Tears of a Clown...

I cried while taking my son to school today.  Yes, I am the clown.  That or a mom who's just really proud.

I think it was the combination of the gloomy rainy skies outside coupled with the music...well mostly it was just the music.

I have become rather addicted to "Coffeehouse" on Sirius radio.  I don't know what happened to the punk rock girl I used to be...oh yeah, age.  Ok and let's face it, I was always more of a "New Waver/KROQ/Grunge" girl to be completely honest.  Punk rock just seems to sound cooler, right?  And I am all about the cool.

Anyway, "These Are Days" by the 10,000 Maniacs came on and that just happens to be the same song that was playing nearly 13 years ago, when my first born child came into the world.

I had created a play list of very specific music and put songs on a CD, very avant-garde in 1999, burning CD's from music shared on Napster.  What can I say, always on the cutting edge, that's me. 

Are they still suing people, by the way?  If so, it was my own CD and I am using the term "Napster" to once again, generate the cool factor by sharing my Gen X terminology...

So that particular song was blaring through the speakers in the O.R. while the doctors were busy chattering away and cutting me open from the outside in.  It didn't hurt, in fact the flurry of sensations I felt, both mentally and physically diminished any sense of pain or worry, that and a helluva good combination of drugs.  I knew that in mere minutes, my son would enter the world.

And so I sang, loud. And anyone that knows me, knows that I can't carry a tune, but it didn't matter.  I belted out the chorus and as I heard my son take his first breath and begin howling from the bright lights that suddenly penetrated his dark blue eyes, tears streamed down my cheeks and I knew that my life had changed forever.  It was a perfect harmony that I will never forget.

I was a mother.

But back to the future...Today, hearing those lyrics again just made me marvel in the joy and happiness that my son brings me.  True, I often joke about the trials and tribulations of parenting a tween/teen (which are all completely true) but the reality is that he is just about the most amazing kid in the world. 

I realized that I get so caught up in making sure that he grows into a proper citizen, a good man, that I sometimes forget to acknowledge and cherish the wonderful kid he is today. 
So this morning, I turned to look at him with tears streaming once again as the lyrics played in the background, and in a very garbled voice I told him I loved him so much...Poor thing, probably thought it was time to check me into Bellevue.

We set the bar high for the boy, no doubt.  But it's because we know he can handle it.  He has these qualities, that I know we taught him, but he's embraced them and they stuck.  That's all him, inside and out.  He has compassion and love and respect for everyone and I am ecstatic that it's pretty evident in the way he approaches the world and the people in it.

Here we are on the actual brink of his 13th birthday and Chris and I could not be more proud.  What lucky people we are to have had this tiny little person enter our world and turn everything we knew upside down.

He made us better people.  He made us grow up.  He gave us a future that we had no idea could be so challenging and rewarding at the same time.  He paved the way for a sister that idolizes and adores him.  He made our parents grandparents.  The gifts he's given us so far have been never-ending.

Gavin, you make me the happiest mom in the world and I love you more than you will ever know.  Thank you for choosing us, God did we ever get lucky.

I dedicate this blog to my son, the boy with no limits and a future as bright as the sun...

Gavin Davies Alsop

F*CK Cancer

I am struggling to find the words.  My usual rather upbeat posts and blogs have been replaced today with one that is filled with feelings of anger, sadness and sorrow. 

I have lost another person I love to cancer.

Cancer, the relentless beast that is unforgiving, brutally ugly and vicious. 

No one is immune and no one can really be blamed.  Sure, the life we lead might put us at a higher "risk" for getting it, but then how can we explain when an innocent child is stricken with a brain tumor or leukemia?  What did they do to deserve that kind of pain and suffering?

Cancer opens the floodgates to questions that seem to have no answers.  There is no rhyme or reason, so we have to learn to accept what truly IS (in terms of reality) regardless of the outcome. It doesn't mean we can't be pissed off about it, or feel tremendous sadness, it just means that we must get through it...any way we can.  I have been blessed enough to have family and friends who step up and offer the kind of love and support that brings comfort and peace in times like these.

I would like to believe that we have some control over our chances but the facts and theories are shrouded in mystery.  Some claim to have healed themselves through diet, exercise, green drinks, gurus, meditation and prayer.  Others invest all their chips by gambling on Western medicine alone, hoping that the chemicals penetrating their bodies will kill off the bad stuff and give rise to new healthy cells, cells that do their intended jobs.  Some are fortunate and beat the odds, others are not so lucky. 

