Hijacked Brain/Walk Both the Black and White Tiles

Tuesday and tonight I'm going out on a Lake Michigan cruise with friends William and Joan - a charity event.  It's a gorgeous day in Chicago - should be perfect. And this morning a call from Kaveh cuz I forgot my phone therapy appointment with him. Boggles my mind that I could actually forget him. If you've known me for a while you know it wasn't that long ago when I counted the seconds until I could talk with him again. I became so dependent for a time - it was part of the healing process. Now I'm coming out the other end of therapy having achieved the objectives we identified at the onset - amazing right? I'll fly to Louisville, KY where he now calls home and we will have our last session in August. We both got a chuckle today when I said there WOULD be a hug at the end. He laughed in acquiescence and we both remembered when the discussion of a hug was a loaded topic. I wanted one. He said no. I pounded on that shut door. I threatened. He still said no. I cried. He still said no. That was about the same time as I insisted on an article of his clothing to sleep with for comfort - a sweater or sweatshirt. Once, I went to the bathroom just so I could glance in the coat closet to see if there was something suitable for me to "liberate" on my way out. I was not above stealing Kaveh's clothing! Fun to look back at those days and laugh now. Love that guy.

After I wrote the blog post yesterday about the subconscious and fretted about how much free will we really have, given that at least 9/10ths of what compels us lives beneath the surface of our conscious thoughts, I read an article that caught my eye entitled The Fallacy of the Hijacked Brain by Peg O'Connor.  So serendipitous to read that article within hours of pondering the same issues in this blog! The first paragraph caught my eye immediately:

Of all the philosophical discussions that surface in contemporary life, the question of free will — mainly, the debate over whether or not we have it — is certainly one of the most persistent.

The author goes on to say that people (not just me apparently) are very concerned about how much of their lives they can control and how much is predetermined.  And there are lots of "can't help yourself" books out there that speak to the concept of  peoples' brains being hijaked by addictive behavoirs that foreclose an individual's ability make good choices - also relieves them of the responsibility of making good choices.  The current scientific brain research falls into the camp of addicts having no choices once their brain chemistry has been hijacked - addicted brains gone rogue.

The author of the article takes exception to the idea of a person's brain being hijacked.Can a person hijack themselves is the central question. "A hijacker comes from outside and takes control by violent means. A hijacker takes a vehicle that is not his; hijacking is always a form of stealing and kidnapping. A hijacker always takes someone else's vehicle; you cannot hijack your own car. Ludwig Wittgenstein offered that money passed from your left hand to your right is not a gift. Writing yourself a thank-you note would be absurd." (actually, I did that once). She goes on to say, "It might be tempting to claim that in addiction scenarios, the drugs or behaviors are the hijackers. However, those drugs and behaviors need to be done by the person themself." The article's bottom line was to question the extreme view and  false quandaries, "like the one that requires us to define addiction as either disease or choice, and to adopt a more nuanced conception. Addicts are neither hijackers nor victims.

So why take the time to read this article and ponder this? It speaks to what we've been "talking" about - personal responsibility, free will, and how much of what we do is within our conscious control. To think any of this is easy - that there is a one size fits all solution for everyone is to be naive, right? Willpower alone is absolutely not the answer. On the other hand, not taking ownership and personal responsibility is a cop out. I like the idea of a nuanced approach to life's challenges - it's a humbler approach and probably more efficacious. If we hold ourselves to rigid, intractable standards we stand to fall hard, not that anyone will care because we will have been so obnoxious anyway there will be few friends to catch us. On the other hand if we live in "blame-game" land, never saying, "the buck stops here", that's not a way to live either.

Challenge today is to give some thought to where you are on this spectrum. A friend of mine blames his parents for the fact that he lacks confidence to launch his own business. Another friend says she has no control over her alcohol consumption. Flip side is yet another friend, who lives with rigid rules and never makes exceptions - his life is small, unimaginative and uninteresting and people don't enjoy being around him. He holds himself and others to unloving and unrealistic standards. Reminds me of when Steve and I went to a casino in Indiana and won $700 in the slot machines. On the ride back, I said, "If we never go back, we will never be losers!" We never went back! In that case it was probably a good thing - doubt that anyone's life is enhanced by gambling, but the analogy holds - one way to not fall prey to the vagaries of your brain is to just not do anything new, don't take risks, don't put yourself in situations that could jeopardize your healthful path. It's a reasonable albeit tunnel visioned way to live - but think of how much you stand to miss!

OK, back to your challenge. Where are you on this spectrum?  Are you a person who greets the day openly with adventure, fearlessly, open to experiences even though some danger is bound to leak in? Or are you a person who follows a tight script, guarding your boundaries, not deviating from your chosen path?  If you find yourself saying, "I never..." all the time, or alternatively, never saying, "I never..." then my guess is that you're walking on either just the black or the white tiles of life. How much richer life could be if we traversed the entire ground - the black AND the white tiles - adventurously but responsibly.

Peace,
Sarah

A Child's Death/Consciousness, A Tiny Stowaway

It's Monday and moving week - closing down the office storefront and moving to a home office. Both employees work from their homes so it's logical - Sarah in 2400SF of office space with Joey to keep me company is dumb right? This place ended up costing me over $7K/month to maintain. Friday found me at Schaller's by myself which was OK, really. Advantage is I got to sing a ton of songs and I rolled out some new numbers (Smile, What a Day This Has Been, Fools Rush In). Mike came and it was only a little awkward between us. I like him and wish him well - he was definitely not my path. And I worry about him a bit - the whole flitting from one woman to another, a hummingbird, sipping nectar. Can't just live on nectar.

So, there was this woman Muriel who goes to Schaller's frequently with friends. She and her friend both sing - they enjoy themselves greatly - it's gratifying to see. Friday, her friends left and she stayed, and because I'd asked her to watch my purse for me when I got up to perform, she was at my table when I returned. Polite conversation ensued, "Where do you live? Married? Kids?" When it came to the kid question, she said she had a daughter in her 60's (Muriel is in her early '80's) and then said "I had a son, but he died". My eyes flashed at her in concern - I wondered what it must be like for her to have a child whose death preceded her own. I asked her, "Does it ever get better - losing a child?" She shook her head and said, "No, and what's worse, he was murdered." I could tell from the look on her face she wanted to talk about it. His name was Tim - he was a fireman.One night he accompanied a coworker and buddy to a bar to celebrate the fellow's promotion to lieutenant. There was an off duty bouncer sitting at the bar, flanked by two women. He was in a fighting mood and accused Tim's party of looking at his girls. A fight ensued between Tim's buddy and the guy and Tim stepped in to break it up, not wanting his friend to get in trouble on the very day he was promoted. The bouncer broke an ashtray against the bar and slashed Tim's throat with it, cutting his carotid artery. This all occurred 30 years ago when Tim was 28  - he's been in the ground longer than he lived.

She told me this story and I was stunned, struck with sadness and I felt myself tearing up - I'm tearing even as I write this. I got up and went to the bathroom to hide my tears from her and then realized she must have thought I was callous and uninterested. So when I came back, I sat with her again and said, with unashamed tears in my eyes, "I'm so very, very sorry for you. From one mother to another my heart hurts for you." I let her talk - she still needs to talk about it even though 30 years have elapsed. She talked about her heart being broken so that her chest actually hurt every moment of the day. She talked about being a zombie for over twenty years, no song in her heart for anyone or anything - ashamed if she laughed about something, feeling as if laughing and enjoying life was a betrayal to Tim. Finally in the last five years, she's ventured out, leaves her husband at home and goes out with friends and sings - finally. Doesn't mean her heart isn't still broken - just means she is coping with it better and finding some pleasure in life. It's taken twenty five years for her heart to partially recover.

And then there's me with my stupid broken heart over a man with whom I had a two month relationship. Wednesday will be a year since we broke up - June 13th 2011. I am mystified why I am still so in love with him. He's moved on. I haven't despite the recent astral cord unhooking ceremony. I'm glad I performed that ritual - it was useful and necessary to say a final good-bye. But just because I've said good-bye doesn't mean I'm not still in love. After hearing Muriel's story, I am in awe of the tenacity of the human heart to hold fast to love, even when it's gone. There are so many stories of steadfast hearts and they're not all human hearts. Read a very sad story about a man who went to war and never came back. On the day he enlisted, his dog accompanied him to the train station, didn't understand why his master was leaving of course. Every single day, until the end of his canine life, the dog waited from sun up to sun down at the station for his master's return.  A steadfast heart.

That brings me to something I've been thinking about and reading about. I'm reading that book, Incognito by David Eagleman. He talks about the fact that our consciousness is just a tiny sliver of who we are, the tip of an enormous iceberg, most of which lives below the surface (our subconscious). The idea is that we think we're in control - we take credit for our actions and yet it's our conscious mind that is often the last to know what's really going on.  Here's an excerpt.

The first thing we learn from studying our own circuitry is a simple lesson: most of what we do and think and feel is not under our conscious control. The vast jungles of neurons operate their own programs. The conscious you - the "I" that flickers to life when you wake up in the morning is the smallest bit of what's transpiring in your brain. Although we are dependent on the functioning of the brain for our inner lives, it runs its own show. Most of its operations are above the security clearance of the conscious mind. The "I " simply has no right of entry. 

