July 24, 2008

I am always surrounded by 3 strong women

Three strong women reside in my brain, my heart, my soul, my movements and tastes. Lexi, Gan, my Mother. I have ready access to their wisdom, if only I remember to ask and listen. Koszonom.

Gan. She sought to surround herself with beauty from and in all aspects. She created a palace for our home. She painted each wall a different color; blending color exquisitely with the art, the furniture, the oriental rugs, the decorations, room by room. I would often stare down at our living room, viewed from my bedroom loft, and just wonder at her ability to create beauty.

I found her 3.5" x 5.5" graphed moleskin book and what had previously been for her eyes only, suddenly opened up to me after she died.

So I read the following that she wrote (and spaced this way):

Art is
one of
so that
may continue
And in the bottom right corner she drew a heart with a spiral in it, topped by a 3 pointed crown.

She had the spirit and soul of an artist. She was able to use that creativity, her heart, her acute awareness of others and of herself, to help her clients become secure in loving themselves, thus grow and change.

In our 18 years, it wasn't until the last 2 that I saw her artistry applied to gems, particularly the opal.

She loved opals. The slow, precise, careful grinding of this delicate stone, when done correctly, with love, with care, then yields the fire, the light, the brillance and color of this otherwise rough looking rock.

She gave me her alpha polished opal, and Steven, the jeweler who allowed her to indulge her passion for opal polishing, gave me her omega. I've not worn either. I can't yet.

Lexi. She (I've started to cry again and will have to return)

July 15, 2008

Why Are Women Girls and Men Not Boys

The above question is rhetorical. We all know why. Sadly.

Today I assured two dear friends of their intrinsic worth; regardless of the amount of money they are able to bring to their lives, the talents they utilize to garner this money, the size of their body, their education level, their appearance, their genetic background. Just the fact of their being a living soul makes them worthy of unconditional love. Simple.
Difficult to believe. But one must.

July 11, 2008

Shrub Boy

Molly Ivins had it right. He is Shrub boy. He is an unrepentant addict and plays the role of the clown. He dances, shuffles with affectation when lined up to be photographed, he plays the Saudi princes' clown and pet. He proclaims the fight for Freedom and Democracy, yet he begs oil from a nation where women are nearly enslaved and cannot vote. And sells them 20 billion dollars of arms.

He is incapable of being a man, incapable of making decisions because of his dearth of knowledge. He needs to be liked, if not loved; but the ones who love him, do so for his cuteness, his boyishness. They love him as we love children. For he is useless as a man. He is not a leader and he got to where he is on the coattails of his narrow, bureaucratic father and his family's wealth. A father who helped create an anti-American rebel movement in Central America. By giving away guns and money. The same way we helped create the monster middle eastern terrorists. They began with our guns and money. They grow with our guns and money and their hatred for us.
He will always be a shrub because he has never done his work. Crass religion without self knowledge or awareness was his cheap avenue to end his drug abuse. He made no amends. Has never examined anything to its depth; has never admitted being wrong. Has the arrogance and narcissism of the unrecovered addict.

And now he is tired of playing the king. All of our natural disasters have made him weary, and shed light on the fragility of a system, an infrastructure which has not been given even bare maintenance. Despite hundreds of cries for repair. No, the shrub wishes to hide in Texas and cut and hack livings shrubs down to nothing. He's had enough of this game which he never prepared for, always skipped out, had no history of fortitude and completion; and he never developed the basic curiosity about others, other cultures, other people, to be even a mediocre player.
I'm thinking of shrub as the financial markets unwind from their gorging of greed. Is it no coincidence that these past 8 to 10 years have spawned legions of the super rich, the wealthy and the wealthiest. The pigs have been gorging at the trough of unfettered creation and sale of new "financial instruments"; new things to purchase for investment. Intricate creations whose only value derived from the minds of math wizards; bought and sold, given Moody's Best Ratings; valued by the hedge funds which made money from air. And the ultimate Ponzi scheme played out; with the boys at the top who were selling in hedge funds getting fattest.
Didn't we learn our lesson with the Savings & Loan bailout, with Enron, with Tobacco, with Haliburton, with Blackhawk, and now with Bear Stearns and an entire financial industry complicit in destroying people's lives. But always getting bailed out with our tax payer dollars. Boys who squander our money, making their money on ours. The money business, industry, has its own codes, language, expectations, privileges and discriminations. Oh, we were fooled once again into thinking that they would behave. That they would be happy with the large salaries society bestows upon them in exchange for trusting that they will take care of our money, our future, our children's future. That they wouldn't do it again. That they would behave. That their codes and our expectations would keep them honest. But it hasn't and it never will. And this time it's huge.