The bottom line is that no one can hide from cancer.  You can live your life clean, eat all organic food and exercise until you have 3% body fat...and still get it, think: Lance Armstrong.

That being said, what can we do?  Do we get caught up in all the negative stuff and say screw it, I'm gonna do what I want because I can't stop the train if it has no brakes?

Or do we obsess about every minute detail in our food sources, exercise until we are blue in the face or research what the EPA says is the safest place to live?  I don't think that's the answer either...

I can say this-without any expertise whatsoever-You have to LIVE your life, the way you see fit.  There are thousands of books and people out there touting how we can "cure" ourselves and the ways in which we can prevent disease from invading our bodies, which certainly have validity. 

But the reality is you can spend all your time worrying about dying and suddenly your life has passed you by. 

We MUST cease the moments of every day, be present in our lives and create relationships that nurture both our souls and spirit.  We must learn to let go of anger and hatred and embrace light, love and laughter.  It's work, no doubt, but the time we waste, the energy we waste, on grudges and hate, it's of no use to anyone, most certainly not ourselves.

I know this much is true, I don't want to live my life with senseless regrets. And although I have lost people I love, I know that the time I had with them was quality.  No stone was left unturned and though I feel sadness and grief at times because I deeply miss them, I don't feel guilt or anger for things I didn't say or do. 

As I watch my husband mourn the loss of his father, I am hopeful that his heart will heal quickly and he will be left with only the memories of laughter and joy that he shared with his dad.  Chris was there, completely present at the toughest time of both his father's and his own life.  He didn't walk away, he didn't hide.  He was THERE... through it all. 

And I believe he is a better man because of it.

Finding the strength to be there, to watch someone you love, leave this world and move on to the next...well let's just say it's not easy.  But there is tremendous comfort in knowing that one of the people you love most, one of the people who gave you life, didn't leave this world alone.

He knew he was truly loved.

I dedicate this blog to Larry James Alsop, a great father, grandfather, brother, husband and friend. 

You will be missed Pop...

Putting Your Best Foot Forward, One Step at a Time...

The other day I went to pick up my son to take him to yet, another doctor appointment with the orthopedic surgeon.  We were heading over to have his back checked out for fear that he had fractured a vertebrae.  Well, thank the good lord that he was perfectly fine, for the most part, save for a strained muscle.  (Whew, she thinks, as she wipes the sweat from her worried brow).

The funny part of the story is the part that came before the visit, the part when I picked him up from school.  I arrived as the lunch bell rang and walked up the stairs through the menagerie of harried tweens and teens making their way to the cafeteria.

I heard my boy and glanced down to see he was right behind me.  As I caught his glimpse, I saw that he was giving me a pretty decent once-over.  He nodded in approval and made a comment that I was wearing heels so that I could be taller than him. An observation, I might add, that is true.

Sigh...(she thinks, realizing that the little boy is growing up.)

The most interesting piece is that here I was, a grown woman, being sized up by my son.  Now don't read into this as an Oedipal thing...the kid was making sure that I wouldn't embarrass him.

Apparently I already have.  More than once I have shown up at school to drop off a missed backpack or lunch money, usually sporting my yoga attire. And, as it turns out, I also embarrassed my nephew when not only did I say hi to him in said workout gear, I think I even hugged him too.  Sheesh, what could be more mortifying?

But here's the thing, it's not like I am wearing curlers and a robe or something.  I am a busy mom who tries her hardest to remain fit and healthy and I thought that was something that would be perceived as cool...I guess I was wrong. 

Bless his heart, I would have been none the wiser except that my very own sister repaid a debt that I didn't even know was owed.  She's a bit of a workout queen, a runner with a lithe little body and strong legs, just really fit and healthy herself.

She had been sternly warned not to run by the school during her afternoon jog before school got out, but most importantly she was told not to stretch in front of her car while waiting for the carpool gang to make their way out.  One day she overshot her usual route and ended up smack dab in front of the school.  It was there that she saw my son, casually sitting on the wall.

"Aunt Kath?" Gav said. 

"Gav?" she said with a smile.  "Hey, what's going on?"