Your consciousness is like a tiny stowaway on a transatlantic steamship, taking credit for the journey without acknowledging the massive engineering underfoot. This book is about that amazing fact: how we know it, what it means, and what it explains about people, markets, secrets, strippers, retirement accounts, criminals, artists, Ulysses, drunkards, stroke victims, gamblers, athletes, blood-hounds, racists, lovers, and every decision you've ever taken to be yours.........As Carl Jung put it, 'In each of us there is another whom we do not know.' As Pink Floyd put it, 'There's someone in my head, but it's not me.'

I'm finding this information to be both disconcerting and comforting. Disconcerting because the control freak in me wants to think that with consciousness of effort, I can reign supreme over all my impulses. Comforting because there is so much I don't understand about how my mind works. Now I'm thinking I just don't need to try to understand it all. Why I feel the way I do about some things is probably going to remain a mystery to me despite all the psychoanalysis I've had.

Case in point.  There is this guy I met on line - Thomas. He and I hit it off, first on IM, and then over the phone. We've never met. He is a PhD candidate in Economics at Northwestern and a recent transplant to Evanston from the Bay area in California. For two weeks, we talked on the phone at bedtime almost every night about everything under the sun - his thesis, economic theory, politics, language etymology, music, family, values, our childhoods, our previous relationships - all of it. I could tell he was really interested in me - we were looking forward to meeting. And then he just disappeared - absolutely no communication and I'm stricken. No response to a few texts and voice mail left yesterday. Friends laugh at me - I never even met him and now I'm feeling bereft - truly it's not much of a loss as losses go. This morning, I questioned my brain, "What's going on with you, brain? Why are you taking this so hard?"  And I knew I would never know the answer - why I find it so hard to take no for an answer, why I pound and pound at closed doors.  I know it has to do with the bottom 9/10's of the iceberg, feelings I can't readily access or understand. So this morning, I decided it was OK not to understand myself - stop chewing the bone looking for an answer.  Told myself, "You are a person who is wired to hold on tight. Don't know why that is, but it is." With that I zoomed the lens out, realized I am a bit of a weirdo to be attached to a man I've never met and then had a good laugh about it.

Challenge today is to think about that as it relates to your own life. There are things you do and experience that feel like someone else is pulling the strings, right?  Thinking if we don't gain a healthy respect for the power of our subconscious, we will always be confused by some of our actions and thoughts. If, on the other hand, we step back from our own portrait, maybe the dots will come together in a more understandable way and give us the perspective we lack when we stand too close to the picture. I, for one, am deeply impressed with my brain and I know my conscious thoughts are not the boss of it much of the time - at best, I can hope to nudge it one way or another.

Peace,
Sarah

Manage Change/Laugh When Your Baby is Dying

Friday and I'm struggling to keep my head in the game, my spirits up and things moving forward. This morning final inspection of the office by the buyers and now a nice couple here looking to buy a couple of the cubicles. They're aeronautical engineers so it's fun overhearing their calculations. There is SOOO much to do for me to be out of here by next week. I get why folks are traumatized by moving. By many standards what I'm going through is simple, unlike, for instance, when my parents were forced to sell the family home in Plymouth, Mass. They'd lived there for 25 years or so and every crevice was was jammed full of precious things. They had a few yard sales but when moving day came and the movers showed up, the place was largely unpacked. They just weren't able to rise to the demands of the occasion. At one point, my father went missing - no one could find him. Mother finally located him curled up like a baby in a corner of a vacant room - like he'd been shell shocked - fetal ball.

There is a lot of change in the air. I'm thinking of many of my friends who are faced with seismic upheavals. One friend who is going through a horrific divorce is struggling to hold onto the things that are precious to him - not lose too much in the settlement. Another friend overextended himself with a property purchase that's become a financial black hole - he's trying to stay afloat. Yet another friend is going through a divorce at the same time demands from work have tripled and his kid is struggling and requires focus. And of course, there is me, going through my own painful downsizing.

In each and every case, the change is a blessing of sorts. It may be forced upon us, sometimes feel like a runaway train, but at the end of the day, if we manage it decently, we will find our lives to be more manageable. It's hard to hold that perspective, though, when you're in the middle of crisis, but truth is that, when the forest burns, it creates a clean slate for good new things to grow. New relationships, new career paths, new simpler lifestyles and more.

Talked with friend Josh this morning - we talked about divesting the accumulation of stuff we've accumulated over the years. Friend Carol refers to it as the carp syndrome - when I met her she lived with her four children and husband in a tiny house which was packed appealingly with antiques and collectibles. Since then she's moved to a house that's more than twice the size and she joked that she would carp her way into filling the new space with even more stuff. Stuff begets stuff it seems. Josh, who is in the middle of Craigs-listing old layers of his life said, "More Stuff, Less Life." Ain't that the truth! He and I are hellbent on being reverse carps, shrinking the bowl, throwing out the fake plants and plastic treasure chests. Good riddance!

I've been a good listener lately, helping friends put their problems into perspective, assuring them it's 100% guaranteed their problems will play out with an acceptable resolutions if they keep their head in the game. I encourage them to identify the worst case scenario and ponder if they they could live with it.  Had a friend who, years ago, lost his high paying executive job and decided to start his own business. It was dicey - not guaranteed to be a success and he was going to have to liquidate most of what he owned to fund the start-up. It could have been paralyzing, but Ed played all the possible outcomes in his head, including the worse one which was losing his house, getting a room at the "Y" and wearing the blue vest at Walmart. Seriously, that was what he figured was the worst case. He asked himself if he could survive that outcome and he decided that, yup, if he had to, he could wear the blue vest and share the bathroom down the hall with homeless people. For him it was empowering, examining the worst case scenario. Some people might think it was an unnecessarily pessimistic mental exercise but for Ed it was what he needed to make the bold move.  He was pretty sure he would make a go of the new business but if he calculated wrong, he knew he'd be OK. And he was more than OK - the new business thrived.

That is what I'm telling my friends these days. Look your worst case scenario square in its face - shed some light on it - talk about it with friends. Laugh about it even. Soon, it will bear little power over you - you won't lay awake paralyzed with fear. Saturday, Josh will come over and we will laugh and laugh about our struggles. Liza will be there and she will, in her Liza way, make us all feel better by spinning horrible, ridiculous scenarios. If one of our friends is faced with ruin, she will assure him that, when he moves into a refrigerator box in Lower Wacker, we will have a housewarming party for him. He'll need things like a portable commode (I actually found one in cleaning my office - think it was a pandemic flu supply for someone stricken with the flu who couldn't make it to the toilet - not sure what I had in mind), hand warmers, a switchblade for defense and more! She will have us in stitches! Liza is all about laughter. When her baby was on his death bed from meningitis (he recovered), she and her mother, who hadn't slept in days and were beyond punchy, made jokes about his condition, cracking each other up with their macabre humor. The staff didn't understand how a mother and grandmother could be laughing at such a terrible time. I do.

Challenge today is being there for friends who are managing difficult change. Difficult changes are everywhere - effects of the bad economy that continue to trickle down into ordinary folks' lives. Lots of people I know have held strong for a time, tightened their belts and hoped for a quicker turnaround that just doesn't seem to be coming fast enough. So, big life adjustments all over the place: children moving back in with parents; folks selling ancestral homes; elder care taken in house; vacations cancelled; entertainment budgets slashed. It's all traumatic - change is never easy. Thinking, though, it's going to be good in the long run to live in a more pared down way.

Peace,
Sarah

Wings of Desire/Don't Dishonor The Day

It's Thursday - at the office - last week before I have to vacate this place and turn it over to the new owners. Feeling both sad and happy about it - sad because it's the end of something, Sarah being a mini mogul - at one point I was Ameritech's 2nd largest agent with fourteen employees cranking out orders for them. Happy because this place has become an albatross and I'm relieved to be rid of it - don't need the space and expense of it.

So, no writing group last night - calendar played a trick on me. We meet the 2nd and 4th Wednesdays of the month and last night was the 1st Wednesday. And grrrrr....AGAIN I missed my eggs! Once a month, I get four dozen eggs from a farmer who drives down from Wisconsin - it's my equivalent of a drug deal - we're instructed to enter a certain alley from the north side and there is a quick transaction. This is about the fourth time when I've failed to show up at the appointed hour and when that happens I forfeit my eggs that I've paid for in advance ($20 for four dozen). What's worse, I have to eat grocery store eggs for the month. Next month I'll have double alarms on my phone so I don't forget.

Just got a call from the Illinois Department of Employment.  They did an audit because a fellow who did contract work for me applied and got unemployment after the contract was over and I no longer needed his help. Now they have decided to recategorize every single payment I made to any contractor as wages. That includes monies paid to the gal I hired to create my website, payments made to a guy who has his own company specializing in databases and spreadsheets - got his name from a bank client of mine who uses his services. Unbelievable!....I'm livid. Many days I absolutely hate the bureaucracy of being a business owner - you just get screwed right and left. No one realizes that it's little companies like mine that are the backbone of this country. Draconian laws and  over-regulation can only have the effect of putting us out of business. I've always been a good Democrat, but this is a classic case of over zealous government.  It's irresponsible! I'm pissed.

