see her more. 

Image found here.

When she left, I did the last packing, making the final choices regarding what I would wear on the plane, putting in my suitcases anything I knew I would not want or need between then and the next day.

We went to Aldo & Gianni’s for dinner.  Fettuccine alla Bolognese.  So good!  Back at home, I was sort of done.  We talked some more about the potential trip to New York, a bit about Janice, and said our goodnights.  My last night in their home and I slept beautifully, perfectly, peacefully. 

The morning was without surprises.  I ate the last of the ice cream bars and had a couple cups of coffee.  I put away the last of my things, mostly makeup and the sort of things I needed to make myself human before facing the world.  I made sure to have a book or three to read while at the airport and on the plane.  There were kisses and hugs goodbye and I get into the car.  On this trip I felt more homesick than I had ever felt before.  It isn’t that I wasn’t eager to be home on any of my previous visits but this time I ached for home, for my bed, for Rob and Snowdoll.  I missed them more because it was the second week since Romanov’s death and this was all very much on my mind and in my heart. 

Last picture of Romanov and Snowdoll together

I nearly started crying when I saw Rob.  I was exhausted and we had dinner at the airport because it was after our usual dinner time and I had not eaten much that day.  In fact, I’d only had an almond croissant at the airport, along with a chai tea, and, on the plane, I had some nuts and such that I had in my bag.  I made the mistake of going to the bathroom and asking Rob to order for me.  I showed Rob what I wanted on the menu but he ordered me what he ordered for himself.  He’s lucky I love him.  Love him and missed him as much as I did.   

Snowdoll was insanely happy to see me.  It was good to be home.  It was sad to not be greeted by both of my beautiful dogs.   Being away when I was allowed me to distance myself from my grief.  Coming home again, I was overwhelmed with reminders.  I sobbed myself to sleep, with Rob coming to bed early to hold me close. 

It is good to be home, where I belong. 

Trip North Part Four

In my previous post, I left off on Saturday evening.  My mother had gone to her room to read and go to bed while I went to the Energy Medicine Yoga practice led by LaurenWalker.  She offered suggestions for how to modify everything.  There was never a need to do something that was too challenging and even when she said we would do tree pose, she urged anyone who needed to do so to move towards the walls.

Needless to say I made a bee-line to the wall.  Other than that, I was able to follow the entire practice, which incorporated some of the techniques and methods that Donna Eden had been teaching us.  At one point, Lauren showed us how to do something that Donna said was difficult to do on one’s self.  I tell you, I could feel the energy vibrating from head to fingertips to toes.  She’s working on a book and I, for one, cannot wait!  I hope that the book comes with a guided yoga practice on cd.  A dvd would be great too but a cd may be easier to add to a book.  (I’ve said several times that yoga and meditation practice books are wonderful but it’s hard to do a guided meditation from a book when you have to keep looking at the text and the same goes for a yoga practice.)

My mother doesn't like to have
her picture taken so I took a pic
of her socks.

Sunday morning, after a lovely silent breakfast, my mother and I grabbed our books to have them signed.  My mother preceded me and, while I was on line, one of the helpers asked if she could hold some points on me to help me feel better.  It was the one week mark of Romanov’s death and I know I was carrying that sadness inside.  When it was my turn to have my book signed, I don’t know what I said to Donna except that I thanked her for a wonderful workshop experience and asked her where she bought her beautiful necklaces.  I didn’t look at what she wrote in my book until my mother and I could both look in our books back in her room.

In my mother’s book she wrote in purple and blue and said that my mother’s life colors are violet and turquoise.  In my book she wrote in the same blue pen and said that my life colors are turquoise and crystal.  I don’t know much about life colors but I did a little research and learned that they are different from auras because auras can change, indicative of the present state of mind or the immediate experiences of life whereas life colors are more essential, unchanging.

There was one final workshop and then my mother and I were on our own for the rest of our stay at Kripalu. I had hoped to go on one of the easy hikes but you had to sign up for them.  I didn’t want to sign up and then feel too sick or tired to go on the walk which might keep someone else from going.  With limited number allowed to go, it felt too selfish.  I kept picturing a group of friends going to sign up and seeing one too few spaces left and choosing not to sign up because they couldn’t all go together only to have me stay behind because I’m too tired.

