Trip Prep: Stage 1

Stage 1 of trip prep for me means a lot of Gathering, preferably in silence, no conversation, me assembling clothing in categories and running down my list in my head.  Joe's not crazy about this part since it's the opposite of how he likes to proceed, which is interactive: him asking me to name things so he can make sure he's got them.

It's also about making sure I have enough to read on the flight, since it's unlikely I'll sleep - and I am so greedy for that long stretch of uninterrupted book-time that I resist sleep in the interest of reading more.  A 12-hour flight?  Bring it.  That just means more books cover-to-cover.  That's paradise for me, even before we set foot on the island of the gods.  And I'm super-stoked this year because Laura gave me her old rolling backpack so at least I don't have to carry all those books on my shoulder or back this time, but can roll them  and laptop, etc. through the airport like the super-geek I truly am.

One of things I've been thinking a lot about is my Ten Essentials for this trip, carrying over a snowcamping practice.  I won't be packing a compass or an emergency blanket or an insulating layer, but it amused me to think about the ten "survival" items I really will have with me to ensure smooth travels in Bali.

Like so:

1.  Eye mask (delicious one with lavender in it): jetlag is a bitch, and if I don't have dark conditions to sleep in, a migraine is sure to follow.  [Other essential not shown: back-up prescription narcotics.]

2 - 4: Hand sanitizing spray, sunscreen, insect repellent: all of these shown are non-toxic, but we will be packing Deet, too.  Nothing worse than a trip ruined by mosquitoes or other biters.  I still remember the welts all over Peggy and Jim when we visited the Manu Preserve in Peru -- to be avoided at all costs!

5.  Purse-size packs of tissues:  Really, life is just so much more pleasant when this need is covered. And always nice to be the person with extras to pass to the ladies in line.

6.  Head lamp: I never go anywhere without this thing.  Hands-free lighting is always a great idea, whether it's for reading in the middle of the night or making your way back to the hotel from town in poor lighting.

7.  Pocket knife: I could bring a Swiss Army knife, but instead will bring this knife given to me by my father along with all of the inevitable associated memories of Jean-Paul, always ready with an implement for cutting string from pastry boxes, slicing cheese and bread, opening packages, being of service.

8.  Safety pins: Aside from wardrobe malfunctions, a safety pin always comes in handy.  Lost screw on your sun-glasses?  No worries!

9.  Plug adaptor: In service of my need to document everything, I carry an absurd amount of technology with me - laptop, phone, camera - which will all need charging at some point.

10.  A black Pashmina (on which all the other stuff is resting): Always, always useful - on the plane, in the evenings, to cozy up while reading, to keep the sun off.

FIVE DAYS to go - can't wait.  This is going to be so amazing!

Crazy funny small sexy world

I'm absurdly happy today and thinking about the quality of that happiness and how it just seems to expand all the time.  It's not just because in exactly one week, we'll be en route to the airport to begin our Bali adventure.  No, it's because my life is awesome, filled with love and great friends and big laughs and just general delight.  Pretty freaking cool, seriously.

And crazy funny shit happens to me all the time - weird random connections that remind me of how small the world really is, and how it seems to be shrinking smaller all the time. I've been ruminating on how all the social media have allowed me to gather in friends from the past and integrate them into my present in a super-satisfying way, weaving people back in, catching up, being my junior high self, my high school self, my self through my decades and my self now ALL at the same time.  Super delightful.

A couple of weekends ago I was roaming through Gerstle Park, a charming neighborhood in San Rafael for those who don't know it, with family, checking out the tons of garage sales taking place all on one day (seriously, like Trick or Treat for grown-ups, awesome!), when I realized that the man sitting on the porch of a Victorian was strangely familiar.  In fact, he was someone I hadn't seen since San Francisco in the early 80s, someone I had had a complicated relationship with, someone I'd lost touch with entirely.  Woah, weird, small world, how did we both end up in the same town, I was left wondering, as we ambled across the street distracted by the stuff in someone else's driveway.  And then this morning, responding to an emailer through Freecycle who wanted my offered copy of "Girl With Dragon Tattoo," turns out I'm in touch with him again, although he's too late for the book, long-gone to a faster responder.

How does that work exactly: nothing for maybe 25 years, then random meetings twice in three weeks? WTF, universe?