These days loving my kids, loving the weather, keeping my head in the game with all the changes in my life. Every day I wake and admonish myself - "don't dishonor this day". And that's a good concept right? Every single day is a gift. I know I'm sounding like a Hallmark card, but think of it. Because our days come predictably, one after the other, it's easy to be jaded and not treat each one as special. If, we live to 80, we will have received 29,200 gifts - an absolute embarrassment of riches. Easy to be unimpressed - we treasure what is rare and hard to procure and if we're healthy our days come with almost boring regularity.

Friend I spoke with Wednesday talked about how rare it is to find love - most of us will only experience it a handful of times in our life. Some of us will never experience it. When it happens, your brain explodes with gladness, flooding your entire body with happiness. And when it happens, you know you just hit the jackpot, got three fruits on the slot machine of life. We treasure falling in love because it is elusive and hard won. But days? It's easy to be complacent about something you get 29,200 of. - easy to say, "Yeah, yeah, just another day - there will be another tomorrow and the day after yet another". But, what if you were an angel with a hankering to come to earth and experience all that humans feel? What if you'd spent an eternity watching people, longing to taste, feel, smell, touch? Then you get your wish - you're given ten days on earth - ten amazing, wonderful days to be an inhabitant on this gorgeous planet. You would be a kid in a candy store - you would rush to the chocolatier to taste ganache - you would lick the foam off a latte, smell the back of a baby's neck, relish the wonderfulness of a whirlpool bath. You would lay in the warmth of the sun, run through the rain, fall in love, cry in a movie. You might even want to experience sadness or pain and inflict violence - at least harsh words to experience power. Mostly you would pack as much "feeling" into those ten days as you could.

There is a movie I love that precipitated that idea (angel longing to be human). It's called Wings of Desire, a 1987 movie directed by Wim Wenders. Here is a description - I encourage you to watch it.

The film is about invisible, immortal angels who populate Berlin and listen to the thoughts of the human inhabitants and comfort those who are in distress. Even though the city is densely populated, many of the people are isolated and estranged from their loved ones. One of the angels (Damiel), played by Bruno Ganz, falls in love with a beautiful, lonely trapeze artist. The angel chooses to become human so that he can experience the human sensory pleasures, ranging from enjoying food to touching a loved one, and so that he can experience human love with the trapeze artist. The film is shot in both a rich, sepia-toned black and white and in later scenes, color, with the former being used to represent the world as experienced by the angels…..When he sheds his immortal existence, Damiel experiences life for the first time: he bleeds, sees colors for the first time, tastes food and drinks coffee. Meanwhile one of the other angels, Cassiel inadvertently taps into the mind of a young man just about to commit suicide by jumping off a building. Cassiel tries to save the young man but is unable to do so, and is left haunted and tormented by the experience. Eventually, Damiel meets the trapeze artist Marion at a bar during a concert and they greet each other with familiarity as if they had long known each other. In the end, Damiel is united with the woman he has desired for so long.

These days=sad still, but so grateful to be here with all of you. I honor each and every day, do my best to give the day its due. Grateful for the gift.

Challenge today is thinking of just that - are you just going through the motions, waking, working, following a routine script, then falling into bed at the end of an unremarkable day?  If so, then I would say, you screwed up because there is no such thing as an unremarkable day.

Peace,
Sarah

Jazz vs. Cabaret/Shiny Stockings

What a gorgeous day in Chicago! Goes with a song I'm working on. "What a day this has been, what a rare mood I'm in. Why it's almost like being in love! There's a smile on my face for the whole human race, why it's almost like being in love!" And no, there's no new love for me, but still I feel like singing that happy upbeat song! Tonight writing group and I'm thinking about prompts. Cleaning, I found some old vinyl records of my parents - mostly folk music. Great song titles that should be fun for writing inspiration:  Tango Till They're Sore, The Piano has Been Drinking, Gin Soaked Boy - you get the idea. Tomorrow if I write OK, I'll share it with you.

And speaking of inspiring, I forgot to tell you that after Petterino's on Monday  I went to my friend Tom Muellner's Pro Jazz Jam Session at a squirrely little restaurant on Irving Park Road - Serbian Village. Rudy, the owner, loves jazz so about a year and a half ago he approached Tom about doing a regular Monday jam session.  I've been attending since the beginning when I was sometimes the only person in the audience. And the restaurant is weird - sometimes they have food, depending on what's going on in the kitchen. No menus but the server will check to see if Rudy has anything grilling and if so, offer you a sausage or two. Music starts at nine but it doesn't heat up until after ten and then goes until about 1AM. Musicians drift in one or two at a time and before long the place is packed. What I like best is hearing the old timers play and watching the dynamic between the old pros and the newbies. I witness something very special that is, I think, sorely lacking these days. What you'll see if you come, is profound respect on the part of the younger musicians for the old jazz veterans. And the old guys are the best - confident, relaxed, they know every song in every key - they've been playing the same tunes all their lives. The youngsters are good too, don't get me wrong - remember it's a pro session so they're working around town.  It's just that mostly they try too hard, they push, they posture. In time, they will be chill like the elders and then it will be their turn to lead by example.

Tommy asked me to sing - I chose a song jazz musicians love, Shiny Stockings.  Learned the song at the request of friend Janet who loves jazz. I'm comfortable with Tommy on keyboard - we've done the song a bunch of times, but he took a break and I was a bit freaked to be singing with a pianist I hadn't worked with.  And let me describe to you what can happen when things go wrong. The difference between singing Cabaret and Jazz is profound. It's the same songs in both genres - the old standards, often referred to as The American Songbook - songs from Cole Porter, Gershwin, Mercer, Arlen, Berlin, etc. Difference is that, when you sing Cabaret style, usually you're just accompanied by a piano and the accompaniment is straightforward and easy to follow (jazz musicians can play some crazy shit under you). What's more, in Cabaret, it's the pianist's job to follow you, the singer. You can pause, speed up, get loud or soft, change tempo, repeat a phrase and even if you haven't practiced with the pianist, they somehow follow along and adjust to what you want. Another big difference is that Cabaret singing is all about the lyrics - telling a story.  You can play fast and loose with the notes and time signatures if changing the phrasing enhances your ability to deliver the lyrics in a believable way - singer in control. BUT, when you sing jazz, you're just another ensemble instrument. If you get lost you're screwed, the musicians behind you are not going to slow or stop for you to get caught up. And unlike Cabaret, jazz is ALL about the tune - lyrics are just a bonus.

Anyway, I sang the song with the stand-in pianist, bass, drums, a couple of saxes, trumpet and a few other instruments. I didn't embarrass myself. Later Tommy told me the pianist was considered a local legend - his name, Larry Novak. I just Googled him and oh, my.

Novak played with and arranged for Peggy Lee and worked extensively with Pearl Bailey; he also worked with singers Mel Tormé, Frank Sinatra, Joe Williams, Sarah Vaughan, and Carmen McRae. Among the instrumentalists he played with are Dizzy Gillespie, Al Hirt, Charlie Shavers, Barney Kessel, Scott LaFaro, Sonny Stitt, Louie Bellson, Terry Gibbs, Buddy DeFranco, Phil Woods, and Scott Hamilton

Here is the link to a 2009 interview with him. I SO did not belong up on that stage with him!

Oh, another thing to report! Yesterday as I left my office, I saw a tall skinny man, standing on the parking strip,  looking into a long box. I thought to myself that it was odd, he was looking for something deep within the box, he was intent. I was so confused - watched him out of the corner of my eye as I got into my car.  Maybe he was deranged, fixated with whatever was in the bottom of the box. Shaking my head, I started to drive away and then had the "duh" moment. I pulled over to the curb, got out and approached him. "Are you watching the Transit of Venus?" I asked him, hoping he would give me a look-see. "I'm trying," he answered and said, "Thank you for not thinking I was out of my mind!" (didn't tell him the thought had crossed my mind).  Turns out his box apparatus wasn't doing the trick - he couldn't view the transit. So we talked for many minutes about the celestial event. I shared what is now extensive knowledge about previous transits from the reading I've been doing. He, in turn, informed me of facts I didn't know. We had a lovely moment together thanks to the Transit - fun to meet new people doing interesting things who are not afraid of appearing silly.

Shay moved in for the summer - he needed a place to stay. I'm elated. He is the best of companions, always at the ready helping me out around the house.  Despite the difference in years, we find each other interesting and good company. He quizzes me on song lyrics and lays, eyes closed, while I sing to him. He even accompanies me to Schaller's and Petterino's. It's a pleasure and a help having him around the house. And for anyone who thinks it's odd, screw 'em - our relationship is absolutely appropriate.  He's like a son.

All for today.  Challenge is a bit of a stretch today. Maybe you could read the interview with Larry Novak and be inspired to accompany me to Serbian Village one of these Monday nights. It will be a highlight of your summer, I promise. And even though it's late on a Monday, I'm sure you can figure out how to make it work - maybe take the next morning off of work.