After they exchanged pleasantries, she offered him a sweaty hug and he accepted (without reluctance) and off she went to stretch...
behind the houses...
three blocks away...
to save her son from the embarrassment. 

I only found out about this story because my sister shared it with me.  My poor nephew was mortified to know that I found out he was embarrassed by our exchange, but he did relish in the fact that nearly the exact same thing happened to his cousin.  Paybacks are a bitch they say...

So of course my sister and I shared some laughs but it got me thinking about the ways in which our outer appearance can affect the perceptions all people, including teenagers, have about us. (I mean teenagers are barely real people, right?  I think many would argue that they are part of an alien life form sent to torture and perform tests on us involving uncomfortable probes).

Back to the subject at hand, the world we live in has become a very superficial place.  We tend to focus on the least important aspects of our lives, things like how we look and what we wear, whether than the the good stuff, the stuff that counts: what makes us beautiful inside and builds our core character.

The so-called most "beautiful" people we see, can very often be quite ugly within.  Yet we continue to fawn over them, admire them and try to emulate their look or style because tabloids and high fashion magazines not only seem to suggest this, they demand it. 

The images splayed on the covers of the most prominent featured periodicals are usually those of painfully thin, perfectly airbrushed women, wearing clothes that most readers couldn't begin to afford much less fit into.

Their covers feature the same stories with only slightly different headlines:  "How to shrink your belly,"  "How to get your man to...(fill in the blank-love you, please you, etc.,)" and "How to find the best clothes for your body," in addition to how to have the best sex and what foods to eat to increase your sex drive and metabolism, so on and so forth.

Every now and again, you might come across an article about making a positive change in your life or a hard hitting news story but if it's lucky enough to grace the front of the glossy, it will most certainly be near the bottom, blending in with the color of the models skin tight pants.

I have long since abandoned most high fashion magazines for the likes of those that are better suited for my lifestyle but I can say that starting some time around the age of 10, my room was cluttered with various forms of media rags starting with publications like "Teen Beat" and "Tiger Beat" progressing on to "Teen," "Young Miss" and "Seventeen," finally on to the likes of "Glamour" and then the Big Daddy of them all..."Cosmopolitan."

While I certainly came across a few very useful stories, I mostly learned how to feel shitty about myself.  No matter what I did, it seemed that I could never measure up to the expectations of what these magazines suggested were the norm. 

Every month, the stories shared the same themes and although I didn't realize it at the time, the seemingly positive articles giving tips and "how to" ideas were making me feel horribly inadequate. 

I am pretty sure that most of the writers who created these stories did not set out to make their name in offering suggestions and instructions on how to have amazing sex or what to wear to land the perfect man.  A great example (and pretty cute movie I might add) would be "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

If you haven't seen it, here is a brief re-cap.  Andie is a writer who dreams of digging her teeth into the juiciest stories involving politics, religion, women's rights and so on.  Instead, she has to settle for being the "How To" girl at a fictitious magazine much like those I've described above. 

She pitches a story about all of the crazy things women do in new relationships that drive men away and her editor is crazy about the idea.  So off she goes to meet Mr. Right, only to prove how to mess up a relationship in 10 days or less. 

As you can imagine, there is a lot of ironic and funny moments in the film but there is also a very real story there.  Aside from Kate Hudson's character Andie falling for a hunky and lovable Ben, played by Matthew McConaughey, she discovers that even after she delivers a great story, her editor says she can write about ANYTHING she wants, so long as it fits within the parameters of stories about shopping, men and sex.

Ultimately she quits her job to pursue her dream of writing articles with less fluff and more substance. (Oh and of course he follows her and they fall madly in love...it is a movie after all.)

Now, I wonder how many other writers feel trapped in the hamster cage of certain corporate media, spinning their wheels and churning out story after story about the same old nonsense. 

I am not knocking all magazines because there are many, many quality periodicals, even within the fashion world, that produce intriguing, informative, thought provoking and moving articles, but sadly the most prominent seem to put out the same story with only slightly skewed and reworded paragraphs that share the same message:  You are not good enough now, but do "this" and you might be, eventually.

I realize that this is not something that will likely ever change, it's a multi-billion dollar industry fueled by advertisers and companies whose interests will remain on the forefront of society as we know it.

