Caryn

Los Angeles, California

My cousin, Caryn, will miss my birthday this year. After over three years fighting a glioblastoma brain tumor, she passed away earlier this month.

Caryn was my little cousin. Her sister, Lauren, was two years older than me; Caryn was six-months younger. While we hadn't seen each other much over the last decades, she and Lauren, and their parents, were a very important part of my growing up. I have so very many memories of Caryn, especially during our teenaged years. We spent seven weeks together in an apartment in Waikiki while our moms were attending summer session at the University of Hawaii. She was my first roommate, after we moved into an apartment together when we were eighteen. Before that, we spent time in Santa Cruz together, then drove with a few of my friends (one had been a roommate, also in Waikiki, for most of the summer after I graduated from high school) back to Reno, where my cousin was in her last semester of high school. Several months later, two of my friends/Waikiki roommates were killed in a car accident when their VW bug went off the road during high winds in Pacheco Pass, including Larry, who was our driver from Santa Cruz to Reno. Caryn came down to LA for the funerals. Larry's funeral was on Monday. Ray's was on Tuesday. Wednesday was my 18th birthday.

Our life as 18-year old roommates didn't pan out as planned. Caryn eventually returned to Reno, and I eventually returned to college. But, while we only saw each other occasionally (at her sister, Lauren's, memorial service just months before my dad passed away suddenly. And why do these things always have to come in clumps?), we were always in contact with long phone conversations over the decades. After her diagnosis and surgery, we began to talk a lot more. This had become difficult for Caryn over this past year, as she struggled with word retrieval. And, I know that we hear this all the time, but she really did fight a valient battle against the disease. Her strength was exemplary: Never complaining; never dwelling on it, and even addressing it with dark humor, which I appreciated.

At the Sukkot celebration that I wrote about in the post Ten Days That Didn't Shake the World, someone at the table said: No one gets out of here alive. I always think that this is attributable to Jim Morrison, but, frankly, I'm not doing any origin research on this. In response to that comment, Steven, who is my friend Lisa's husband, replied that it was true. Something is going to get us.

Just a month before Sandra was diagnosed with lung cancer, we were sitting (as we often did) at the Bora Bora Bar at the Kona Village Resort. We had met there. Not just at the Kona Village, but actually at the Bora Bora Bar. That was about ten or twelve years earlier. This time, in 2010, Sandra remarked that at her age she was starting to wonder what was going to get her. She was telling me that they had been attending a lot of funerals. They were in their 70s, and, that happens. Sandra was joking about wondering what was going to take her out, but, I know that she was also serious. She had a wicked sense of humor and could often be darkly funny. But, I understand that you do start to think about your own demise as you see mortality closing in around you. I've had a lot of death in my life over the past few years. And now I have friends struggling with serious illnesses. I'm pretty healthy, unless you consider my recurring, situational anxiety and depression. My mom, who lived to the age of 94, once remarked that we were healthy as horses. We're just nuts! She also had fought anxiety and depression throughout her life, and my dad had experienced anxiety as well, while in the service during World War II (I was genetically doomed). I also have a sibling who caught the brass ring in the nuts department: OCD; hypochondriasis, in addition to being a certifiable control freak. But enough about family...

...Except for Caryn. She had a distinctive voice, which I can still hear, as did Sandra. It's interesting that we hear their voices so clearly in our heads after they are gone. I still hear my mom and my dad. I hear Tom and Sandra. And I hear Doug.

I recently acquired the BlueRay disc of one of my favorite films: Truly, Madly, Deeply. In it, the main character, who is a translator, hears her late lover's voice speaking to her in Spanish. But he didn't speak Spanish, until... In TMD, there is an afterlife where you can take language courses. Or, you can choose to come back to your lover's apartment, bring some friends with you, and watch some classic videos. It's a funny, touching, and heartfelt expression of what we are capable of when our pain, or our other's pain, becomes unbearable. And pain of loss often feels that way. I do fear that the more loss you experience, the more you become used to it. And that's not good.

Joel came over last night, and we listened to music that I had enjoyed with my cousin. It was a rock and roll extravaganza of Spirit, and Quicksilver Messenger Service with a lot of Buffalo Springfield and Jefferson Airplane. Through the music, and with Joel, I allowed myself to feel the pain and the loss of Caryn, while celebrating what we had shared in our lives. She was a unique and independent woman. She was my closest family. She was another woman in my life who I felt unconditionally loved the people in her life, including me. Which is is a skill. A talent. And a God-given gift.

I will miss her, too, forever.

Grateful

Sacramento, California

Billy and I are flying back from Sacramento this evening. Yesterday was my birthday, and I wanted to spend it with Sandra. Memories of my birthdays have been flooding over me. Until last year I spent over a decade of birthdays with Sandra and John, first at the Kona Village Resort, then two years ago, after the resort had been decimated by the tsunami following the earthquake in Japan, at their home at Glenbrook on Lake Tahoe.