Peace,
Sarah

The Marilyn Effect/Connect the Dots

I know there are many schools of thought as it pertains to extracting meaning from life events and connecting dots. And many of us believe there is some kind of external scripting to what happens to us - that people come into and out of our lives for a reason - for us to be taught. Soon I'll be doing The Landmark Forum (was going to be in May but I postponed it until after the move of the office). I've heard one of their tenets is that things that happen are random and should not be infused with meaning - there is no one pulling strings - nothing has been preordained. Stuff happens and what we do with it is 100% within our control. That is what I've heard and part of me very much agrees (the part that likes to be in control).

And yet, I'm a person who looks for meaning everywhere: street signs, lyrics in the songs my IPad dishes up when I work out, a rainbow on the lakefront. Today I'm thinking about what I've learned from being with Mike. Thinking especially about last night. Dots are connecting all over the place - my mind whirls.

Last night he and I went to Petterino's to sing - table for two - met him there. It's a lovely venue in which to sing because the room is well appointed, the food great, there are usually 100+ people in the audience, the pianist is fabulous, the emcee hysterical and people actually listen to the singers. Often, performers from the shows performing around town will stop in to sing a tune or two and promote their show. Last night there were five pretty young things from a show that just opened (name is escaping me). So Mike. He came dressed from a meeting - dress shirt, tie, pants that fit just right, polished shoes. "Wow!" I said when I saw him. He looked like a model plucked from a page in Vanity Fair. Suddenly I felt under dressed. People stared. When it was his turn to sing, he made the emcee swoon and she was reduced to girlish giggles in his presence. Comments like, "And what do you do for a living? Oh, you're a chiropractor - you can adjust me any time, giggle, giggle. After he sang, she professed her attraction in front of everyone and then apologized to her husband laughingly (he was in the audience). She went on to say that every woman in the room wanted his number. Funny, right?  Kind of but hmmmm.....  He loved the attention - who wouldn't? Then over the course of the evening, people came to our table and hit on him right in front of me, without even a glance at me, gushing over his song which was good but not gush worthy - they just wanted to be near him.  At one point a man came to our table and without saying anything, handed his business card to Mike.  I guess he figured if he was that good looking and well dressed, he must be gay. Even the pianist who rarely says a word to the singers sat with him at the end of the evening and poured forth advice.

This morning I was out of sorts, not sure why I was so unnerved - we had, after all, committed to being non-exclusive - I had no illusions there would be an "us" in our future. So why so bothered by everyone hitting on my paramour? After I sorted out my uneasy feelings, I told him it was hard being out with him in public, feeling invisible, not having people realize we were more than friends, watching him soak up the female (and male) attention, seeing him survey the landscape of women, knowing he could snap his fingers and have any of them, even the married ones. Told him that if he was going to be out with me, he had to be WITH ME, be proud to be with me, keep his eyes on me, not look over my shoulder. It's just basic dating etiquette to be invested in the person you're with. We discoursed and decided to abort our nascent relationship - I'm relieved.

So where are these alleged dots and what do they connect? As I thought about Mike, Kaveh's cautionary words rang in my ears. Like Mike, I'm a glitterer, sometimes bigger than life. I'm often fueled by adoration - for a time it fills the empty void in me until I need the next fix. Kaveh told me the story of Marilyn Monroe - a therapeutic fork in the road.  Her therapist told her "every woman in the world wants to be you and every man wants to fuck you." What they didn't want was to know her, preferring their own version of Marilyn. He told her she could be "loved" by everyone in the world, or she could be truly loved by just a few, who would embrace her entirely, even the not so pretty parts of her. Marilyn professed to wanting to experience real love, said she was willing to do the work needed to get there. But, when the therapist told her she had to give up her public persona, give up the plastic Marilyn, she couldn't do it - she was hooked on adulation. Kaveh told me this story years ago - he worried that my drive to be uber at everything was a way of putting a glittering shield around myself. Even my parties where I give myself over to the service of my friends for their enjoyment has a suspicious quality to it - a Sarah=Martha Stuart feel to it.

OK, the dots again.  Mike - he is so incredibly handsome, engaging, a great singer, a doctor. People are ga-ga when they meet him - they are struck by his physical beauty. All common sense flies out the window. He could be a Charles Manson or a John Wayne Gacey and still they would fawn. Reminds me of a funny joke my friend Curt told me recently. A man is being interviewed by the admissions person for a senior housing complex where women outnumber men ten to one. When asked where he's from, he tells the woman that he lives in the very same town. "How is that possible?" she asks." I would have seen you." "Well I spent the last 50 years in jail for killing my wife, cutting her up in little pieces and burying her in the back yard."  "So, you're single, then," the woman said. Funny, yes? My point is that we can be fools to be blinded by beauty. None of the people supplicating themselves before Mike last night knew the first thing about him. They lost their manners, were rude to approach my table to make time with the man I was with, they were unattractive in their obsequiousness. Ugly, ugly, ugly.  And Mike...he took it all in as his due, didn't dissaude the attention, didn't try to make me comfortable. He left me with JUST two choices: accept the shabby treatment or say, "No Thanks."

I, of course, said "No Thanks," and today I consider myself lucky to have had the experience of Mike. I'm flattered he found me desirable, am grateful for the fun we had, I'm glad to see first hand the "Marilyn Effect". I'm grateful for the reminder that pretty is as pretty does - it's important to look your best, great to have style and sex appeal but at the end of the day, do you really aspire to have people falling at your feet who don't really want to know you - who just want some glitter to rub off on them?  It's terrific to have had this boot camp dating lesson. Really useful to be reminded not to be over-impressed with looks and to be wary if people are too fixated on mine. I'm grateful to be just pretty enough to be appealing but not so pretty it's a pathology.

Challenge today is thinking about appearance. If you've ever wished to be drop dead gorgeous, that hot guy or gal who, when you walk into a room, turns heads - think about Marilyn and Mike. If you're Mike, you will have a steady stream of women who want to taste you. If you buy into that attention, you'll spend your days, flitting from one to the other, tasting back, a sip here, a nibble there. But none of them will be the real deal because any woman who's looking for the real deal runs for the hills when faced with Adonis Narcissus beauty. It's truly one of those cases of  "be careful for what you wish for."  Maybe hard to feel sorry for Mike and Marilyn - but one can be a victim of their own beauty.

Peace,
Sarah

Transit of Venus/Honey Moon

It's our old friend Monday again, another weekend is history. Hope yours was good - here in Chicago it was glorious - Saturday one of those big sky days with towering fluffy clouds against the bluest of skies. And my voice coach Mark told me it's a special moon because of its ecliptic proximity and the fact that it reflects particles from the fertile equator - it has a honey hue to it. It's also this time of year hives are fullest and are historically harvested to brew mead. Drinking mead during spring weddings led to the term honeymoon. I love that image- new love, full hives, a tipsy bridal party under a large golden colored moon. Who needs anything else?

And I loved an article I read at 3AM as I lay in bed, unable to sleep for some restless reason. A rare astronomical occurrence coming up tomorrow - "the transit of Venus" which won't occur again until 2117 (we'll all be dead). The reason the event is rare is because, normally, when Venus' orbit passes in between the Earth and the sun, it is too low or too high to cross in front of the sun's face from our vantage point. From the time the telescope was invented there have been seven transits (the eighth is tomorrow) - they come in pairs - when there is one there is another just eight years later and then not another for a hundred plus years after that. So the seven have been, 1631/1639, 1761/1769, 1874/1882, and now 2004/2012.  It's the pair of transits that occurred in the 1700's that's the stuff of good history reading.

Enter the well known astronomer, Edmund Halley who is best know for his comet. He realized the value of observing and making measurements of the transit of Venus to crack the then unsolved problem of figuring how large our solar system is. By measuring the transit from various points on Earth, the distance to the Sun could be triangulated, using basic math. Problem was in 1761 Europe was embroiled in the Seven Years War, not to mention that communicating with people in other parts of the world took sending letters on slow boats. Famous explorers like James Cook were dispatched to remote parts of the globe, but an example of the problems they encountered was when the heaviness of the measuring equipment caused it to keep falling through the ice (Siberia). They didn't get the needed measurements in 1761, but eight years later, when the next transit came around, the war was over and communication was better. The measurements were procured and the distance calculated. It was an amazing multi-nation effort - one of the first collaborative scientific undertakings of its kind. I just ordered the book, Transit of Venus by Nick Lomb. If you think I'm a geek to like this kind of thing, don't get me started on the Panama Canal!!!!

Friday was such fun at Schaller's - Judy and Bernie, my accountant and friend Robin and her sweetie, Jon and some of their friends, Mike, Janet and more. We sang out hearts for each other and the regulars - perfect way to end the week. Saturday, Scrabble with James - he beat me for about the first time cuz he's been playing tournament and then Sunday morning happiness and cuddling with Mike. Won't call him Lover #1 anymore -  it objectifies him - he has a name. Such a sweet, talented, generous man. Tonight I'm singing at Petterino's.