I was very tired a lot of the time and, as I said before, I was probably depressed as much as I was tired.

We traded our workshop badges for the R&R badge which afforded us access to all of the yoga practices we could want to enjoy.  During the rest of our stay, when we weren’t napping (or in my case, desperately trying to nap) or reading, we did go to a few things.  We participated in a metta meditation, went to a lecture on energy healing (with an emphasis on prana, mudras, and pranayama), a talk on affirmations and mantras, and last but not least an introduction to Ayurveda.

Monday, I had a bit of oddness occur, in the way odd things happen in my life.  I had seen a book in the gift shop and my mother had given me some money to use as I would.  This book, Mindfulness Yoga, appealed to me because so much of my personal yoga practice is, by necessity, mindful.  Being ever vigilant, ever aware of my tenuous balance, I have to very mindful, focusing on my breath and body as I move from one asana to another.  I opened the book and noticed some things that especially appealed to me.  (Book review coming in a few more weeks when I’ve had an opportunity to use some of the practices described in the book.)

So I bought the book on impulse and started reading it, devouring it, immediately interested in Frank Jude Boccio’s story, his experience of having Buddhists looking at his yoga practice as unnecessary and the yogins in his life saying that Buddhism is too austere to ever bring bliss.   But I digress.

Having tried to take a nap, I gave up and went to the café to get something to tide me over.  I’d promised my mother that I would wake her up by a specific time so I had my phone with me to keep track of the time.  I kept checking the time because I kept losing track of myself and everything as I was reading the book.  I worried that I would get so consumed with reading just one more page that I would forget the time and I know myself well enough to know that I may think I’m only reading one more page and find myself at the end of a chapter before I realize it.

So you can imagine my confusion when a man walking by my table stopped to ask me what I thought of the book.  Ummm . . . okay.  I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised by men interrupting me when I’m reading.  I have a husband who does it all the time.  This man asked me what I thought of the book and, without explaining my raison d’être for reading it, I said that I was enjoying it very much, that I was already drawn into learning more about the writer and his practice, and have long thought that mindfulness and yoga are practices that lend themselves to being used together, not necessarily removed one from the other.

I have no doubt that I was not nearly as clear in what I said as I am here in my writing.  Nonetheless, we talked a bit and then he introduced himself as the author.

Now, in my defense, I should like to point out that the author’s photograph is not on the book cover so there is no reason for me to have known to whom I was speaking.  He also stood in such a way that I could not have seen his guest badge albeit that would not have helped for the badges put the first names quite large and last names are quite small. 

When he walked away, after hearing me say good things about his book, I checked the time again and thought about how embarrassed I would have been had I said, “I don’t know.  I think I am going to return it to the gift shop because this guy is just trite and uninteresting in his prose.”  Goodness knows I have written book reviews that have said that and worse!  So I sighed with relief that I could honestly say that I was enjoying the book.  I don’t know if I told him I was having a hard time putting it down.  I should have because it was true.

But the oddness doesn’t end there because I watched him sit down at a table in the café with a pretty cloth on it and I thought to myself, “Oy, didn’t they do that when Donna Eden was signing her books?”  Why yes, yes they did, and here was Frank Jude Boccio signing his book too.  Needless to say, I had him sign my book before heading up to my mother’s room to wake her up from her nap and tell her about the odd experience I had while she was lucky enough to sleep.

I guess it’s a good thing I was incapable of taking a nap that day.  I bought another book while I was there.   None of those were signed.  Not yet, anyway.  At this point, I wouldn’t put it past me to be randomly reading a book in a public place and run into the writer.  I hope it only happens when I’m really enjoying what I’m reading. 

Happy Third Anniversary to me and mine

 Traditionally, the third wedding anniversary gift is leather. So this song seems apropos. Besides, I love Tori Amos.

 

 Rob says this song reminds him of yours truly.

 

This one for Rob from me.