We hadn't seen them since late July at Glenbrook, and I couldn't think of anything I wanted to do for my birthday, except spend it with Sandra. We spent two consecutive days visiting with them at their home. Sandra is no longer leaving home except for medical appointments. She is painfully thin. But she is so still Sandra in every other way. We spent my birthday looking at photo albums, eating green burritos from Del Taco, and then cupcakes.

When I would wake up on my birthday at the Kona Village the first thing I would receive was a birthday greeting email from Max. He lives on the east coast six hours ahead of Kona time, so getting the first birthday greeting in was not a huge feat. Still it meant a great deal to me. When we would leave our hale, Lava Samoan 8, to walk down to Hale Moana for breakfast, we would often find a birthday balloon tied to the railing of our hale. This, compliments of the thoughtful and very fun Director of Rooms, Cindy. When Sandra and John arrived at breakfast I would put on my birthday tiara, which I wore most of the day. In the evening I would change to my birthday queen crown. Often strangers would say Happy Birthday as they passed me on the path, or when they saw me at lunch. It would take me a moment to remember: Ah yes, the tiara. Once after I changed into the crown, before we met John & Sandra at the Bora Bora Bar where we had originally been introduced to them, a guest commented to me: You've changed your tiara. Yes, this was the evening one. It was all so silly and delightful.

I don't think that I will have birthdays like that again. And, like all special memories, I'm not sure I appreciated just how good it was at the time. And now, seeing Sandra struggling, but with the same spirit that has always been Sandra, I miss those times more than is imaginable. Sacramento is not Kona. But Sandra is still Sandra, and thankfully is still with us.

It wasn't an easy trip. But it wasn't about my birthday, really. It was about visiting a friend, a sister, a frister. My frister extraodinaire. And appreciating all of the good times that we have shared. It's like she said to me, you know we have to be really grateful that we had all those times there. And I am. And I am beyond thankful that one evening, our bartender Carole, introduced us to each other. From there we became friends who traveled together around California and Nevada, and to Tahiti and Panama. We had good times, and made the best memories.  Spending birthdays with her has been the best gift I could receive. And for all of the other times, and for the pure joy of knowing her, I am and will always be eternally grateful.

Thank you for reading my blog.

There Are None So Blind...

Los Angeles, California

My mom's retina continued to fray after the surgery. There had simply been too much damage done by the shingles virus which had run rampant in her eye for six weeks before she started treatment for it. The rehab facility had never diagnosed it. They were too busy bringing in all kinds of specialists who could get a slice of her Medicare pie. You learn a lot through a process like this, including cynicism about it…

Ultimately, we opted not to put her through another surgery. It would only improve her vision from being able to see a hand waving in front of her face to being able to count fingers in front of her face. She would not be able to read. The two facilitators at the board and care, whom I trusted a lot, and the doctor supported this decision, as did Billy. My sister was not consulted, as she has not been in the loop on Mom's medical care since she opted out in 2009.

Along with the change in my mom's condition, upheaval is afoot all around me. Autumn is now here, and I am predictably mourning the loss of summer. This is something I always do, but even more so now that I don't really look forward to the holidays, and especially this year with Todd and Christopher taking a South American cruise instead of renting the house in Carmel as they have done for the past two years. Still, we will return to Carmel just before Christmas for our last stay at Casita de la Mar. Another chapter closing...

There have been so many closings and endings of late, or at the very least, upheavals: the demise of my family; Sandra's illness; the disappearance of my sister at a time when her support was needed in the care of my mom; the destruction of the Kona Village Resort, and the soon-to-be loss of our rental in Carmel. In so many ways I feel adrift, looking about for anything to hold onto, to keep me afloat, while I scan the horizon for land. And maybe that's a way-too-cheesy metaphor, but still, it feels that way to me.

Perhaps what is hopeful is my ability to scan the horizon. I am fortunate that I have sight, and even, on the odd occasion, insight. So while I have seen much of what sustained me in my life sink to the sandy bottom, I am still looking for what can buoy me up in my future. I have always been someone who held fast to traditions, but as those traditions have evanesced, and in some cases, disapparated, what will replace them? I know I am fortunate. I have Billy. I have  LOL, and other friends, I have salsa dance, and the circle I know within the salsa community. And finding salsa was truly finding my bliss. Still, these days, as I look about for meaning in my life, I admit that sometimes my eyes fail me. That is when I remind myself of that old adage that there are none so blind as those who will not see. It's just that when you are trying to see from under water, everything can look a bit, well, blurry. Still, I know that my sight will adjust. Alas, my mom is not so lucky. . .Thank you for reading my blog while I am treading water.