I'm aware I've been off my game with this blog - my writing lacks depth and continuity. It's a mirror to where I am at this time - I also lack depth and continuity. Lately it's all about riding the crest of change, trying to stay in the game, taking fun where I find it but being responsible. It's also about recovering from loss, having made up my mind to accept the loss fully. You already knew that I'd have to find my way here. But, I had my magical realism lenses on - clung to the idea there could be a happy ending if my heart was steadfast. Think of me with fists clenched, holding onto something so dear and precious, not allowing myself to let go for fear it would fly away from me. Last week, my fists released their grasp - I pried open the fingers, one at a time and finally opened my hands fully, only to discover I was holding onto air. Now I have to learn to walk without fists clenched at my sides. It's time. I still love the guy - always will, but now, he belongs to my past.

Challenge today is thinking about our place in history, maybe ordering the Transit of Venus book. When I read history I'm struck by how fast our lives are accelerating. Without being nostalgic, I wonder what people would think if they were invited to a peasant wedding where the entertainment was simply toasting the bride and groom with honey mead and dancing under the June moon. I am amazed that less than 300 years ago, scientists struggled to take measurements in yet unchartered Tahiti. I'm worried about the future - is there anything we can do to slow the acceleration?

Peace,
Sarah

Sarah

Well,this is an adventure. Took the day off, home and I'm writing this on my new IPad. Not so easy. Tonight Schaller's, that bar on the south side where I sing. Fun crowd going, good singers. Wasn't going to write today but here goes. What I'm thinking about today is waiting. There are times in our lives where we make a tough uncomfortable choice, one that we know is the right one, but one that also causes pain in the immediate future. So it was with me when I gave up smoking in my 20's. I remember prepping those around me that I would be impossible to live with for at least a week. I knew there would be tremendous discomfort for a time. Even my more recent decision to give up hard liquor wasn't without discomfort...it really tugged at me for a few weeks and I caught myself trying to rationalize myself into a martini. Within a few weeks the desire had dissipated. That's where I'm now, sitting in the cracks of withdrawal, waiting for my positive decision to put down new roots, waiting for new shoots and leaves to sprout. Waiting. And the good thing is that I know it will happen. It always does when you make the right choice and then stay the course. 'Tis only a matter of time. So Sarah = not good company these days. Your challenge is twofold: #1 If you are going to take on a new challenge like quitting smoking, don't be a martyr. Give yourself permission to be a bitch and enlist the compassion of your friends, ask their forgiveness in advance. #2 Forgive me for being dour for the next few days or so. Relinquishing all hope of a future with him is a difficult bitter blow, but necessary to move forward and live again. Peace, Sarah

Rainmakers, Us/Cull the Population

Thursday.  Last night with Catherine and the theater was fun. We had dinner in her neighborhood before the show. I enjoyed the beer banter between her and the knowledgeable waiter. Catherine knows her beer, that's for sure! At one point she aspired to be a brewmaster and have a career in boutique beer. Now it's an avocation and she brews just for herself and friends. I had fun with her, thinking of ideas for new beers and seeing her reaction. Clover beer? "Sure it's been done," she assured. Bacon beer? "Gross," she said looking annoyed. Wild roses? "Sounds yummy, probably been done. Remember people have been brewing beer since humans have been around." And so on...

And speaking of humans being on the planet, the show last night (The History of Everything) was incredible. Ninety minutes of teeming activity, eight actors dressed all in black, milling around a stage with cutouts of the continents laid like area rugs. They started with news of May 30, 2012 and worked backwards, periodically announcing the human population until they got to the big bang, ground zero. I think what struck me most is how geometrically the population is expanding. I know, it's a bit of a "duh". but it bears thinking about the fact that it wasn't so many years ago when humans were half of today's population. Thinking we need a good plague or comet or super volcano eruption or something to cull our numbers. Not extinction and not just our leaders living in a mountain in Colorado, but a serious reduction of bodies - the growth is absolutely unsustainable. I've always joked that if there is a god, he/she has been busy focusing on other solar systems and, when their gaze returns to us, they will say something like, "Holy shit, it's an infestation!"  Then they'll get out the equivalent of those long pump sprays that exterminators use and start fuming us into oblivion. So the play was good, thought provoking, really well done and humbling.

Today it's rainy - blah - a day that's hard to love. And after the heart wrenching events of the past week+, I should be grateful for a respite from emotional ups and down - good to just have a flat line day. And yet, it's days like today I fear the most. I'd almost rather be held up by gunpoint than feel uninspired and gray. Would rather be singing the blues than have the highlight of the day be a choice between wheat or rye toast. And I knew, as I made those final choices, that the empty space that was left would be the hardest thing to cope with, knew it could be a black hole where my emotions go to die.

Challenge for me today is reaching out to people I love, planning some gratifying activities, maybe going to the library and finally getting that library card and bringing home a huge stack of exciting reads. Maybe I will print and memorize 30+ more songs to add to my repertoire. Today, I'll make that call to the Women's Club that I've been meaning to place and finally join and immerse myself in good deeds for others. I'll also get out my calendar and schedule a series of dinner parties on my deck, get my flowers planted, hang art that's coming over from the office, get a manicure to remove the red polish forever, buy a new purse. Anything to escape the black hole of ennui.

The challenge for you is whatever you want to make it today. Let's let the rainy day remind us that we need to be the rainmakers of our own lives. Life is gorgeous, even rainy days - so live!  I will if you will.

Peace,
Sarah

History of Everything/We Are Seething

Thursday, the container holds....diet and exercise but am having an arthritic flare-up in my problematic right knee that I injured once, that has bothered me ever since. It does this complaining thing a few times a year and always takes me by surprise because I have no inkling as to what sets it off. So I limp for a couple of days and then am fine until the next time - weird. And what I've discovered is that, at times like this, when there is a temptation to just put the knee up and take a pass on activity, that's exactly the wrong thing to do. Got on the elliptical this morning even though every step was painful - determined to get my 10,000 steps in despite the infirmity. Lo and behold, halfway through the workout, I was almost pain-free. It's the movement that heals and lubricates.

Tonight eldest daughter, Catherine, and I are going to the theater to see a Belgian troop that's in town for just one week - The History of Everything. It's at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater at Navy Pier. I snatched a pair of tickets when I got the e-mail about it - sounds like just what the doctor ordered -  I'm game for some perspective these days. Here are a few review clips:

"A profound, transcendent work of theater, movement, music and light - a 95 minute piece that gets to the very heart of what it means to be alive" - Chicago Sun-Times

"An entertaining romp that engenders awe at the vastness of the universe and our own insignificance within it." - The Guardian

Giving a lot of thought to what the director had to say about the piece. He talks about how he wanted to tell the story backwards "so that humanity wouldn't seem the purpose of everything that happened before it."  Because it's told backwards, the final scene is the big bang of creation. He toyed with phrases that would capture the human contribution to the history of everything. "And if we fuck up, we weren't that important." True, but he realized it was just too depressing a message to impart. Next he sought inspiration from the Richard Dawkin's book, Unweaving the Rainbow. "We are granted the opportunity to understand why our eyes are open, and why they see what they do, in the short time before they close forever." True again, but still too somber. I'm looking forward to what he finally settled on - what he chose to capture and convey in the piece. In the interview, he assures us the message is neither a dire warning nor depressing. Guessing I'll walk away from tonight with an appreciation for the vastness of the universe, how much of a blip humanity is in that spectrum, and how ludicrous it is to sweat the small stuff or take yourself too seriously. Kaveh is so right when he says, "It's a ride - just put the windows down, breath the fresh air and enjoy the journey."

And speaking of windows - a door may have recently closed but windows are opening. There are three prospective partners who all, coincidentally, live in Evanston which is bizarre and unlikely. Met all three on the dating site and I haven't met any of them yet but the courtship has begun. One is a professor at NU - I know the least about him, another is a PhD candidate in Economics setting up home here, and the third is moving here in a few weeks from Logan Square - he is a writer like me, loves jazz and is also an entrepeneur with a successful business (builds specialty buildings for the federal government). Decided to be friends with all three of them regardless of whether or not there is a romantic match - they are all so interesting and they're in my hood!  This is a much better approach than taking three lovers for the wrong reason. Shaping up to be be a fun summer!

This morning, worked out to Girlyman, one of my favorite musical groups. I don't listen to a lot of current music - an exception for them - they're that good. Amazing lyrics, tunes, harmonies and when you see them live, great humor. One phrase jumped at me this morning - "We are breathing, we are seething. We are hardly underway." Isn't that great? Recently, I had a conversation with a dear friend who has been a source of comfort and inspiration during tough times. But, every now and again, he says the absolutely wrong thing. I remember his words of  "wisdom" when I was discouraged about my singing - so much so that I took all my music books and threw them in the dumpster with slimy garbage heaped on top - vowed I'd never sing again. His "comforting" words were, "I understand your frustration..you might never be a great singer...your voice is thin in spots...I understand why you want to give it up rather than be just an OK singer." That day, his words, anything BUT comforting! If I didn't throw the phone at the wall when the conversation was over, I certainly wanted to. More recently, a few days ago, he commiserated with me again and said something like, "I get why you're filled with angst. You're not getting any younger, you might never find someone to spend the rest of your days with and frankly there aren't that many great eligible guys out there." Arg.....!! Just what I DIDN'T need to hear! He means well.