Trip North Part Three

In a previous post, my mother and I had enjoyed dinner and heading to the first of the workshops and in a different post I shared how very skeptical my mother was going into this whole thing.  She later admitted she signed up for the workshop because she thought I would enjoy it and she was only “along for the ride.”  Frankly, she thinks it’s all woo woo.

Image found here.

Nevertheless, we headed off to Donna Eden's Energy Medicine Workshop where she was presenting with her husband and she had several people with her who were trained in the work, women who could walk around and ensure that participants were placing there hands where they ought to be and not an inch too far.  Donna was so warm, her presence, her energy, filled the room.  Nonetheless, I was there unsure, unconvinced, waiting to see what the weekend held.

We weren’t the only skeptics in the audience.  Even when I watched the dvd, I was looking for “the trick” of what she was doing.  After all, a clever person can use physics and will know how to place a hand to push down an arm that previously could not be pushed down. All it takes is placing the hand an inch higher or angling the fingers a different way, right?

On the second day of the workshop, my skepticism completely flew out the window, as did my mother’s.

It began with a handout that explains some of the ideas that are more fully fleshed out in the book and even had copies of images from the cards included in the Energy Medicine Kit.  I had a question about one of the charts and how to best use one of the exercises. 

Donna Eden started to answer my question and then called me onto the stage.  Ironically, she did not answer my question.  Instead, she asked me a few questions, did a few energy tests on me, then had one of her helpers pull a chair up, told me to sit down and think of something that was upsetting me.

It wasn’t even a week since Romanov’s death.  I was not ready for this but I sat there.  She told me to ignore the audience and spoke as I thought about Romanov, about his dying, about the sound of his yelps of pain after he came home from the surgery, the way it felt to use the towel to heft him up so he could try to walk, where he was when he died, what his eyes looked like when his life was gone but he was still there.

She placed her hands on my head, her palms at my temples, fingertips across my forehead.  I sat there, eyes closed, and the tears slowly came and rolled down my cheeks, collecting in the corner of my mouth before overflowing beyond down my chin and over the cliff of my jaw.  She spoke and I breathed into the emotions.

Eventually my pulse had returned but was still weak.  She gave me a homework assignment, to hold myself at certain points which would help soothe the extreme emotions I was feeling.  She then gave me a hug.  A real hug.  Not a polite one but a holding embrace. 

I returned to my seat and you know what?  I still wasn’t convinced.  It wasn’t that her holding these particular points didn’t calm me.  I felt the energy moving into and through me.  I would.  I’ve always been sensitive to energy.

The afternoon session that Saturday included our pairing up.  Naturally my mother and I paired up.  She lay on the floor, on her stomach, while I did some energy work on her.  One of the things Donna had us do was move our hands in a particular motion.  I couldn’t help but feel the Reiki flowing and I adjusted the height and speed of my hands to see if I could feel something more deeply, something other than the Reiki (albeit, energy is energy and Reiki = Prana = Chi = et al).  Just when I reached a point and rhythm that felt right, my mother let out a sigh and said “My legs are beginning to tingle.”

I was not the least bit surprised.

Then she had the person on the floor turn over and we did a simple energy test. 

This is when my skepticism fell away altogether.  You see, my mother put her arm up and I tried to push down.  Then I was told, along with all of the others who were doing the energy work, to do something that seemed so inconsequential.  Then push the arm again and see what happens.  Now, if I suspected that there was a trick in hand placement, how could I explain what happened?  My mother’s arm went from strong to weak and then, after I did a few vague things, moving my hands as directed, her arm would not budge again. 

Ummm . . .  yeah.  Hard to think it’s a trick when you do it yourself and it works. 

That afternoon she was signing books and my mother and I were on line with practically everyone else to have our books signed.  Unfortunately, there were so many people there to have their books signed and she likes to spend time with each person and not merely slash her name across the page.  As a result, one of her helpers asked if those of us toward the end of the line, including myself and my mother, would mind coming back tomorrow morning.  My mother and I were both amenable and we spent the rest of the day, reading, enjoying another delicious meal (which included dessert!) and we then went our separate ways.  She went to bed, to read, while I went to an energy yoga practice class.