At the same time, I am not saying to completely abandon make-up and regular bathing in favor of leading a lifestyle that isn't true to your own heart. And by the way, if that's the life you choose, more power to you. No judgement here.

What I am saying is that there has to be a happy medium, a place where we can be healthy and comfortable in our own skin.

We can begin by focusing on the importance of working on the beauty inside first and then the beauty on the outside will likely become automatic.  It would be so amazing if we could all remember to teach our kids (and ourselves I might add) to remember the qualities that really define a person at their core, are not developed by how they look or what they wear.

If we could encourage our kids to embrace their uniqueness instead of treating it as an obstacle, perhaps this world could start to become a little kinder and less critical of what we look like on the outside.

Putting your best foot forward can mean a number of different things but I think it starts within your heart and moves outward.  Compassion, patience and peace are three things I focus on.  When I pay attention to those particular ideals, I find that I am less concerned with things that might be negative like gossip and judgment.  When I feel good inside, I naturally care about myself on the outside too.

My wise sister told me something once and it just stuck with me.  She said, "Remember, everyone has a story"  and those five words can change everything you think about a person.  I have taken that with me and try to remember that little sentence when I begin to feel critical or judgmental of others. 

I try to teach my children to feel love and compassion for kids who might be "different" or "weird" or "mean," because really, they have a story too.

We all have our own stories, and whether we choose to share them or not, we can really start to put our best foot forward by showing ourselves a little compassion, having patience and sharing peace. 

When I was a teenager, my father would say (usually after telling my friends something like I had peed my pants once in the 4th grade) "a little embarrassment is good for ya, goes a long way...builds character," then he would chuckle and walk away.

So I guess that what comes around goes around in love and parenting, and I think what he was getting at is that even things like embarassment, teach us to be humble which is a pretty good quality to have. 

When you can share a smile, spread the love in your heart, show the peace in your soul and truth in your character, you are most certainly putting your best foot forward. 

Everyone around you, including your kids (whether they admit it or not) can see that too...even when you stretch on the street in front of the school or walk directly on to campus sporting a ponytail, running shoes and sweaty yoga pants. 

After all, can I truly call myself a parent of a teenager without constantly embarrasing him?  (she thinks, with genuine love in her heart, as she walks away chuckling...)

 

Moving on...

So this year has started off relatively well, no complaints here.

This one is a doozy too. This is the year that I bid my 30's adieu and welcome a new decade.

When I was a kid, I thought that 40 was ancient.  I mean we're talking a relic, a dinosaur, a person in dire need of retirement and most certainly out of the realm of being "cool."

It was my Dad who would often tell me that our bodies betray our brains and that he still felt like he was 16, in his mind at least) even when he was well over 60!

After watching Madonna's half-time show Sunday, I realized that the queen of pop herself, even with the ridiculously buff arms and incredible stamina, has had to slow it down a bit. We were only privy to a few pelvic thrusts and gyrations. Those damn high-heeled boots kept getting in the way, that and an injured hamstring so I hear.  But all things considered, the old broad brought it and really, how many other 50-something year-old women have 1/10th of the energy she has, gotta give credit where credit is due.

And she practices yoga...(just another shameless plug for my favorite form of exercise and meditation).

Enough about that, what I am getting at is that with each year comes new opportunities, opportunities to hit the reset button and start over, reinvent yourself or try new things. Whether you make your "resolutions" on New Years Day or your birthday or any given Wednesday, these dates are great reminders that it's never too late to start anew.

And that might mean allowing yourself say goodbye; allowing yourself to move on.

Letting go of the mental baggage that holds you back can be complicated. We carry around heavy loads, loads of guilt or shame or sadness for the things we may have said or done that we can't seem to shake. I say, there is no better time than now to let it go and move on.

Easier said than done, I know but dumping this extra cargo allows us to move FORWARD and gain a greater sense of peace and compassion for others. Letting go and forgiving others and oneself is never simple but once it's done, we can begin to heal and the possibilities for amazing things start to present themselves. When we no longer focus on the negative junk, we suddenly experience clarity in a way that we couldn't see before because our vision was blurred by the dense fog and haze that continually cluttered up our minds.

After I lost my dad and best friend two years ago, I knew in my heart that I had said and done everything right but there was still that nagging feeling that I could have done more; exactly what, I have no idea. Finding a cure for cancer would be a great place to start but sadly, I never did get that medical degree, thus I will have to settle for putting pen to paper and taking a different path, one that suits me well.