Because the truth is, I am breathing, I am seething, I am hardly underway. Spent a lifetime making progress, getting smart, learning to be softer, learning to embrace the day. Not that long ago I made the huge list which included "small projects" like losing 200 pounds, getting psychoanalysis, improving my relationships, finding love, learning intimacy, getting divorced, singing again, honing my writing skills, eating clean, making a commitment to exercise. All these goals - well underway. So, be fearful about the future when I've come so far? Worry there won't be more juicy chapters? Nah.

Not so much a challenge today - just a suggestion to give thought about breathing and seething and being a speck in history. It's so easy to get myopic - self important and lose sight of the fact that there has to be a balance between living a worthy and interesting life and understanding one's place in the larger scheme. Humans are unique in that we are given the opportunity to "understand why our eyes are open". But it's also painful, trying to make sense of it all, questioning whether our lives really matter, knowing we're just droplets in a stream that rushes us along whether we like it or not.

Peace,
Sarah

Savasana/Freedom

Tuesday after a long weekend - a lot to report and talk about. First thing is that Elizabeth's friend's mother passed away as expected. Got a sobbing call from Elizabeth on Saturday morning - tried to reach deep to find believable words of comfort. All the platitudes (she had a great life; she didn't linger and suffer much; everyone got to say good-bye) sounded too false, so I simply said, "There is nothing good about this - it just sucks.And it's going to be rough for a very long time. Everyone will rally at the onset, they'll rise to the occasion for the funeral, neighbors will bring covered dishes, there will be eulogies that bring a measure of peace, but when all the ceremony is over and the people have gone home, that family will be a mess for a very long time. She left too soon." I found myself crying too, especially when Elizabeth described the youngest child - a teenage boy, whose normal mode was too cool for school. When his mother took her last breath, he sobbingly yelled, "Mommy!"

Her death really hit home - she was a year younger than me. In so many ways, I've checked out this past year, surrendered to grief, hated so many days, even slept away a good many of them in an effort to make time pass - waiting for my heart to heal. I've wished away days. In contrast, here was a woman who, by Elizabeth's description, was a ball of fire - a life force cramming so much living into each and every day she made peoples' heads spin. What she would have given to have another year on this beautiful planet with her amazing family. She was very wealthy - no expense was spared searching the world for a cure - yet, at the end, her family millions couldn't buy her more time. It is certainly a cautionary tale - one that I took to heart on Saturday - time to kick start my heart and live more fully. I dishonor my life by drifting in sorrow, tethered to the past.

Sunday night....I planned to do the cord cutting ceremony I described in my last post, but I just couldn't. Everything was laid out for it, had carved out the time, house to myself, but when it was time, I broke down in tears - too final and I couldn't do final. Liza and James assured me readiness would come in time. Then yesterday I reached out to him, told him what I had planned. I needed to know this is what he wants and needs too - finality. I sang to him - "I Thought About You", a song that has haunted me for months now - think it made him teary. And then final good-byes, this time, the real deal. And oh my, I have loved that man so - every single thing about him, even his faults. I wish he had been bolder, had more imagination and could have figured out how we could have had a future together that might not have looked anything like the dream he's carried around, but that would have been wonderful nevertheless. If it was kids he wanted in his life, there were ways to make that happen - our life could have spilled over with children, dogs, cats, grandchildren, friends. Could have been amazing and energetic and rewarding. He and I are both high octane people - we make things happen, we "take" hills - we succeed.  But apparently 'twas not meant to be which can only mean that there is something else that is meant to be - for both of us.

The ceremony. I mixed three types of bath salts: Inspiration, Heartsong, and Purify in a warm bath, lights off - just a candle on the edge of the tub to see by. I poured the water over myself and audibly asked for help.  "Purify my intentions. Heal and free my heart. Give me inspiration to move forward with hope and optimism.   These are the things I ask for." Then I sat cross-legged on my bed with a special scented bee's wax candle before me - the only light. I dressed carefully - naked but for an open kimono. Music by Wah - Savasana, given to me by Martin. The description: "This collection of chants is designed for deep relaxation. In yoga class, the posture for deep relaxation is 'savasana' - the practice consists of dissolving the body and mind into a space of deep spiritual peace, featuring sharmonium, tamboura, violin, flute, bass, and free-flowing vocals."

At first, I sat there feeling foolish, wondering how it would work, sitting quietly for about ten minutes just staring through the dark at the candle, the only light in the room. Then I asked to see the cords and I filled my head with creative images of what I imagined they looked like: a pink gold cord from my heart to his - pink because my love for him was, in so many ways, girlish and innocent - gold because his love made me  shimmer. The cord attaching our navels, I imagined to be thick as a wrist, deep blackish red - where the dark and insecure feelings were exchanged - the suspicions, anger and frustration, the clutching, the loss.  When we broke up, Patrick said he threw up for days.Most recently when he told me he had found someone special, I felt punched in the stomach. It made sense for the cord connecting our bellies to be the hardest to unhook, the one that would cause the most pain. I also pictured a tangled web of cords connecting our brains, our eyes, our lips - like pulsing traffic lanes of energetic activity. Even our noses connected - they were once joined when we kissed, adjusting to make room for our lips. And I cried when I thought of his hands and how he always had to be within touching distance, whether it was reaching for me across a dinner table, watching a show with his arm around me, holding me from the back while I cooked for him, even holding me down with one hand when we made love. I pictured green cords connecting each of our fingertips.

All this imagining took a while - every part of our bodies, even our feet that were once entwined as we slept - all corded. Still I wasn't convinced this was a worthwhile exercise - it felt silly, contrived and pointless.  BUT, then, when I closed my eyes - it happened - I saw a single cord that was not as I imagined. It wasn't lush and umbilical like the picture in my head. Instead it was an absolutely straight, incredibly bright, pencil thin light that showed itself to me. I think I gasped - this was not my mental creation. In my imagination, cords were spongy, lumpy, curly - they meandered between us, not taking the shortest path. The cord I saw was the opposite - unremarkable in its simplicity, nothing an artist would draw. It showed itself and then it was gone - very strange. I wonder, if I was better at this airy fairy stuff, if I would have seen more. Inspired, I then went about the business of unhooking each of the cords I had conjured. I talked to him, "Patrick please take this, this one too." I handed him the cords, then put my hand up like I was stopping traffic and pushed the air to emphasize that the cords had to leave my sphere - they were his to reclaim. One by one, cords that connected my brain to his, our eyes, our lips, our hearts of course, our navels (there was pain), our genitals, our legs and finally our hands - I unhooked them all and sent the cords back to him with clear intent. Despite the pain I already felt stronger so I made my arms in the shape of a circle, like I was holding a large ball, and in a ballet-like motion created a protective circle of care around myself, asking that the cords not be allowed to re-penetrate the sacred space I defined.

Finally I gave thanks to the gods for bringing him to me when I needed him so much. I visualized my wounds healing instantly, cauterized with light. Then, just as the music ended,  I blew out the candle - eerie that I was completely done at the exact instant the Savasana was over. "Wow," I said.  I feel different - felt peace for the first time in a very long time. The ceremony had taken about an hour - it was a bit before 1AM when it completed. Sent Patrick a text telling him it was done and thanked him for the amazing gift of his love.

Today, I'm good. Writing this was a bit hard - I was thinking not to share it a) because it's in my past now and b) because it's so hippy dippy.  But I'm also mindful that there are a lot of us walking around in pain, with unfinished business. Spiritually, I'm about as conservative as you can get, and maybe this was all Hocus Pocus after all. But maybe it wasn't. I absolutely saw the simple cord that was not at all as I had envisioned it to be. And, after the ceremony, I felt free and clear and at peace, finally. It holds - today I feel like a new chapter has begun - good. Challenge today is thinking about doing your own ceremony if you, too, have a need to free your heart, have unfinished business of your own. Martin instructs me that one can ask for freedom from anything that binds and ties you down.

Peace,
Sarah

Picture is of Patrick and me in December - I look serene but I was anything but. I had hit bottom and he literally rescued me that day. I will always be grateful to him for that.

Unhook Your Astral Cords/Death Watch

Friday. Week's just about behind us. I have good plans and I hope you do too. One very sad thing...my middle daughter Elizabeth is on a death watch. Her best friend's mother who is younger than me is in the final days of her life, battling cancer. Elizabeth was headed out of town but turned around when she got word that one of the woman's major organs just failed. I'm proud of Elizabeth - she is holding it together. This woman is like a 2nd mother to her - she has been an adjunct part of their family for years. Elizabeth knows her role at this time is to be a solid friend, useful in any way she can be, keep her own grief secondary. My daughter is an emotional person but, like cream, she rises to occasions and always does the right thing. Too much death in her life lately. Just a few months ago, a very close friend killed himself. This comes on the heels of another friend and coworker jumping from a balcony a few years ago. Most recently her friend took his own life after barely escaping with his life - a slip and fall accident as he walked alongside a creek on a wintry day. He lay unconscious, waist deep in water/ice for the better part of a day. When found, he had to be cut from the ice that had developed around him. Somehow he survived with what was thought to be minimum damage - turns out there was brain damage that either directly led to suicidal thoughts or maybe it was a side effect of the medications he was given. Anyway, like I said, too much tragedy these days in Elizabeth's life. She walks on eggshells, worrying about the people who are left whom she loves.

