Grieving Ratter

Long ago, before Harry Potter even, we were wild about The Golden Compass in this house.  That was way back in the days when I would read books aloud to The Kid, but really it was to all three of us, four of us once Jasper came along.  

So it went with The Chronicles of Narnia, with The Hobbit, with The Lord of the Rings, and then with the Dark Materials trilogy.  We didn't have television in those days, which was fine by us, so books it was.

As a book lover, that was a dream. As a children's lit lover, even more so.  I've never gotten over, forgotten, the books I loved as a child, and still re-read them now, marveling at how they grabbed me then and still grab me now.

The Golden Compass was new when we read it, and a revelation.  I'm not sure how I found out about it, but in the years that have passed, I have re-read it five times.  Which means that I'm now on my sixth reading, as I prepare to make a gift of the book to a young reader-friend but mostly as I grieve my lost dæmon, Jasper.

We had the good fortune to see Philip Pullman when Book Two: The Subtle Knife was published.  The three of us trooped down to Clean Well-Lighted Place for Books at Larkspur Landing on a school-night and sat mesmerized as the author himself talked about and read from the book.  Must have been 1997 or 98, I imagine, so The Kid was 10.  He and I had already logged hours and hours at that bookstore by that time, at Story Time on Sunday mornings (which held me much more rapt than him) or just generally browsing, stretched out on our stomachs companionably in the children's section, leafing through books.  It was a bit our library.  Since there was a cafe in the bookstore, I could imagine myself living in there -- all essentials covered.

Reading The Golden Compass aloud, I'd always pronounced dæmon "day-mun," probably as a way to differentiate if from dee-mun, using sound to make it clear that dæmon is not demon.  Imagine our surprise, then, when Mr. Pullman himself pronounced it dee-mun.

And truly, of all of the wonders Mr. Pullman creates, the dæmon reigns supreme.  Yes, I love Iorek Byrnison and all of the other panserbjorne (armored bears).  I love Serafina Pekkala and all of the other witches.  I love the parallel universes, the cities visible in the Northern Lights, but most of all, I love the dæmons.

As I re-read the book now this sixth time, it's with particular appreciation for how the story gradually unfolds the meaning of the dæmon, the rules for how this part of that world works.   As always, I hunger for a dæmon of my own, for that special relationship that the humans have with their external animal-shaped souls.  It's like a familiar but better.  Like Jiminy Cricket, but oh so much more sophisticated and multi-dimensional.  When you have a dæmon, you are never alone.  Your dæmon both amplifies and reveals the essential of who you are. 

My sister has just been reading The Golden Compass for the first time, so I have also been appreciating her joy in the story.  It's been so helpful to share this point of reference, so that she can now remind me that a large part of my grief at losing Jasper has been because he was like my dæmon, or as close to one as I am likely to get, in this lonely dæmon-less world we inhabit.  It's so true that throughout my life with Jasper, all of which was in the post-Golden Compass part of my life, I wished so fervently that he and I were as connected as human and dæmon, that he was with me everywhere and always, our minds and hearts truly interpenetrated, inexorably linked.

Over this morning's first coffee, I cried and sighed my way through Chapters 12 and 13, in which Lyra, Pan and Iorek find and bring back Tony Makarios.  This is truly the very heart of the story, and the part that is for me the true-est to how I've been feeling about Jasper lately, the deep cut and sharp sense of loss.  Like Tony, I keep asking, "You got my Ratter?"

I'm relishing this 6th time around with Lyra and Pantalaimon and the rest so much more, as I hold Jasper's memory close.  Feeling very grateful to Mr. Pullman, indeed, for the deep deep solace this represents.

XX

This is us today

Slept in this morning, woo hoo, til 6:45, didn't get out of bed til 7:45, didn't go to class til 10. A very different kind of Saturday morning than usual.

Almost didn't know what to do with myself.

It's gorgeous out today, and of course, I'm missing you-know-who, He Who Can Not Be Tamed. But we're enjoying the spring, too, being alive, having each other.

Here's my sweetheart, sling and all, riding the trainer.  