While it seems like I will never get over losing Dad and Suz, time is helping to heal that intense pain. It can be hard to see the lessons that come with such a deep loss, but what I have come to realize is that during their toughest battles, the battle to live, I gained a strength that I never knew I had. And even though they both lost their fight, watching them struggle to face their mortality changed my life in a way that I am just now beginning to recognize as a gift. I would give anything to have them both back here, alive and healthy, but the reality is that will never happen. So instead, I choose to live my life using them both as inspiration and I reflect on the memories from our time together with an deep sense of peace and love.  I am allowing myself to move on.

Susie would also have been 40 this year...on my birthday. Among all the things we shared, our birthday was always the most special. After 25 years of friendship, the last one we spent together was our 37th.  So this year, I plan on carving out some extra time celebrating her by heading down to the beach, taking a stroll and basking in the glow of fond memories from our time together.  Memories that were filled with laughter and joy, mixed with tears and pain, but mostly laughter and joy.  She was one of a kind, that girl.  I am blessed and lucky to have known her.

As hard as it has been to move on, I know that my best friend and my dad would both want me to let go of that pain and experience all the good things in life, just as they had when they were here.  "No regrets," I can just hear them say...

So when I sit down to write my blogs, I look to my left and see photos of my girl and I look behind me and see photos Dad, and I know that they would both be proud of the choices I am making and would encourage me to follow my dreams.  The two of them were some of my biggest supporters and cheerleaders and I have to believe that they are still there, cheering me on from high above.

The truth of the matter is that I am not really hung up on the idea of turning 40.  What's the alternative?  I am grateful and lucky to celebrate another year, another chance to reinvent myself, to start anew and try new things.  Perhaps the eternal Material Girl is on to something.  Maybe this is the year I start out with a fake British accent...

Nah. But I wouldn't mind those arms though...
 

I wish I were a cat-well when it comes to napping at least...

Well, there she is.  All stretched out, belly full, eyes half open.

If I glance over at her, she looks up at me just long enough to curl her dainty white paws under to get a bit more comfortable.  Then, she sleeps.

This cat, boy am I jealous.

For those of you who know me well, you know that I can't resist an opportunity to take a nap. 

The joy of sleep, brings such a peaceful bliss to an otherwise hectic day.  I only need a half hour but I always feel like the process itself deserves at least a full hour time slot because it requires some preparation.   I'm not one that can lay on the couch and conk out. 

No, I need to be in my bed, under the covers, eye patches on, perhaps ear plugs in...It's a whole deal of prep work. 

Once I get nestled into my cozy cocoon, I shut my eyes and start to unwind.  If I can just settle myself long enough to relax...

Some days, oh the sweet bliss comes quickly and I fall asleep fast, awake refreshed and ready for the second half of my day.

Other days, after the whole ritual of it all, I lay there just to discover sleep evades me.  It's just not my lucky day I guess.

And finally there are those days when I sleep so soundly, I wake up and wonder exactly where the hell I am, what day it is and why was I dreaming about cramming stuffed animals down the garbage disposal.

Napping, for me, is one of the simple joys in life I am not willing to give up.  Some might say that napping is for wussies, people who can't make it through the day without rest.  But I say it's only fair to give your body AND mind a break from the grind of everyday life.  And again, those that know me, also know that I run at top speed most of the time so a nap every now and again is well deserved and much needed. 

The benefits of sleep and rest continue to remain on the front line of topics in every health and wellness magazine and talk show around.  Yet, more and more people are functioning on less sleep than ever before.

Sleep is the time our bodies, just like our computers, reboot.  It's the time when our cells turn over and regenerate, fighting the effects of aging, even better than Botox (maybe).   Isn't that enough reason to want to catch a few extra zzzzz's?

The truth is, like most of us, I fought naps as a child.  What was I thinking?  I mean, c'mon...kids these days should realize the joy of a nap!  Instead, they are busy trying to discover their world and everything in it! 

Little do they know that the day will come, soon mind you, that they will HAVE to rush around making choices and decisions that will not always be about which color paint to use or which bike to ride or which friend to play with! But if they are lucky enough, sometimes they will, (and that would be the day it's ok to forego a rest).