It's somewhat tangential, but it got me to thinking about  "I [heart] Huckabees," a big favorite of mine for so many reasons. I'm carrying that blanket around, like Linus, loving this crazy funny small sexy world we live in just so much, so happy to be so distinctly part of the fabric with all of you.  And the Eiffel Tower!

All I need: 4 things making me happy this morning

"Well, I'm gonna to go then. And I don't need any of this. I don't need this stuff, and I don't need you. I don't need anything except this [ashtray].

"And that's it and that's the only thing I need, is this. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray. And this paddle game, the ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need. And this remote control. The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need. And these matches. The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control and the paddle ball. And this lamp. The ashtray, this paddle game and the remote control and the lamp and that's all I need. And that's all I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one - I need this. The paddle game, and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches, for sure. And this. And that's all I need. The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair."
- Steve Martin as Navin R. Johnson in the cinematic classic The Jerk (1979)


Some days I just need a couple of things, maybe four things, to keep me happy for hours.  Today's delightful sources of joy are as follows:

 1.  $17 pair of black flats from Target.  I searched and searched to replace my last pair of worn-to-shit black ballet flats.  I ordered four pairs from Zappo's (all returned), scoured physical and on-line stores.  Finally I decided either I found a cheap pair I could live with at Target or I'd spring for the Italian leather ones in the J.Crew catalog which are available in a Size 5.  Hurray for Target saving me $100! I can just wear them to death and not do my usual shoe-math (cost/number of wearings).

2.  The bouquet I brought from home this morning.  I love having a piece of our garden on my desk.  I even enjoyed them in the car this morning, marveling at how it seems like we didn't do *anything* to produce these, nothing at all.  But that's not true. It's just that we laid the groundwork so very long ago, that now it seems miraculous, like they just come out of nowhere, these gladiolas and roses and hydrangea and daisies. 

3.  The goofy dog sticker on my thermal mug.  I have a weird relationship to stickers: I love them and yet I never want to use them so that they're still available.  Ridiculous, right?  Somewhere in a trunk or at my parents' house, I'm sure I still have a Daisy Duck sticker, unstuck, from a trip to Disneyland in the early 70s.  Ditto a "Parc Ornithologique du Teich" sticker from a field trip when we lived in crummy Peyssac outside of Bordeaux in 1974. 

4.  Photo of Trixie and me at Laurent's graduation in May that sits right next to my computer at work.  I love having Trixie's smiling face in front of me all day.  So, so glad we found each other, twins separated by 10 years + 1 day and about 3,000 miles (and different parents, natch).  So many good things the yoga has brought into my life and I count Trixie #1 among them.  Love you, beautiful.



So that's it: all I need for Wednesday, July 7th, 2010.  Done.  Satisfied.  Happy.

Medical Marijuana: Who will step up first?

I've been feeling disheartened at the degree of vitriol directed at medical marijuana dispensaries across the county, and this latest news on the cover of today's Marin Independent Journal, Fate of four medical pot clubs uncertain, just deepens my melancholy over the subject.  [Of course, in the print edition, the clowns at the IJ thought it would be a great idea to title the article, "Cloud over dispensaries."  Really.  Clowns.]  I suppose it's to be expected that even though we passed a state law allowing medical marijuana, counties and towns can create their own obstacles to the operation of dispensaries within their boundaries.  Still I was surprised.

Maybe I was the only one who was glad when a dispensary moved in up the street in my neighborhood, moving into the space recently vacated between 7-11 and the laundromat.  How handy for sick people not to have to drive all the way to Corte Madera or Fairfax to buy their legal medicine.  It seemed to me like a great, green development - why shouldn't there be dispensaries accessible across the county.  I mean, really, look at the absurd density of pharmacies, CVS across the street from Rite-Aid across the street from Walgreen's.  There just can't be too many outlets for over-the-counter and prescription drugs, apparently. 

As soon as the sign went up for "Tree of Life," our Santa Venetia dispensary, immediately came the  neighborhood heat -- how close to a school, how close to the 7-11 where kids go for their super-healthy slurpies and after-school snacks.  You can't even get in the front door of the dispensary without a card, and yet children can go touch the beer selection at the 7-11, use their fake IDs or have grown-ups buy for them.

And by the way, buying weed at school is a shitload cheaper, people.  And a whole lot easier. 

What the dispensaries sell is medicine, for Pete's sake.  Come on. 