Joe has been robbed by the accident sustained two weeks ago, robbed of fitness and strength and feeling good, robbed of time on the bike, robbed of time in the garden and beekeeping.  It's challenging as hell for someone who does not have a taste for idleness (unlike myself) to have movement limited to maybe-i'll-sit-on-the-couch-propped-up-on-this-mountain-of-pillows or maybe-i'll-sit-on-the-bed-propped-up-on-this-mountain-of-pillows. You know I'd be kicking it with a pile of books, delighted to be still and quiet and adventuring in my mind.  For Action Man, not so much.

Let's be clear, riding the trainer is a challenge.  Poor right lung!

I went to a really great class with KK this morning, KK who is just such a supreme delight, like incarnated fizziness, bubbles made flesh.  Absolutely delightful, and so clear and so funny, direct, skillful.  Wow, we are so blessed with Anusara teachers around here.

Class was great, and now I'm home, a bit stunned at how late it is, and about to leave for the nursery on our quest for red ferns to plant around Jasper's little grave site.  Oh missing him so much today.

Since the accident two weeks ago, we've been keeping a little notebook.  OK, I've been keeping it, either interviewing Joe or making notes as I observe things or he says them aloud.  Keeping track of the many impacts on his happiness and life of that stupid car turning directly into his path.  It's our Pain and Suffering log, all of ways in which he, and we, can't live our lives to our usual fullest because of the injuries he sustained.

And there are many impacts.

Still, as usual, we're plugged into what's important.  I am so grateful that Joe is OK, that he's recovering and that although he is extremely constrained by his skeletal and organ damage, that he's himself.  That he's him.

That's a lot to be grateful for.

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Toast Hound: I have just a few regrets

On the shiny Saturday before we lost Jas, on that Saturday when the vet told us that he had pneumonia and I was so relieved that he had something we could treat, I ordered him up at long last a sweet tag from Fetching Tags.  I'd heard about Fetching Tags through Brays of our Lives, the blog of the very clever and brainy Fenway Bartholomule, who is, naturally, a mule.  And really, so clever.

The fancy tag was something I'd long wanted to get for Jassie, to replace the $5 heart- or bone-shaped tags that we'd buy for him at PetCo, in the fascinating little engraving machine.  The letters would get worn off on those tags, or they'd wear right through and fall off, generally get lost.  But I just always held off on the fancy tag, not wanting Joe to think I was wasting money on something silly, waiting for who knows what.

Finally, when we had what we thought was that reprieve, I ordered one up for Mr. Pillowsticks -- reading Toast Hound on the front, his name, my number and a heart on the back.  

I was so happy on that day, so relieved and delighted that he'd be with us longer.  Buying the tag was a little celebration of more time.

We lost our boy, as you know, the following Wednesday, so fast, for us like being shoved off a cliff, and much, much heartache has ensued.  The bone-shaped silver tag on his beloved collar is still shiny and sits in front of  the collection of photos of him I arranged in the kitchen, with all of the sweet condolence cards people sent and some beeswax candles poured by some friends.   The Kid is wearing an older, worn red heart-shaped tag around his neck.

In the three weeks and two days that have now passed since that awful Wednesday, I've been watching the mailbox and wondering how I'd feel when I saw the tag.  

It came today, finally, in a tiny little envelope addressed to JASPER c/o Ariane Trelaun.  

It's adorable.  

         

Unfortunately, because of how things turned out, sweet sweet Pony Boy Jas will not be wearing this tag. Instead it's already around my neck and I may never take it off.  

I do really, really regret that I didn't do this cute thing sooner for him, my little Toast Hound, my breakfast-time companion every day for 13 1/2 years during which he and I shared my toast, not quite equally I admit.  What was so important about saving that $30 all that time?  Sure seems stupid now.

I also regret that I didn't do something else I thought about for years and ran out of time for: a family portrait of the 4 of us, especially as Jas got older and developed his gray beard and snout -- so distinguished and cute.  We were so much a family.  Now I see that I have photos of Jasper with one or two of us, but never all three at the same time -- someone had to be holding the camera!