I finally had a good night’s sleep that night.  

Trip North 2013: An Interlude

Before I can continue with the details of my trip, I have to back up a bit to my last visit because my mother surprised me with a few things on the last trip that rippled over into this one. My mother and Larry have a yoga teacher they adore and she introduced my mother to a Reiki Master who relieved her of the neuropathic pain with which she has been living for a decade. My mother started using EFT to help her deal with the pain and even scheduled some Reiki treatments for Larry, a bigger skeptic even than she.

On the same visit she gave me The Energy Medicine Kit which I took home. She had one of her own and I knew it had been recommended to her which was reason enough to share with me but, because of my experience with Reiki, she was especially interested in passing along something that might be of use and interest to me.

I eventually got around to watching the dvd in the kit, after reading the booklet. It took me a few days to get through the dvd, however, because I wasn’t experiencing anything. It was too easy for me to turn the dvd off, study some more, do some housework, etc. I followed along with the dvd. I thumped, tapped, massaged, and nothing remarkable occurred. Then I touched a point as instructed and I felt as if I had stuck a needle into myself deep enough to plunge into the muscle beneath. I had clearly found a place that needed attention, an acupressure point on my body I should massage.

There were others and I was so surprised, I invited all of the precious women in my life to come over one Saturday to do the dvd together. I invited Shira, Erin, Mary Emily, Kanika, Elenore. Erin and Elenore could not make it but the rest did and we all did it together but I don’t think anyone else found a place that was as tender as that one I pressed when I was doing it by myself.

Disappointing? A little. When I told my mother about the experience, she confessed she still hadn’t made time to watch the dvd. She’s busy, and I certainly understand how hard it is to make time to do things.

During my visit I found out why. The Reiki woman had done something that my mother felt was a betrayal of her yoga friend. The kit, for better or worse, was associated with that problematic dynamic. (Actually, it reminds me of a dynamic in which I favored one friend over another because the one friend called me crying and hurt by something the third friend had done. I let go of the friendship with the one friend and remained loyal to the one which, ironically, bit me in the ass when all was said and done. But I digress and I have too long a history of misplaced trust to digress further.)

That was last year.  The kit giving and sharing.

Earlier this year, my mother started talking about where we would go this year during my visit. We used to always go to the New Age Health Spa (a wonderful, magical place that has, unfortunately, gone out of business and is seeking a new buyer). Last year we went to Omega but our trip last year did not go as we had planned and I stayed at Omega while she flew to Arizona. There was a death in the family and she insisted I stay and enjoy myself while she went to be by the side of her brother who sadly died before she arrived. She was there, however, to console his widow, his daughters, to share stories of her brother with others who loved him dearly.

We definitely considered going to Omega again but she had heard good things from her yoga teacher about Kripalu. My mother suggested we consider both places.

I still haven’t received a catalog from Omega, months after my repeated requests for one but I finally received one from Kripalu and looked through the different choices, trying to find something I thought my mother and I would both enjoy, preferably something focused on Buddhism or compassion. There were some programs I thought would be interesting but they were more my cup of tea than hers. Other programs that were a perfect fit unfortunately fell on dates that conflicted with other things—like my anniversary or Larry’s birthday.

So imagine my surprise when my mother said we were going to see Donna Eden and her husband at Kripalu. She registered us, got us rooms, and even scheduled my flights. The choice was out of my hands. I was confused, although not averse, mostly because my mother seemed so disinterested in the kit. She even bought me a copy of Energy Medicine so we could read the book before the workshop. Naturally, I started reading, between studying and all the other things we had going on these past few weeks.

When I boarded the plane for New Jersey, I had not finished the book. Not too surprisingly, neither had my mother. We headed off to Kripalu with a bit of skepticism but a willingness to be open to learning something new.

I wanted to share this bit of background for context about the rest of our Kripalu experience. I’ll post more about that tomorrow morning.

Trip North 2013 Part Two

Friday morning my mother and I were on our way. I was up for hours beforehand, having not slept well. My salvation that morning came in the form of my mother’s Keurig. Easy for me to make myself a cup of much-needed coffee. My mother carries a lot of guilt for owning this coffee maker but it is the only way she can make a decent cup of coffee so she lives with the environmentally-unfriendly use of this machine. Given her decades of recycling and organic eating, I think the planet will forgive.