So I've been thinking of shrub's ineptitude all day long. Do we have a Franklin Delano Roosevelt in our midst? Will Apricot (Barack in Magyar means apricot) Man pull it out?

July 09, 2008

Newborn Grady Donal

I held my newborn grand nephew this afternoon. It was an amazing feeling. Looking at him, holding him created a bond that I couldn't have had without this physical touch. He is perfect. And his fingers are long, as are mine, his father's, and my father's. His fingers, his fingernails, his lips, ears, nose, whorl of his hair, even his hairline are all perfect. I am grateful that he is in the world, safely. The umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, and he came 2 weeks early. He was only 5#1 oz. Tiny. But perfect.
Tanks God. (My mother's Hungarian accent created her own unique pronunciation of the English language. And my family continues her mispronunciation, purposely.)

I got home and dropped into what is becoming an all too familiar depression. It was triggered this afternoon while purchasing groceries. And buying the dried sweet ginger that Margaret loved. And nectarines. I learned to love both from her. And loved to buy them for her. Now just for me.

My friend Laura tells me that my grieving is now only 2 years old, not the 2.5 years I'd believed.
I was too busy moving, buying a new home, selling my old, selling and giving away the stuff of 2200 sq. feet to move into 900 sq. feet. Dealing with the nuts and bolts of ending one life and starting another.
But the ending, the loss, the suddenness of death clouds the ability to create the new.
Of course. As it should be.
One expects to grieve. One expects the clouds, the pain, the utter emptiness. But it has gone on now for so long, that I'm beginning to fear that it will permanently change my brain's chemistry. Sadness, grief, loss, emotional pain begets chemical changes which in turn beget more of the same. Vicious cycle. And I still haven't regained my taste for living. Even holding Grady Donal doesn't create a lasting desire, a lasting joy, a taste for life. I'm sorry to say this.

But I will not take my life. I will wait for the slow imperceptible shifts to occur.
I must wait for the Universe, my universe, to unfold as it is meant to.

And I do best when I'm occupied with chores, things to do, traveling, purposeful activities which take my mind away from the loss.
I heard a NPR interview with Elizabeth Edwards and one other cancer survivor this afternoon. They spoke of the "cloud of cancer" and the relief they feel when people or activities allow them to forget that this cloud is always there.
I could relate.

So I have filled my July, August, and September with a birthday party, with travel, with civic activity, to help lift the cloud. I have historically always been an optimist at heart; I have lived through deep emotional pain before. I will live through this; despite the loss of the two women who I have loved fiercely.

One other thought before I end this. I was thinking about the importance of touch, and the lack of it after Margaret's death. The familiarity of skin which almost feels like my own. Yet it isn't; but it soothes BOTH of us when I touch her. The magic of touch; the magic of getting while giving.
The deep comfort of skin and smell which belong to the other who is adored. I would love to have this again in my life.

July 07, 2008


Today the Mandalas are added.
The artist is Paul Heussenstamm, see: http://www.mandalas.com/ for a complete description of who he is, what he does, how he thinks and feels.
He came into my life via GAN, an amazing human being who was always larger than life. GAN's mandala is: Eyes of Wisdom. My mandala is: Homage To Chagall.
Paul views people via their soul.
The soul does not differentiate.
We are truly all ONE PEOPLE.
A person wearing purple, or red, for example, exudes the essence
of that color and another person's soul will respond to the color.
Paul believes this, as do I.

July 06, 2008


An attempt to learn to accept.

I have been given this task by the Universe and must learn
what it means for me.

So I create this "blog" to help unfetter my heart.