Far far away from my couch...My mission and why I didn't post last week.

LesbosOnTheCouch by Beth C, one of the Lesbos

My Sweet Lord what a week…I must admit, I have spent the past three weeks very far from my couch. I missed my couch so much that upon arrival and return to my humble home, the first thing I did after visiting my shower was sit in our couch until My Love pried me off and rolled me into bed, where I fell asleep even before I was laying down.

I missed our couch…our home.

I did spend some time sitting on another couch – I was visiting a sick loved one -and her couch, although quite soft, came with way too much baggage…Her couch came with a husband who wasn’t too thrilled that My Love came to help me through the tough time on his couch and had us both be introduced as nieces…but that being said- I wasn’t there to see him or to actually sit on his couch…I will therefore refrain from complaining about both him and his couch.

Instead I want to share the finer points of my visit…I want to tell you, because I believe this important and I want to encourage you, to know that it is not to be feared to the point of frozen immobility, I want you all to know that sometimes – if not always, this time can be one of opportunity for sharing in a very special love and sacred moment... I helped a special person in my life put her affairs in order and decide the road she wants to take on her journey from this world. This was and always is a difficult task, maybe the most difficult and meaningful task to share with another, to do for another. There are always other loved ones around not willing to accept decisions and methods, especially when they involve the end of a life on this earth. I believe with all my heart that when the time comes we should all have that final voice, the refusal of yet another chemo or trial drug, the decision to not meet another alternative medicine man or woman, the DNR…I believe this, but that does not mean that when I agree to help with these decisions I do not cry over what that means is down the road.

I also believe that once these decisions are made, ice cream is definitely the best alternative to all and any drastic and exceptional methods of prolonging life. Ice cream under these circumstances is the most wonderful tasting ice cream –filled with silliness and laughter and salty tears.

That brings us to silliness…laughter. What does it mean when we make jokes and laugh when someone we love is dying?  What does it say about us when we allow ourselves to fart out loud just because it can be funny and normal when there is nothing normal happening around the dying person? Her skin is yellow, her body is frail, her strength is gone, and her control is leaving. So my hiccups, my farts, my spilling a bit of water here and there, some crumbs and sacred chocolate ice cream on my shirt – that becomes the normal – the reminder that we all have moments that we are not in control…that losing control can also be a sign of life – of living still, a statement that this process can be normal – and maybe should be more normal. As painful as dying and losing someone we love dearly can be, there can be no denying that there is nothing more normal then life, as we have come to know it, coming to an end.

I write this with wet eyes. I am a believer. I believe in the One who formed the earth and all that dwell upon the land, the sea and fly through the skies. I believe in the One who is benevolent and caring and loving and good. I believe in the life after and reincarnation. I believe. ..But I will miss her…and holding her hand as she slips away from us, telling her I love her and watching her suffer the goodbyes, this is all difficult. And this is all a part of life and the cycle of life and the spiral of our soul to higher ground.

Night time dream.

I sat very quietly in the bright orange plastic tent, as the little boys with painted faces and silver hair laughed and screamed obscenities at the preacher who was standing on a plain wooden box. The preacher was from the past. He was wearing a straight black coat and white shirt buttoned up to his throat.

Nothing was right about the surroundings. The orangeness of the plastic was repulsive. Suddenly, he inhaled deeply and began to preach. His sounds were harsh, yet melodic and comforting. I had within me a strange desire to get closer to hear his words, but as I approached, the preacher slowly began to melt into the orangeness. His words turned sour — and all was wrong with his being. Even his own narrow tie seemed to choke the words from his mouth. Yet, motionlessly I sat and uttered not a word. I watched from within myself.

The orangeness was too bright. The little boys were too loud, their silver hair too gold. Music rocked loudly through the orange plastic tent. I began to laugh and dance and screamed obscenities at the man who was standing on an old wooden box. The preacher with all his sour goodness just melted and shrunk slowly, very slowly into the nothingness of the plastic.