The handyman doing the work in the kitchen actually arrived before my mother and/or Larry were up. I heard him come in and assumed my mother was moving about. They woke up shortly afterwards, in a frenzy because Larry had to drive to the city. So while my mother made his breakfast, I went back to the guest room and waited. I tend to withdraw in the morning because I know none of us are morning people and my being awake for hours means I’m more than a little awake and ready for the day while others are still tumbling around. Better for one and all if I just stay out of the way a bit longer.

Shortly after Larry left, my mother and I followed suit, heading to Kripalu. My mother had a cd she wanted to listen to on the drive and I was responsible for figuring out how to get the cd player to work in her BMW. Easier said than done, frankly. The thing has so many buttons and bells. As if that weren’t bad enough, it can hold several cds so you have to pick a slot.  I managed to get the cd into the player and we were good to go.

For those of you not familiar with Harry Nilsson, he had a 3.5 octave range and was admired by the Beatles. You may have never “heard of him” but you’ve heard him, believe me. His music is ubiquitous. So there we were, driving along, and on comes The Puppy Song. I fought not to sniffle or cry but it was not easy. My mother reached to fast-forward the cd past this one song but there was no point. The next song Without You is about the end of a relationship which was then followed by the song Me and My Arrow, a song about a boy and his dog, Arrow.  Really?  Could they have designed a more emotionally overwrought string of songs for me?  Possibly but I’m glad they didn’t have a fourth song to tug at my heartstrings.  I was really glad my mother had a box of tissues in her car.

We arrived at Kripalu before our rooms were ready but they have an arrangement where you can put your luggage in a common, albeit unlocked, room.  My mother and I left a couple of our bags in there but she kept her laptop bag in the car. We did not think through how to do this, however. We drove the car to the parking area and then lugged our bags back up to the building, a process that included carrying things up a flight of outdoor stairs. Some young women offered to help my mother but she politely refused the help.

Image found here.

Then she took a scary tumble. You know how you sometimes take one too many steps going up a flight of stairs and you sort of lose your balance?  Well, she had this suitcase on wheels (small enough to be carry-on for a flight) and the suitcase caused her to topple over, slamming hard into the ground.  Thankfully she didn’t hurt her knee or her hip but she landed on her hand and her left hand ring finger was purple and swollen for the rest of the trip.

Thankfully the young women who had offered to help were present, helped my mother to stand and insisted on helping her with her luggage, refusing to let her refuse.

We could have carried the bulkier ones in with us when we checked in.  Now we know better. While we waited for our rooms to be ready, we went to the gift shop, one of our usual first stops. We like to window shop a bit before we make any decisions. Then we went to the café for a cup of real coffee. Omega does the same thing, offering the real stuff at their café, which is a smart move. Don’t want your guests getting cranky and jittery from withdrawal. Black tea aside, if you're a coffee addict, nothing else will do.

I actually drank more coffee while at Kripalu than anywhere else.

Image found here.

Our rooms were eventually ready and they were nice, simple. Mine even had a small table and a nice sized bathroom. These were the most luxurious accommodations as many rooms do not have a separate bathroom.

We then went to dinner. The food was very gratifying and you can find some recipes on the Kripalu website. They try to allow for a variety of dietary needs. One long buffet offers meat and another the same length offers vegetarian. A smaller side-bar offers sandwiches, in case you don’t find the evening’s fair to your taste, that includes a Panini grill. As if that were enough, there’s even a “Buddha Bar” with vegan choices.  So really, there was enough variety. 

Image found here.

After a few days, I noticed a trend in the meals. The menu would be somewhat thematic so, aside from the vegan bar where the food was simple (brown rice, miso soup, dhal, curried vegetables, etc.), the main meals could be Mexican inspired or Italian or Mediterranean.  Breakfast, however, was less international.  Sure there was poached eggs rancheros but mostly it was pancakes and really delicious scones.  I can’t believe I only had one ginger scone. Lesson learned yet again—when they serve ginger scones, I’m not having any oatmeal.  I tried cream of quinoa. I was not impressed.