Yeah, sure, there're people who abuse any substance.  Just look at all those famous people with their oxycontin problems.  Or all those meth-makers who used to stock up on cold medicine.

And yes, I realize that it's still a federal offense and that cities aren't interested in that risk.  

But damn, how crucial was the medical marijuana when Joe was so sick from chemo that he couldn't eat anything.  When he felt so nauseous and the prescription drugs just made him feel worse.  When he was so down from pain, so hopeless from the side-effects of the legal drug regimen, that everything was bleak and his joie-de-vivre was 100% , totally, completely, heart-breakingly gone.  It just makes me so mad for people to have what seems like a knee-jerk NIMBY reaction to something that does really help people in chronic pain, people suffering with cancer or other life-threatening, joy-sucking conditions.

Again, what the dispensaries sell is medicine.  At a premium.


So which town in Marin, besides Fairfax (which now is allowing delivery of medical marijuana, thank you kind people), is going to step up in defense of the law we Californians passed in the name of people who are really suffering?  I don't want to be on a crusade about this, honestly, but it's bugging me so much that I may have no choice but to pick up the phone and start calling cities and asking.  Really.

My youngest sister: some news

I've been trying to get used to having only one sister, but it's not working.  It would probably be easiest if I could forget, but so far, no luck.

My youngest sister, Carla, 6 years my junior, was diagnosed with a serious brain tumor in December 08.  Not long afterward, she made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with my parents or me or my other sister, Martine.  Of course there's a lot more to it, but all that really matters is that we have had essentially no contact since November 09.

It's pretty awful.  I never know what to say really when people ask me about her, since honestly, I don't know.  It's not like we were that close in the years leading up to her diagnosis, but I did expect to be of assistance to her in some way.  Somehow as her big sister that seemed right.

But it is emphatically not what she wants.  

Not a day goes by that I don't think about her.  I confess to holding my breath a little when reading the obituaries (which I've always done), fully expecting that when that time comes, I'll read about it like every other stranger opening the paper to that page.

In all of this, I have been conscious of how deeply this hurts my parents.  I can easily put myself in their place, imagine the degree of pain I would feel were my own child to push me out of his life in this manner when facing a life-threatening illness.  I would be out of my mind with grief.  As they are, though putting a brave face on it as always, staying strong and bright and beautiful in the face of it, always an inspiration.

Now finally there's some news.  

I am sharing it here even though I have mixed feelings about doing so.  After all, it wasn't written to me and people are entitled to their privacy, right?  Yeah, no, I don't agree.  As it turns out, I do feel like I owe something to the family we grew up in, not just our parents, but the many loving neighbors and friends who, in addition to our parents, brought us up in this world.  I'm re-posting the news here so that all of you who've been asking and wondering can know as much as we do.  

Even though my sister has effectively disowned us, she is still alive and kicking.  That's just so great.  It made me so happy to read her words, to hear her voice after such a long silence.  Even though she was quite deliberately not talking to us.

So here she is, my baby sister, Carla Marcella:

Well, after three months of enjoying life sans chemotherapy, I just had another MRI on June 28th. After Dr. Clarke (my neuro-oncologist) presented my case to the tumor board at UCSF last night, the consensus was that I should go back on the Avastin chemotherapy. The most recent scan showed vascular leakage which indicates tumor growth and the medical team does not think that a "watch-and-see" kind of approach is prudent. So I will begin the same chemotherapy regime first thing next week - an hour-long infusion of the medication once every two weeks for four treatments (8 weeks in total) followed by another MRI to ascertain the status of the tumors.

Once again Sidino, Elizabeth and I will be living life in 8 week increments, always awaiting the results of the next MRI. I will admit that I was disappointed at the news, but then I quickly returned to thankfulness as the Lord has provided some form of treatment for me. I also continue to pray that whatever progress I make and whatever we learn from my treatment experience will help other people in their battle with this disease. I am also thankful that we will not need to add any additional chemo treatment on top of the Avastin which notoriously causes weakening of the white blood cell count & entire immune system.

On a lighter note, I am continuing with my pottery class and would love making something for my wonderful family and friends. It'll also help me to not riddle our cupboards with cups and bowls (which drives Sidino nuts!) Please let me know if there is something you'd like me to make for you and I'll begin working on it right away. I made a set of Winnie the Pooh bowls for Elizabeth, a butter dish for Sylvia, a flower vase for Cathe and a platter for Gabrielle. I can make pretty much anything (within reason of course!) and would love your ideas!