Tonight I will sing at Maggiano's piano bar in the city with friend Pam who is just back from a long vacation in Florida. She and I always have so much fun largely because she is a person who fully inhabits the moment. Tonight she is sure to hush me if I'm not focusing on one of the singers, no matter how bad. She gives everything and everyone their due and always finds something insightful and positive to say about every effort. Her life is tough but you'd never know it from her sunny personality. Tonight I'll sing a new song, Smile. Gonna stop singing sad songs for a while.

Tomorrow, my accountant Robin's son's post wedding party, then free tickets to The Mayne Stage, going with Liza and James. Sunday, traditional to plant with the threat of frost past and Monday I'll open my home to whoever wants to come for home cooking. Somewhere in there, probably Sunday evening, there is something private and special I have planned - something important - a ceremony. First heard of this ceremony from friend Terry. Since then I've researched it more and while it may seem mystical and far fetched, I'm going to suspend belief and surrender to the ritual - Astral Cord Removal. Here are a few snippets describing it:

Astral Cord connections occur anytime two people, whether consciously or unconsciously, give permission to one another to energetically connect. Sometimes the connections are strong and remain in place for years, forming a bond much like a giant, deep tree root connecting into the ground. Other times, the connection happens lightly, in passing and easily disconnects like a thread flying loose. Other times the cord and connection develops strongly and then wanes, following the pattern of the relationship. Though the relationship may be over, the cord might remain connected, but listless and lifeless, like a dead grass frond in winter. Astral Cords most definitely form within intimate relationships. 

 If you want to “un-cord,” here are some simple steps to follow (with highest intent):

1. Create a meditative, calm state and call on your Highest Level Spirit Guides, Angels, and/or Entities for help. 
2. Once you’ve created your space, ask to see your Astral Cords, or more specifically, ask to see the Astral Cords connected to you in relation to a specific person. Wait and watch for those cords to light up for you. You’ll either physically see them, you’ll see them as an impression of clairvoyance in your third eye, you’ll feel them, or you’ll experience them as a combination of these. Don’t be surprised if other guidance systems come in to help you out that are not mentioned here. (The more you practice this, the more adept you will become in seeing and/or feeling Astral Cords.)
3. If you want to remove a cord, with conscious intent, firmly unhook the cord with your right hand (releasing hand) and send the cord out of your energy field (I like to use a throwing motion). As you do this, ask your Highest Level Beings to help you remove the cord and send it and hook it back to the person it belongs too. You do not want to cause energy bleeding in the other person from an unhooked cord. Tell the beings helping you that you do not want the connection to return. Also, create an energy shield from further connections.
4. DO NOT rip, cut or tear out Astral Cords. This creates holes in your energy field, causing energy leaks. It also causes energy leaks in the cords still connected to the other individual.
5. Lastly, ask the Highest Level Beings helping you to fill any and all energy holes with liquid light gold to seal and heal your energy.
6. Give thanks.

This is obviously about Patrick. I need to romantically be free and clear of him. He needs it as much as I do - for him, I am unfinished business as well. And it's not that we have to walk away completely - I still envision/hope for us to be useful friends to each other, linked in a healthy way for the rest of our lives if it's possible. It's the yearning, longing, creaturely needs that have to be terminated - the cleaving I described before, the complete separation of our two hearts that once beat as one - that's what has to be completed. OK, truth is, I'm a skeptic when it comes to stuff I can't see. It's intriguing to visualize golden cords of light hooking Patrick's and my chakras to each other, but truth be told I'm not even sure I believe in chakras.  And yet, bad ideas don't pass the test of time, and the concept of chakras has been around for thousands of years, traditions in Hinduism and Buddhism - so maybe there is something worth exploring, being open minded about. Worse case, it's a useless ritual without scientific basis and nothing much comes from it - my mind is not freed. I'm thinking though that, regardless of the efficacy, regardless of the fact or lack of hard science, even if there is just a placebo effect, it will still be useful to me to finally kiss him to the wind as I've needed to do for a long time now. There is someone else now that puts a song in his heart and a spring in his step - someone else who he thinks about first thing upon rising and last thing before he beds down for the night - someone else who makes him happy. My presence is that of a ghost, hovering and fretting, wishing I were flesh and blood in his arms. 'Twill not do. I need to inhabit my own flesh and blood life. No more ghostly astral cords between us.

The challenge today is thinking about this concept. What if there is something to it - that you've got dangling cords hanging all over you that are sapping your life force? One site equates us to energetic porcupines -"astral cords protruding from us through a lifetime of un-cleared connections." Each of those cords has to be unhooked and the wound sealed for us to move forward in health. Energetic healing.  Remember, don't be cocky - what you know and believe is not gospel - it's simply the product of what you've learned. Maybe your knowledge base is still nascent or incomplete - we once thought the Earth was the center of the universe. If you lived then, you would be certain of that truth and scoff at any theory to the contrary. Food for thought, yes?

Peace,
Sarah

Fall Forward/Skinned Knees

Thursday, at the office hoping to get a lot done today. There's a lot to get moved out of here - moving date is shaping up to be 6/14. Yesterday, I DID take that walk but sans Joey because Elizabeth fetched him early. And it was hard to be too sad or hard on myself when the day was so beautiful. The lake sparkled, the new crop of babies were on display, the smell of wild roses everywhere I went. And as I entered Northwestern property, there was an unusual sentinel who accosted me when I dared to meet his eye. He was a formidable black male, dressed all in black with red sleeves, flashy red sleeves. I think he was protecting something I wasn't supposed to go near or even express any curiosity about. Everyone else seemed to get it and they walked by him, head down, ignoring him, rushing past, averting the danger he promised if they breached the invisible boundary. And maybe because I was so raw and walked slowly, taking everything in, trying to make sense of everything, looking for stuff to care about, that I hit his radar as being a person of interest, a potential threat. Not sure, I certainly did nothing aggressive, nothing that warranted the attack. When he dove at me, shrieking, flapping his red sleeves, I put my hands over my face for protection. Good that I was wearing a straw hat or he might have drilled my head with his sharp beak.  Guessing there was mama close by.

Last night, the writing group. I wrote badly. Everyone else wrote great. Happens sometimes. And you'd think I'd have written well given that I led the prompts, had crafted ideas earlier in the day. I tend to hate my own prompts. Below is what I created from a "first line" prompt. The first line given was, "The young man who came to see me a few months ago didn't knock but stood at the doorway to my office."  It's an actual first line from an article in the NYT, called First Love, Once Removed.

The young man who came to see me a few months ago didn't knock but stood at the doorway to my office.  He glared at me.  His name was Bill and when I say he came to see me, perhaps I should be more explcit, an explanation may be in order.  I didn't mean any harm.  It was a whim when I decided the best way to get over John was taking three lovers. 

"Why three?" John had asked when I explained, over dinner, my plan for getting over him. He had long ago gotten over me even though he couldn't quite let go. 

"I'm a numbers person - you know that," I reminded him. "Every day I walk 10,000 steps, eat 31 Weight Watcher points. I even count the days since we broke up - 343 by the way," I said challenging him to remember all my quirks. It bothered me that his memory of the minutiae of our time together was fading. 

"Do you have these lovers picked out?" he asked curiously as he devoured the Chilean sea bass before him. 

"No, I just decided yesterday - thinking I'll make it an age thing - someone my own age, someone your age, and maybe one of those horny 20 year olds who keep hitting me up on OK Cupid." 

That's how it started - a silly ill-conceived idea - a bravado way to show I could snap my fingers and prospective lovers would line up, eager to be considered. A prudent person would have left it at that but I've never been accused of being prudent. Next morning found me announcing my intentions to the world at large. "Mary Rose has decided to take three lovers and is accepting applications." I was having fun, being silly of course, only kidding around - or was I? 

That night, Bill - jazz club - a genius boy, virtuoso bass player, unwitting candidate. I came. I saw. I conquered him. It was easy. I was beautiful and smart and he a duckling - a 21 year old duckling. Not ugly per se, but formative, easy to overlook. 

"He's fallen in love with me," I told John over dinner again. We still hadn't figured out how to say good-bye. "He came to my office today - upset everyone." 

"You deserve whatever you get," John said, his mouth full of grouper. The man loved his fish! 

"I know. It was a really bad idea, the whole three lovers thing," I mumbled, picking at my own dinner, having lost my appetite. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone." 

"It's you, I worry about," he said tenderly.  

And that's that for today. If I have any thoughts worth sharing they're probably not worth much, but here goes. Struggling to be brave, stay in the game of life, not take cheap shortcuts, not shortchange myself even though I'm absolutely terrified. When I said I wasn't brave enough to love again I cut myself short shrift. I AM brave enough and strong enough to be hurt again. It's just that.....would you choose it for yourself? But what is the alternative? Nick says this is an important choice - that I risk becoming a rhinoceros with thick skin if I flee from love. Feeling like that point in childbirth where you want to turn back, demand that it all stop "I don't want to have this baby after all...I changed my mind." Your husband and the doctors try not to laugh as you lay there spread eagle ready to split open and spit out a slimy carbon copy of yourself. They know there's no turning back. The journey must be taken.