Of course, I regret other things, too -- not spending every moment with him, that I was ever away from him, for stupid work or stupid vacations that now seem so insignificant compared to the great simple joy of being near him.  But that's a bit maudlin and unrealistic, don't you think?  He had a beautiful life, we loved him madly and he loved us.  He was happy to the very end.  And we with him.

So, just to say, precious lovee Toast Hound, that I'm wearing your tag with pride and with joy, remembering all our great times together, thousands of slices of toast, whether bagel or french bread or pugliese, all eaten with so much gusto and with big brown eyes filled with love.

Miss you so much.

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Wolverines make me so happy

Photo credit: Alexei Bezrukov

In this wonderful tiny world we live in, there is a subculture for every interest and a way that the interwebs can serve it up to you, if you just plug into the right resources.  We discovered this when we began beekeeping a couple of years ago, and I am re-reminded of it regularly, now that I've entered Wolverine Land.  Since falling in love with Wolverine in December, I've been on several email lists which mean that I receive news and links to photos like the utter gem above.

And that I get to see how funny the results are when I say Yes to the Google Chrome auto-translate feature from Russian to English.  I really am better off dusting off my very dusty Russian skills to pick my way through the words on the page...

To read the story in English of how Alexei Bezrukov got the great photo above, see this post on The Wolverine Blog.  Or check out the original, even just for the incredible photos of Gulo gulo and some foxes, omg, I wish I were this guy.  And there's another blog by naturalist and photographer Igor Shpilenok with incredible photos that make me dream of Kamchatka.  It doesn't matter if you can read the words.  The images are incredible!

Photo credit: Igor Shpilenok

So yes, dreaming of the Russian Far North, but surprise, sometimes wolverine turns up in Marin County.  

Last weekend I got so excited as we approached the site of the Bakesale for Japan ($124K raised, wow!) when I saw, in the next lane, a cute little gray car with a stylized image of wolverine and www.guloguloathletic.com emblazoned across the back and sides.  I was just making a mental note to look it up when the little Gulo gulo car pulled into a parking spot two over from ours.  Naturally, I stood around waiting for the driver to get out and then, like a kid, asked her tons of questions.  Patricia, the driver and founder of Gulo gulo Athletic, said that generally people just think the name is cute and musical but have no idea what it refers to.  And then there are people like me who flip out.  She's just launching the business, including yoga wear, and I am watching and waiting and hoping to be attired in Gulo gulo head to toe someday, proud bearer of that name.

Just like Gulo gulo, Patricia was on her way to a work-out, then yoga.  Yeah, just one isn't enough for a wolverine like her.  She will do both, thanks.

Yay, Wolverine, my hero!

Now I am really never moving...

It has been almost three weeks, and we are still grieving our sweet sweet pony-boy, Jasper.  In some ways, it's gotten better, less raw.  But I think I'll be crying multiple times every day for a long, long time, missing him so much.  

I shock myself repeatedly by forgetting, then remembering.  I get home and begin to call out his name, begin to weave his name into some goofy little song.  And then stop.  Remember.  In the mornings, I still listen for him.  Silence.

The stone that marks his grave in our garden was delivered today.  Joe supervised a team of 5 men who moved the 1,100-pound piece of flagstone into position.

We spent a long time as a family choosing this particular stone.  We wanted something beautiful, something big enough to stretch out on so that we could comfortably keep company with Mr. Fur Pants. 

The spot we placed him in is along the squirrel superhighway on the fence.  A spot the birds visit for seeds and worms.  A spot I can see from my bed, from everywhere in the garden.  It's not as good as hearing his walk, the jangle of his tag against his collar, but it's what we have now, so we'll take it.

We'll be bringing in a yard of soil soon, and planting around his stone.  We looked for a red fern, but the fern that marked the graves of Old Dan and Little Ann in "Where the Red Fern Grows" is purely mythical, it appears.  There are ferns that are red-ish, but no true red fern.

So now I'm really never, ever moving from this house.  I will never stray too far from where our Sweet Sharbles now lives, feeding the roses with his beautiful self.  

Miss him so much, but having a place to rest our eyes does make it better.  A place to stretch out with him in the sun, better still.