No, the truth is, for most of us, finding the time to indulge in a nap is usually few and far between.  Perhaps that's one of the reasons why they feel so good.

Occasionally, and I mean just occasionally, I will find myself napping a bit too often.  I still have a preschooler who naps daily and when she's not at school, I cease the opportunity to nap when she does.  I think it came from when she was a baby and I followed the very sound advice to "nap when the baby naps."  What can I say, it stuck.

Some women have boundless energy to keep up with their kids, get the chores done, go to work, and manage their lives without the need for a nap.  I will confess here and now, I am not one of those women. 

I have some friends who can't nap to save their lives.  I have others that can literally fall asleep in the midst of the rest of us chattering away.  And then there's me, the one with the whole production...

So today, even though I really want to lay my head down on my soft pillow and tuck my body beneath my freshly changed sheets, I will deny myself.  Instead, I've chosen to be a tad bit more productive by writing this blog while Piper is dozing peacefully in the other room. 

I might be sacrificing my beauty so I certainly hope you are all enjoying this!

But seriously my friends, if you are not currently a napper, I urge you to give it another try.  If you are a sleep aficionado like myself, perhaps scaling back to less frequent naps might be a good idea too, but only if it means you are able to do something else you love... it might even be exercising! 

So as I close today, I hope this finds you well rested and if not, damn it~go take a nap!

Now, where is that cat? 

Oh there she is, on my bed, curled up in a ball. 

Maybe she needs some company.

Ohana, Yoga and Sisters...

Happy New Year and Welcome to 2012!

Had THE best breakfast with my sister today.

We meet about once a month at the tiny little restaurant called Ohana…which is perfect since that means family.  Anyone and everyone who goes there knows it’s THE best place for breakfast in Huntington Beach, if nothing more than for the excellent coffee and familiar faces of both the staff and regular patrons.

Every time we meet, I’m left with warmth in my heart that keeps me lifted all day long.  Today was an exceptionally marvelous morning because we were blessed with the kind of weather that only Southern Californians know as summer in January. 

I made it to my yoga class in time to relax and acclimate to the 98* temperature.  I settled nicely into my asana’s with ease and flexibility.  I laughed and smiled when I fell out of dancer’s pose rather than scrunching up my face and feeling frustrated for not executing the perfect arch in my back with my arm outstretched.  I simply picked up where I left off. 

Then, at the end of class I cried.

I didn’t cry because I was tired or hurt or sore.  I cried because I was feeling so overcome by emotions of happiness and at the same time, feelings of loss and sadness for both my sister and me. 

We lost our dad a little over two years ago.  That’s not so unusual you might think, but our story is not one that is what you would call “ordinary.”  We didn’t grow up together; in fact we didn’t even know each other until I was 10 years old. 

She turned 18 that year and a comment by my grandpa’s old friend suddenly triggered a series of questions that would lead to my discovery of the long lost sister I had always dreamed of having.

But the story is not quite so glamorous. 

We met and she WAS everything I had dreamed and hoped she would be.  We got together a few times over the next couple of years with our Dad in tow, and it always struck me as funny when she would call him Harry.  It seemed so odd to me that she didn’t call him Dad; my immature mind couldn’t process all of the emotional baggage she might have carried around the years prior to our meeting.

Dad had made the decision to allow her step-father to adopt her shortly after I was born.  My parents thought it would be best to keep her a secret, to protect my feelings I suppose.  But, the cat got out of the proverbial bag and there was certainly some ‘splaining to do. 

At any rate, time passed and we both grew older, me into an angst filled teen with certain daily drama, she into a young college girl with a life of her own to establish.  We lost touch and it was an odd and strange time.  I can remember feeling sad that our relationship had crumbled but I quickly got caught up in my friends or a boy and those feelings were shelved and replaced with new ones. 

Unbeknownst to me, Dad had continued to have a relationship with her. I thought they had stopped talking again and it wasn’t until I was in my early twenties that I realized they had been meeting for breakfast or coffee for years.  That really stirred up a sense of betrayal and sadness that I felt toward both of them, but really it was Dad I held accountable. Once I took a minute to think about how she might have felt, I blamed Dad entirely.  The good news was that he took responsibility for it.  The bad news is that she, then married and settled into her life, moved to Africa to spread the word of her faith.