And if there is a universal truth here that you can latch onto, maybe it's that you have to go THROUGH it, not over or around or under whatever obstacle you face.  Mario, my young tenant, told me, "If you're going to fall, fall forward." Wasn't sure what that meant - thought about it a lot yesterday as I sat on the painted rocks on the Northwestern campus, looking out to Lake Michigan. I decided it meant life is a continuous series of falls and flops, stumbles and crash landings. It's a weird way to get from point A to Z, lurching, falling, skinned knees, but if we keep getting up each time and find ourselves even one step closer to our heart's desires -  that is falling forward.

Peace,
Sarah

Put Yourself in a Time Out/Take Prisoners!

Wednesday, writing group tonight and time to put together weekend plans - learned my lesson too many times that if you don't want to find yourself alone on the weekend, you've got to manage your calendar.

You probably figured that I'm off balance these days, not doing a good job handling my emotions. Think I need to recite my mission statement over and over again, especially the part that reads, "accepting sadness and loss". Reader yesterday added a critical comment that I removed. Pissed, I lashed back and then removed my response as well. Gist was I'm revealing too much. And he/she is right - I'm off balance and when I get this way, I seek attention, act out, am outrageous to distract from the real issues. It's the opposite of grace where you just dig down, find inner strength, sit quietly with your feelings and don't act out. That saying, "Don't just do something, sit there!" is something I need to remember at times like this.

Cuz, when the going gets dicey, I make plans, take action, even if the action is destructive or ill advised - anything to assuage the pain. I'd be a dangerous military leader because, rather than study the enemies plans and rub my chin as I looked at the battle maps from every which angle, I'd be the squadron leader that jumps into action and races my men to the top of a dangerous hill with snipers firing on us, thinking we could dodge all the bullets, propelled by the need to act - anything but acquiescence. So it was when faced with seeing P. for the first time since December. Didn't want to be pathetic, didn't want him to see me stuck in love with him, so I decided to take the hill, to prove to him and myself that I still "have it." I'd show him I was moving on in the most dramatic way I could - eschewing love, acting like a man, taking lovers, being carefree and callous. Being in charge. Regaining control. Sarah=bold once more.

This blog is a perfect place to act out. I will distract you with outrageousness. Won't bore you with, "sit with the pain" bullshit. I will entertain you - "What will Sarah do and write about next!?" At those times, fuck Living Well, let's just live large, fun, in the spotlight. I'll sing louder, dance faster for your pleasure. Those of you who know me and care about me are, of course, concerned.

Need to rewind to the morning after dinner with Patrick. My plan for that day was to take quiet time on the beach. Instead I went into action and made a fool of myself. I decided to glitter, show off, be Carmen, be impervious. Seemed like a good plan. 'Twas not a good plan. After I write this, Joey and I will take that needed walk along the lakefront. We'll end up at the dog beach. I'll watch him get his physical needs met, romping in the surf with other dogs as I sit and quietly seek strength. Then we will walk more. I will walk until I find a measure of peace. I will walk to quiet my mind and still the tears and to regain my equilibrium. Need to put myself in a time out.

The takeaway for today could be thinking about the call to action when feelings assault you. If you're like me at all, that whole fight/flight thing kicks in when emotions surge.And if you're at all like me, your response may not be your finest hour. We try to protect ourselves from pain and then end up shooting ourselves in the foot, disappointing people, acting in unseemly ways, exacerbating the original wounds. It's so difficult to do nothing when your brain is on fire, harder still when your heart is under siege. Run! Run! Run! Take prisoners! Hurt someone back! Take the hill!  Makes you feel like you're doing something positive - moving forward, taking action in a positive way.  I'm thinking now that some things are simply to be endured without action, without fireworks. There are crosses we must bear with grace and equanimity.

Peace (truly),
Sarah

Vivian/Tom

Monday evening found me, as usual, singing at Petterino's. Because of NATO, it was poorly attended so Denise cut the show short. Sitting next to me was a lovely young woman ('30's). She struggled with menu selection so I offered welcome advice. We talked, and when the show ended and I mentioned I was going to go to Serbian Village to Tommy Muellner's Pro Jazz Jam Session, she invited herself along. I absolutely adore meeting new people, especially when it's so unexpected - strangers who make a connection like we did. Her name is Vivian, she's in from L.A. visiting family, loves to hear the old standards sung. She's a physician just finishing her residency - internal medicine. And so lovely with a hint of a foreign accent - something about her "g"s - she looks like a French chanteuse. Vivian is a woman after my own heart - bold, friendly, up for an adventure. She had never been to a jazz jam session before - a first for her. So much fun to see her totally immersed in it. And yay that the wonderful Chicago treasure Frieda Lee, sang the first set. She may be in her '70's but that gal can put a song over!

The evening unfolded exactly as I told Vivian it would - sparsely attended at 9PM because the musicians were probably just getting out of bed, having "breakfast" before coming out to play. It wasn't until about 10 that things started to hop - by then the place was at capacity with musicians and their cases drifting in and taking up residency on the periphery of the room. I told Vivian the evening would build in intensity - that at about 11 there would be at least a dozen musicians jamming together on the stage. Sure enough, she experienced the thrill of seeing them improvise individually and then all come together in the final chorus, playing in unison, practically ripping the roof off the place. When it's tight, it send shivers.

So there was this guy sitting across from me - not sure why he plopped himself down at our table. I barely paid him any notice for the first hours. Then I noticed what he was doing. He had brought along a large book of staff paper and was totally immersed in writing music - right in the middle of all the ruckus! How could he hear the tunes in his head with his ears full of the jam session? I was amazed and watched him for a long time, noticing how precise he was. Finally I asked him about the composition he was creating and he gave me chopped, terse answers, as if it caused him discomfort to speak. And each time I thought the thread of conversation was over, he would continue it, having taken an inordinate amount of time to formulate his next thought. To me it seemed that every word from his mouth was as carefully chosen and crafted as the quarter and eighth notes on the page before him.  

But talk we did - we found a rhythm. I was floored by the things he said about music and composition - his opinions were rich and mature. Like water, the conversation flowed and found interesting nooks and crannies to inhabit. We talked about artificial intelligence and cyborgs, humanity, and so much more. On an inspiration I asked him if he liked the opera. He looked at me, almost shocked, and threw his head back and laughed as if to say, "Why have I never met a girl who asked me this question before?"  His response, "I adore the opera." I asked him if he had favorites. He thought about the question for what seemed like a long time and, at the very same moment he formulated his response, I volunteered that my favorite is Wagner's Tristan and Isolde. As I said the word "Tristan", he said the word "Tristan". We looked at each other amazed - we loved the exact same esoteric opera. It then got crazy because he started talking about the overture and I referenced the scene where the lovers are waiting for the soldiers and he said, "yes, yes, that scene is the culmination - everything builds musically to it - for hours like......."an orgasm" I volunteered. "Exactly," he said.  And Wagner does that. He creates an itch and strings it along for hours until you think you can't take any more and then, only then, does the music resolve in the most sublime way that makes the hours of anticipation and discomfort worth every moment. 

Vivian watched all of this - could tell something special was happening - felt the inspiration and chemistry. It was fun to talk with her about it later when I dropped her at her brother's house. She had such a great time, met tons of new people, all who were enchanted with her. She is determined to get out more and meet people in her own home town - wants marriage and children if they're in her stars and knows she has to make space for that. When I got home, I sent a message to Tom, telling him how much I enjoyed our time together and confessing my attraction. Thinking he might (with his consent, of course) be Lover#2. We'll see.

Kaveh this morning. Haven't spoken with him in three weeks - so much to report. I was afraid he would think the whole three lovers thing ill advised, but he liked it - said as long as I'm doing it to have fun and new experiences, it's good. He was sad for me about Patrick but is so impressed that there is still love and affection between us despite the heaviness of the past year - he thinks it's amazing and rare and a testament to P.'s and my character. When I finished regaling him with all the things that have happened since last we talked, and I finished by saying how sad I am, he said something wonderful. "Sarah, you are living a happy life.You can be sad and still be living a happy life. You are actually one of the happiest people I know, living your life fully and curiously with an open heart, embracing new experiences, being creative, allowing yourself to fully inhabit the ups and downs. That, Sarah, is the definition of a happy, worthy life. Yours is a life to be envied."  So, wow, he's right. I AM happy in a sometimes sad way.

The challenge today is thinking about that as it pertains to your own life.  If happiness is defined as living bravely, curiously, generously, lovingly, creatively, not running from the peaks and valleys, then the opposite must be living a small life with dull routines, not seeking new experiences or acquaintances, not making connections with people because it feels like a boundary breach, guarding and hording your resources, anesthetizing the downs with substances (and that includes TV and computer!) and not nurturing your need for creativity.  I'm not saying my way or the highway - for each of us the special sauce comes in different flavors, but I think there are some universal needs listed here that you should quiz yourself about. Do you feel like your life is expanding or contracting? Are your chosen activities enervating or inspiring you? Do your routines dull your enthusiasm and flat line your emotions or are they healthy underpinnings? Are you passionate about something and actively nurturing that passion or have you misplaced your enthusiasm for life?  If your answers to these questions were unsatisfactory, what can you do to make changes? Make a list and then take a first step.

Peace,

Sarah

Picture is a David Hockney print of Tristan and Isolde