XX

Goldilocks and the Three Gunas

Sometimes I wonder whether there is a Master Lesson Plan that all of my teachers receive in their in-box, establishing that week's theme.   I find that idea attractive, since it would mean that all of us, practicing together no matter where, are imbibing the same message, thinking about the same issues, reaching for the same new heights -- seems like a good thing.  But I know that's not what's happening.  I know it's an infinitely more creative process than that, and that since we're all around each other all the time, thinking about the same philosophical underpinnings, it's bound to happen that we're looping around, sometimes overlapping in ways that are just delightful.

And it's also likely that in this case, I am the common element from class to class, teacher to teacher, making the connections between what they're speaking.  It's inevitable that there will be similarity, but they're not working it out with each other in advance.  Leave that to me, yoga nomad, traveling from studio to studio with a little piece of thread sewing it all together.

At Laura's last Wednesday night class with our Sausalito kula for almost a whole month, she started us off talking about the three gunas, or energies: rajas (hot, fast, creative, restless), tamas (cool, slow, dull, sluggish), or sattva (calm, peaceful, clear).  Particularly on a Wednesday night, the class, filled with people coming from work, having had to rush-rush through traffic to get to the studio, is more rajasic.  You can hear it in the room, the chatter, the zing of conversation.  On Saturday mornings, when we're all there fresh from sleep and still in that zone, the mood of the room is more tamasic, the invocation is quieter, more harmonious, sometimes too slow.

The point of the practice is to arrive at that sattvic middle ground, exemplified by savasana really, a pose in which we're calm and quiet but also aware. If you're snoring, too much tamas!

In that class with Laura, we played with finding sattva in every pose, with not over-efforting, not being overly busy in a standing pose, with adding an element of ease in the pose as well, of relaxation.  A little bit of savasana in every pose.

I took a few days off of going to class because of work and getting ready for the Bakesale.  When I came to my mat yesterday morning in a studio that is not as familiar to me, with some people I know but mostly people I don't, I was tired, could feel a migraine starting to buzz around in the back of my skull, dull.  So it was particularly delightful that Abby told the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.  It was just what I needed to hear.  It was Just Right.

Because that's what the story is all about.  When Goldilocks lets herself into the three bears' house, she makes her way through their porridge, their chairs, their beds.  In all cases, the first things she tries -- porridge, chair, bed -- is too hot, too high, too hard; the second is too cold, too low, too soft; the third is Just Right.  Ultimately, she falls asleep in Baby Bear's cozy Just Right little bed, where she is discovered by the Bears upon their return.

The yoga, Abby said, is about the awareness of being Just Right.  Which we all are, just by being here.  We're Just Right.  There's nothing to add, there's nothing to take away.  Just Right.

And of course -- lightbulbs flashing in my head, hand scribbling in notebook -- what are the porridge, chairs, beds, but expressions of the gunas, right?  One is too hot (rajas), another too cold (tamas), and the third Just Right (sattva).  As with porridge, so with life!

I went back and did a little re-reading of Goldilocks, before writing this.  Aspects of the story are embedded deep in my brain, but others I just couldn't remember.  I was surprised to find that in some versions of the story, Goldilocks is a horrible snoot of a child, arrogant, bossy, who lets herself into Bears' house to demonstrate to herself that their place is so ugly, hers is so much better.  At the end of this version of the story, Goldilocks, discovered by the Bears asleep in the Just Right bed, after Just Right porridge and Just Right chair, is transformed into a sweet and loving girl.  But only after having found and experienced the Just Right.

And what is savasana but the experience of resting in the Just Right bed, from which we arise, like Goldilocks, transformed?

As Douglas says, we are every character in every story.  It was always easy for me as a golden-locked child to be Goldilocks.  But even as a darker-haired grown-up, I see it now, the way I'm Goldilocks in a different way, the way we all are, seeking the Just Right, the balanced place of sattva in every experience, and made better for it.

Thank you, darling teachers, for the reminder.  May all beings be Just Right!

Peddling cupcakes, giving away love

There's so much bad news about the world available to us all the time -- the miserable crap that people do unto each other, other creatures, the planet; natural disasters; unnatural disasters like bombing Libya, just for example. When really big bad things happen, like earthquakes and tsunamis and nuclear fall-out, it's so easy to become overwhelmed by the sheer badness of it, the magnitude of the problem, to feel helpless, small, even isolated, in the face of it.