In the years that followed, I did a lot of soul searching.  I realized that I desperately wanted a relationship with my big sister and not only that, I deserved it.  I wanted to know about this mystery woman who shared half my DNA and I hoped for the day we could meet again.

A few years later, she, her husband and young son returned home for a six month sabbatical. Finally, Dad would help orchestrate the meeting that I longed for.  I had a son of my own then; turns out the boys are less than a year apart. 

We met at a park, a neutral place where the boys could climb and run and jump like the busy toddlers they were.  Dad basked in the glow of having both his daughters and his grandsons in the same place at the same time for the first time ever. 

We met two more times before they had to return to Uganda.  Although these times were fairly brief, I felt a deep sense of hope and gratitude that our relationship would blossom like a tiny seedling.  It would just need to be cared for gingerly and its delicate roots would soon become strong, hearty and unbreakable.

With the power of the Internet, we began to get to know one another through monthly emails.  Little by little, we grew closer and the bond deeper.  In the months and years that followed, I began to cherish the relationship we were developing as much as I cherished my marriage and the bonds I shared with my parents.

Being raised an only child; one can never quite imagine what it’s like to have siblings.  I never knew that feeling of having to share, or wanting to for that matter.  I was blessed (and I say blessed now, 25 years later but then I thought it was a curse) with three step-brothers when I was 15 but until then, it had been just me. 

This feeling was different, and it felt new, strange and invigorating.

So when she moved back to California about nine years ago, I could not have been more thrilled. Since then, we have spent Christmas’s, birthdays and breakfasts of our own together on a pretty regular basis.  She has been there for me when I've needed her and I hope I have done the same. We both have two kids of our own (boys and girls) and they are growing up as (mostly) loving cousins, it’s awesome!

The thing is, this is also new to her.  For 18 years, she was an only child too, except for knowing that there was this mysterious little girl out there who was here baby sister. 

Now, we live less than a mile away and our relationship is stronger than ever.  It’s new to both of us so we are just sort of carving out our definition of what it means to be sisters and I admit; sometimes we’ve tried to figure out how it works and the kinks that come with being a family altogether.  The good news is that we seem to have found a groove and it’s a dance that we can both move equally well to.

So this morning, as we had our “usual” at our favorite restaurant in Huntington, it was one of those days where I just looked at her and realized how lucky I am to have her as my big sister.  Then, when our favorite busboy, the kindest guy who will pour coffee endlessly and always share a smile, said in a bit of broken English “Yaaa, sisters.  I see it in your faces,” I almost cried. 

That connection, that love and that bond, I am forever grateful for.  And although we both miss him tremendously, he gave us the gift of our somewhat unconventional sisterhood, and I know that our Dad is looking over us, smiling and happy that his girls are together again and that we are meeting for breakfast and coffee…

Oh and what all this has to do with Yoga you ask?  Well, get this, Kath digs it too.

Namaste

This blog is dedicated to my big sister Kathy, whom I love, admire and adore.

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

January 1, 1981       8 years old

Dear Diary,
today is new year's. 
I spent the night at my friend's house. 
We had fun.
we ate at grandparents.

that's all I have to say!
good-by

June 9, '82

Dear Diary,
For the last couple of days we've been studying the Gold Rush, it's hard.
I have to go to bed now
good-bye!

Aug. 20, '83

Dear Diary,
Today we went to "Knotts Berry Farm". 
It was fun but my Mom is leaving for San-Francisco
Tommorrow. I miss her a lot.  She bought me a lot of stuff today it was fun

Well
       gotta
                jam
Bye

And so it began, my passion for writing, a passion that has continued to be ignited by the fire that blazes within my soul.  The entries above are completely accurate, down to the type-o's and misspellings.  Not too bad for a beginner. Of all the writing I have done in my life, my journals provide more entertainment and insight than anything I else I have written so far.

I have kept a journal, better known as "Dear Diary" for 31 years now.  I have not always been faithful to daily entries, and more often than not, I have written in spurts, usually when I am struggling with something or someone.  Isn't that always the case, seems I have always written like a real media person since I was 8 years-old, going for the most shocking, scintillating and sensational tale.  I mean, c'mon-the story about new year's, the friend's house, the fun?  Doesn't get much more provocative than that...