I was impressed, however, by the fact that breakfast is eaten in silence allowing for a mindful eating experience. One can actually do this at any time during the visit because a small room is made available across from the main eating area for those who are enjoying a silent retreat. I hate to say, however, that one morning for breakfast we were sitting not far from a table where some of the volunteers were sitting at their table, whispering and giggling. I don't think my mother noticed or heard although I noticed that thereafter we decided to eat in a different part of the large dining space.

After our first fully satisfying meal at Kripalu, we headed to the first session of the workshop but I’ll save that for the next, very likely longer, post.

Trip North 2013 Part One

Image found here.

On 18 April, I flew up to New Jersey.  This trip had been planned for a while and events preceding my departure made me want to stay home.  Rob insisted I go. I wanted to stay here. I wanted to go.  I listened to those I love, packed my things, and I left.

The flight was delayed and I always promise myself a dessert if I a flight is delayed.  But I didn’t indulge.  Instead, I treated another woman to a cup of tea.  I met her when I generously gave my seat to a woman so she and her husband could sit side-by-side.  Because of this, I was standing by the gate for a few minutes that stretched and stretched.

Speculations would fly faster than the plane and I was oblivious to much of what had happened.  No.  Not oblivious.  I was already overwhelmed. How could I face what was happening in Boston?  I couldn’t.  It was too much.  And there were several people who believed the reason the flight was delayed was because of the bombing.

The truth is, I still haven’t been able to process current events.

Cafe Intermezzo

While hovering, I chatted with a woman who was traveling to see her son and his wife.  So, when the flight delay was announced, I suggested we both go get something to eat, someplace we could sit down.  I had a cup of coffee.  She had a cup of tea.  We shared a lovely conversation. 

We even hugged when they started boarding the plane. 

I don’t know why but every time I fly up north, it is always a better experience than when I fly home again.  The flight attendants are more attentive, friendlier, and, even when the flight gets bumpy (and it did), the overall experience is more positive. 

We landed and soon enough I was in the car and on my way to my mother’s home.  I never lived in this house, myself, but there are things scattered around this house, thing with which I myself grew up, that leave me feeling like I’ve come home again.  In the guest room, there’s a lamp that I think we’ve had for 40 or so years and there it is, still pretty and adding a soft pink glow to a room.

Neither my mother’s shih-tzu Lizzie (named after Elizabeth Bennett) nor her parrot Beauty were there.  It was just me, my step-father, and my mother.  Perhaps it was just as well. Being greeted by a fluffy dog so soon . . .

I unpacked a little, mostly rearranging the things I’d packed into separate purposes.  Some were moved into my packed bag.  I always pack an extra bag because my mother is so generous that I inevitably end up carrying more home with me than I bring.  So generous, in fact, she gave me this bag I pack one year when I needed to carry too many things home with me.  I still think of it as her bag and carry it back to New Jersey every time I go for a visit. 

Image found here.

If nothing else, it keeps me from bringing home yet another new bag.  Besides, I would need that extra bag the next day and not just when it was timed to fly home again. 

That night we went out for dinner.  It was necessary because there is work being done in the kitchen—cracks in the joins and paint that needs to be refreshed.  We went to the usual spot they take me: Café Panache.  My mother and I ordered the same thing and she insisted I have dessert, which I did.  So duck confit in a cherry coulis followed by a white chocolate mousse. 

Decadent.  Delicious. 

Larry was in pain.  He is having problems with his neck for which he is seeing a doctor and a chiropractor (at his doctor’s insistence).  The pain is sometimes shooting, making it difficult for him to use his right arm, in particular.  I remember breaking my collar bone and how difficult it was to remember not to use my dominant hand.

I slept very poorly that night.  I woke up several times because of a sharp pain in my back, on the left side, where one would get a kidney punch.

I hate having a long exhausting day and not being able to sleep but it was so good to be someplace I felt loved, away from the sadness that surrounded me at home.

A Picture is Worth