I was sorry to see him go, although I wasn’t quite sure why. I had a feeling — a vague and distant idea that without him the tent and all would flare into flames and be undone. This thought, however, quickly vanished and as he melted away I became quite small with a painted face and silver hair. “Wait! Stop!” I shouted inside myself.

His disappearance cut at my soul. And my appearance cut even deeper. I danced with the little boys, I was a little boy, I screamed obscenities at all who entered our tent. I was now one of the boys.

What do you think?

Blue, blue, blue...RAWHIDE...

Forgive me my readers, today I am fuzzy and foggy and a bit dazed. In two days time I am making a family trip. I will be on a mission, a difficult mission. My mind is soft from planning and thinking of the days to come. So today, in this blog I am allowing myself to be in the here and now. ..Just here and just now.

As always, I am ‘sitting, sitting, sitting, sitting, sitting, RAWHIDE…!’

Okay, so maybe that’s an exaggeration…maybe I’m not always sitting…at least not just sitting. And sometimes I’m not sitting at all. Sometimes I actually walk or sleep or dance…Yes. Sometimes I dance. We like dancing. And it doesn’t have to be a special occasion- sometimes we can just dance in the living room when the music hits us- My love remembers to actually put the music on, while I am always surprised when the music shows up.

But right now I am just sitting. I am at the hairdressers, ’Lisa of London’- I love it! Here I am nowhere near London and yet, I’ve got myself my own Lisa of London and a true Londonese hairdresser! She’s great – perfect for me (except she’s too damn skinny!)

I come in with my love. I’m getting my hair a bit blue today. Yes, you heard right. Blue. One blue streak on the side, and I want a bit of a blue on the grey thing in the front. Blue. Yes. I wanted a dark, deep BLUE STREAK. Lisa just says, ‘’okay.’’

She asks me a few questions, where, how, etc. and then she does it. And I know once it’s done she'll love it as much as I do, just because I do. These are the people we all need in our lives. Those who love what we love about ourselves, as much as we do. I am very lucky. I have a few of those in my life. Most of my friends, after the initial shock of whatever crazy thing I’ve come up with, they say cool and love me and accept my weird. Some others, my sister, my aunts and uncles and even Lisa of London, they can accept me for me, and smile and love me as me. My Rabbi definitely fits into this category. He’s my wonder and guide. My eldest son – I think he’s a fan of mine. I think he likes having a mom who dreams of being a ‘dike on a pink bike’, who streaks her hair blue just because she feels like it; who sits on the couch and drinks beer with her friends; whose best friends are not only women her age but people of all ages…I am so lucky to have these people, these accepting souls in my life.

Maybe this is my fantasy that the people in my life are so accepting. Maybe I let myself believe they accept this and me and all of the me’s that are me. But, maybe it’s real. And if not, maybe it really doesn’t matter. Maybe what matters is that I believe that I am accepted, that I believe that I am loved. ..So, I see myself accepted I see myself loved and therefore I am happy – loved and accepted…

Did you know that blue in grey makes purple? I have blue and purple streaks in my hair. Maybe you are one of the people in this world who needs to ask, ‘’Why?’’ Maybe you are one of those who can't accept without understanding what is and why I've chosen to do this. Maybe it started when we were invited to a costume party and I couldn't decide what to be. I've always loved the color blue...the deep blue of the night sky, the darkness of the blue sea as the darkness of the nighttime reflects in the dark sea; dark blue sky: dark blue sea. So beautiful, so peaceful; I decided to go dressed as something blue. Something blue, something calm, something soothing, swishing like the waves on the sand; something blue, something calm, something dark, yet sparkling with the life of a million stars – Blue. Maybe.

The party is over and the blue was much quieter than I had intended. Too quiet and the Blue begged to come again. “Let me out with you, let me be with you, let me share with you – the Blue, the quiet, the calm…Let me be blue with you.’’

Maybe that is how it happened. Maybe those are the whys and maybe this is why I’ve chosen all that I’ve chosen. Maybe…

I do have blue and purple streaks in my hair. Did you know that blue in grey makes purple? Blue…and purple…I am loved. I choose to be happy, calm and soothed.