I would offer up some more of my entries from my tween and early teen years, however to protect the innocent (including myself) I choose to omit those bits.  Suffice it to say, most of the pages are filled with triumph (meeting a new boy, falling in love AGAIN) and tragedy (breaking up with said boy and having my heart broken, AGAIN).  There are also juicy tidbits of gossip and name-calling about friends and enemies alike. 

The funny thing is that when I look back on that time in my life, I can see that often, I wasn't being completely honest for fear that someone might discover my journals, read them and know what I was really up to...which was relatively benign and harmless.

It wasn't until I reached high school that the pages began to fill with more deeply emotional thoughts and pleas for advice from the floral fabric covered book that I hoped would surely hold all the answers.  I began to confide my true feelings, perhaps secretly hoping they might be discovered.

There are seven of them, these chapters from my life, each one telling a different story, all deeply personal and reflective and in my own words, covering the span of the past 30 years.

Initially I started looking for my journals to use as a tool for research and ideas for short stories or perhaps for that book I am (still) working on.  I thought maybe I could shape a character by using anecdotes from my past, but what I remembered as I read through the pages, is that I suffered from deep sadness and depression in my latter teen years, that frankly, I am amazed I was able to escape.  I suppose I could channel that energy again, but reliving that stuff...it just puts a bad taste in my mouth.  Could make for a good novel though, we'll see.

When I finished the fourth book, it really stirred up a great deal of emotion.  That was such a difficult time in my life, there were major transitions like moving in with my dad, changing schools for the fifth time, questions about love and comments on sex, drugs and rock-n-roll, quite literally.  A lot of crazy stuff started happening when I got into high school during the late '80's.

I realized that I compartmentalized that part of my life because those memories were so cumbersome and painful.  They held me back from moving on with my life.  Instead, I talked myself into thinking that my teenage years weren't all that bad and that I lived a pretty cushy life. 

These handwritten pages suggest otherwise.

But I am resilient, this I know for sure.  Now I can read those entries without being dragged down because I recognize how much I have changed.  All those experiences have served me in some way, they have allowed me to grow and accept myself, shortcomings and all.  Through my darkest hours, I could still see light.  I still had hope that I could overcome obstacles and face the challenges that held me back. Something inside gave me strength to alter the patterns that had become deeply ingrained in my psyche and I persevered. 

One of the things I am grateful for now, is that when I interact with kids today, my own included, I feel like I have a better understanding of what they might be going through.  Things haven't changed all that much in the past 25 years in terms of how teens relate to each other. 

The means of communication and the terminology may have changed (texts, emails, etc.) but the emotions are still the same. I feel like I might have a better grip on what they are thinking about because I have physical evidence of what I was thinking and feeling at that age.  That, and a WHOLE lot of psychology and sociology classes under my belt!

Don't get me wrong, there were many good times, but I can still remember the times I felt so lost and empty inside, and I know that even the most well-adjusted kids can struggle with issues of self-esteem and loneliness.  It's an exceptionally trying time, those teenage years, and no one is immune.

Carpe diem, is the motto I live by.  I have learned through vivid and emotionally traumatic experiences in my own life that right now, this very moment, is really all that we can know for certain.  But, looking back has allowed me to see how far I have come.  I have grown, changed and overcome my past like a phoenix rising from the ashes of a very dark and scary place.

Reflecting on our own history is the only way we can change our future. If you kept a diary, I urge you to find it and look back on the days when you struggled to fit in, find yourself and get through the day.  I promise, it will give you both laughter, tears and an opportunity to understand yourself and your own kids a little bit better than before.

If you never kept a journal, it's never too late to start. I am thankful every day, that I have kept a record of my life.  I am grateful that I can look back and harness those memories, and take with them the lessons that each one can offer.   

Although I still keep a handwritten journal, the entries have become few and far between.  Instead, I've chosen to share my thoughts and ideas in a very public manner, via this blog...which (in cast you didn't know) stands for "Web Log" otherwise known as an "online diary." 

Although I am fairly certain that my writing has improved since I was eight, why fix something that was never really broken?

So in keeping with the standard theme...I leave you with this.

Dec. 1,'11              39 years old

Dear Diary,
Today is December 1 and the holidays are here.
I think they will be really neat.
I hope I get some really cool stuff.
I really like my readers, they are cool too.
Today was fun.
That's all I have to say.
Good-bye.