We have an urge to help, to do something, something more than texting a donation or mailing a check.  The hands want to get involved.

Thanks to the creative vision of Samin Nosrat, hundreds, thousands, of us across the country had a chance to involve the hands through the Bakesale for Japan, held today, coast-to-coast.  It was a profoundly moving experience from beginning to end, and I'm sitting here, filled to the brim with happiness, so grateful for this day.

* * * * * 

If you've been reading me or hanging around me lately, then you know that March was a supremely shitty month.  We lost our beloved Jasper precipitously on March 16th and have been deeply, deeply grieving him since then.  Last Sunday Joe was in a serious accident that landed him in the ER and then hospital for three days with four broken ribs, a broken clavicle, a broken scapula, and punctured lung.  It has been intense to say the least.  

Remember how the force of the earthquake in Japan on March 13th shifted the earth's axis?  That's a bit how I've been feeling lately, too.  Like the ground isn't where it used to be.

And with all that, I've been wanting to pull back from things.  I spent hours the Tuesday after Jasper's passing trying to figure out how to withdraw from Herpetology, for example.  I've been having trouble, a lot of trouble, focusing at work, even though it's a new job and I love it. There have been many occasions when I haven't gone out or gone to class, in favor of being home staring at Jassie's pillow or staring at birds.  

But when I heard about the Bakesale, I had no hesitation.  This was something I wanted to help with, if only to be able to work with Samin, who is one of those amazing people who makes things happen.  

* * * * *

The Bakesale came together very fast.  From a handful of locations in SF and the East Bay, it exploded across the country.  I was delighted this morning to awaken to pictures my sister was posting from her shift at the Bakesale in Brooklyn.  I loved feeling a part of something happening nationwide, an outpouring of caring from our combined yoga and foodie kulas, drawing in lots and lots of new people along the way.

There's something just so basic about a Bakesale, right?  It's such a great, familiar grassroots way to address a problem, to come together in community to raise money.  Everybody knows how to do this.  It speaks so appropriately to our need to involve the hands and to get involved with each other, to connect with each other through action.  It's an amazing yoga, in so many ways. 

I loved my role for our Bakesale.  I loved promoting it via Facebook and postings on other websites.  I loved emailing people and working to secure donations.  I loved meeting our hosts at Marin Country Mart, who were so generous with resources and marketing and such a big part of our success today.  I loved being there this morning early, and greeting our crew, each person bringing such amazing energy and heart to the task.  And so many bringing such gorgeous treats baked for the occasion.

I got to see old friends and current friends.  I got to make new friends.  I got to be a part of and observe dozens and dozens of beautiful interactions as we "sold" cookies or bread, the way people's faces would light up, how obviously good they felt doing something for others even while doing something for themselves.

* * * * *

I am reminded, naturally, of something that Douglas said last weekend, that our yoga is about getting what we want while serving the greater good.  Over and over again I watched the wheels turning in people's minds today, the expressions on their faces, when they realized that they weren't buying the bag of cookies or lemon bars or almond cake.  They were being invited, instead, to have the bag of cookies or lemon bars or almond cake and give the contribution that they could to the worthy cause of Japan relief.  The way this transformed the interaction over and over again was a beautiful thing to watch.  And the money came pouring in.

Because essentially we weren't peddling cupcakes, we were giving away love.  And they were giving it back.

It might sound crazy, but honestly, that's how it felt.  

And so I've been sitting here, savoring the sweetness of the day, and considering how the urge to philanthropy, to helping others, is deeply self-serving and what a good thing that is.  It feels good to do for others.  It feels good.

* * * * *

After a very full day, I feel good.  Really good.  I'm happy to have been part of something so simple and lovely, to have done my part to make it happen, to help create this opportunity for giving.  And to receive the bounty right back, big boomerang of love.

Thank you, Samin.  You did all our hearts so much good.  In Japan and here, we are grateful for what you created today, for connecting us back up, cookie to cookie, hand to hand.

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