Thank you for all of your warm thoughts and prayers and may God Bless each and every one of you!

Days without Incident: -5

I'm going on Day 5 of this migraine.  As I started writing this morning and got to thinking about how blog posts are always more attractive when they have pictures, the image that came to mind as appropriate for this particular subject was lightning, as at left -- big, sharp, dramatic, multiple.  [For more insane photos of lightning, check out lightningsmiths.com.  So cool and crazy!]

This migraine has been with me since Monday night, just before I picked up re-fills.  I've been dosing and trying to stay ahead of the pain ever since.  I thought perhaps I had it kicked last night, but no, the jabbing behind my left eye was my first sensation this morning.  Boo.  So not my favorite.

Migraines always make me think about my choices, about the Why.  I don't blame myself for them, which I used to do, although of course I am aware that if I were perhaps a bit more hydrated and a bit better slept, I might escape them.  I might.

As I move through my day, tending to the regular tasks despite the migraine, it entertains me to consider the headache from the perspective of the mahābhūtas, the five elements (space, earth, water, fire and air), which were the theme of classes with Laura in May.   If I am a little microcosm, containing all of the elements within my tiny elegant form [Sing it with me: "I'm a little microcosm, short and stout...."], then really it does make sense for me to undergo these periodic climatic events.  Somehow that's comforting.

The migraines definitely represent a collision between my desires and my physical capacity, are my brain's way of communicating that its needs for stasis, for rest, for water are being unmet.  Sorry, cerebellum!

How sweet it would be to take the opportunity of this skull-crusher to stay home and stare at the hydrangea in the garden which, right now, as the 8am sun hits it, is the most dazzling shade of deep pink.  How nice it would be to be still, not talk, not work, just repose in the quiet of this summer morning.  It would be nice to give in to the demands of my cranium and sit my ass down.

It would.

But with 7 1/2 work-days to go before Bali, Brain is just going to have to deal.  Can't stop now.  Rest is coming but for now it's back to the grindstone, no matter what.  Even if it's stormy inside, the show must go on.

Devotion, by the numbers

On the application for Teacher Training which I completed yesterday morning between 6:30 and 6:40 am, I was asked to quantify my yoga time, list all workshops, trainings and classes participated in with certified Anusara teachers.

Now that I'm in the two-week countdown to Bali, every waking moment is scheduled with tasks.  And there're a lot of waking moments, since I'm up with the birds every morning around 5 and can't seem to get to bed before 10 or 11 (anathema).

Applying for Teacher Training wasn't even on my To Do list.

But I've been thinking about it a lot recently, ever since I was privileged to observe the mixed-level classes as a gift for my seva when John Friend was here in February.  I was seated on the floor next to Laura and admiring how the clean alignment of the mats (aaaaaaah) allowed us to look down a line of 30+ yogis -- any "variation" on the pose, anything out of true, was immediately clear.  And in a few classes lately, when partnered, I've enjoyed the way the words of reminder about the finger pads, about the kidneys, have come out of my own mouth, an echo of what I've been hearing for years from my own teachers.

So even though it wasn't on the list, it was time.

A post from Well-Read Life, the fabulous Levenger people's blog, entitled, "To learn a second language, it helps to do the math," already had me ruminating on the subject of how much time I had into my practice.  Basically it's the concept that Malcolm Gladwell wrote about in Outliers (but which is not, if you click through the Levenger post, necessarily just his idea):

Rising to competence in any skill takes 1,000 hours.  Mastery 5,000.  Virtuosity 10,000 hours + probably some innate gift.  In all of this, the number of hours may be dramatically reduced if you train with a master.

My (imperfect) total number of hours spent practicing yoga over the past three years: 1,092.5.

By the time the Teacher Training starts in October, I will have added, between Bali (37), Estes Park Grand Gathering and regular practice, at ;least another 100.

Now I get why, when I was originally signed up for Teacher Training in 2008, I didn't feel ready.  It took me until now to practice my way to competence.  And though it's not the word I would have chosen, I suppose I did feel incompetent in October 2008 when I pulled out of the TT just a week or so before its start.  I truly wasn't ready.

What a difference two years and 500 hours of devotion make!