There Are No Palms in Palmdale

Glenbrook, Nevada

Billy and I have come to Glenbrook to spend time with Sandra and John. Sandra, my frister extraordinaire and blog namesake has been struggling with cancer and the difficult treatment that goes along with it. We had not seen Sandra since last September when they came to Carmel for a visit. She was gaining her strength back at that time, and the prognosis was good. But, alas, as Sandra wrote to me late last year, the cancer came back big time.

The second round of chemo took a lot out of her, but was successful in shrinking most of the tumors. I attribute that to the chemo, but I'm not so sure that the chemo did all the work. I cannot imagine how many prayers have been sent up for her. Bizillions, I think. And, if that didn't do the trick, I'm sure it worked in concert with the chemo.

Sandra looks thin, but with attractive, short, spikey hair. But most importantly, she is the same Sandra. She has a glow that comes from within and from, I believe, being the best person I know on this earth. She is kind, generous, a rock when you need one, and yet is the wickedest-funnest person I know. The chemo has taken a lot out of her, but it hasn't changed who she is. I just wish there was more of her, but she is trying hard to put weight back on.

Billy and I drove up to Glenbrook on US 395 which my family used to call the back road. I grew up with cousins who lived in Nevada, and we traveled there often when I was young. 395 takes you to Carson City. It's Mojave Desert for the first third or so of the drive, and then you begin to see trees. You have to slow to drive through little towns like Bridgeport and Tom's Place. Quaint places that look like they provide some civilization for folks who are mostly in those parts for fishing. Lots of sporting goods stores with big fish signage.

Once we turn onto Highway 50 at Carson City, and proceed up Spooner Grade, we begin to look forward to our first glimpse of the lake. It's a lot like driving into Carmel and anticipating the cypress trees, or, as we did when we were kids, trying to catch that first sighting of the Matterhorn on our way to Disneyland. I generally don't use the overused word awesome, but...it kinda is. When I first went to study Spanish at the Intensive Spanish Summer Institute at Tahoe in 2009, I thought I would hate being in the mountains. I'm a beach girl. But I found the lake to be so splendidly gorgeous, that I fell in love with the area. And Glenbrook, which is on the east shore, is about as idyllic of a community as I have ever seen. It is perfect.

We probably never would have heard of Glenbrook had we not been introduced to John and Sandra at the Bora Bora Bar at the Kona Village Resort. But we were, and we became fast friends. I have written before that we have traveled to various places together in addition to our annual October stays at the Kona Village--Rancho Santa Fe, Napa, Las Vegas, Carmel, Tahiti, and Panama. But I think of all of the places we've spent time together, besides the Kona Village, Glenbrook is my favorite. And, because John and Sandra have a lakeside home there, it is feels so relaxing to be with them. Often their large house and the guesthouse are filled with family and friends. But this time it is just us, and we have had a quiet visit together. Hopefully it feels similarly for them when they come to Carmel to stay with us.

We have made plans to see them again when we are in Carmel this September. Billy and I look forward to this. In my mind's eye I see Sandra gaining weight and strength. I see her now-spent energy increasing with each day that passes. I see us traveling together again, and having some of the wicked fun we have had in the past. Throughout her illness, Sandra has said that she believes in miracles, and so does her doctor. And so do all of us who are sending up those prayers.

We will drive home tomorrow, back down 395 through those small towns and speed traps. Eventually we will hit Palmdale. When we drove through Palmdale last Friday, Billy remarked: Have you ever noticed that there are no palms in Palmdale? Sometimes things aren't the way you expect them to be. And you just have to accept that. I do that every day as I watch my elderly mom diminishing. But I cannot do that with Sandra. She's the best of the best, and everyone who knows her wants her to rally and recover. Miracles happen, even in modern times. And while nobody needs palms in Palmdale, everyone who knows Sandra needs her. For me, she will always be my special friend/sister; my role model, my travel companion partner-in-crime. For me, she will always, always be Girlfriend--my irreplaceable Frister Extraordinaire. 

I Am My Own Worst Idiot

Los Angeles, California

Ever seen Albert Brooks' film, Defending Your Life? There is a scene during his hearing to defend his life where his prosecutor runs a reel displaying times during his life when things went wrong. A few have to do with power tools, and one, if memory serves, has him falling off the roof while attempting to fix his TV antenna (shows you how old that movie is). I often think about that scene. It was hilariously funny when I first saw it. And frankly, it reminded me of Billy, who could have a reel of his own like that, for example: putting extra spark-arresting screens on the chimney of our first home so that smoke backed up into our freshly-painted living room; dropping a bottle of Eau Savage cologne into the toilet of our apartment, while it was flushing, causing it to lodge and ultimately causing the toilet to have to be removed and replaced; shipping our clothes to the Kona Village so they would arrive on Sunday, except there is no FedEx delivery on Sunday and he didn't pack any back-up clothes (as had I, smugly) to get him through the next day-and-a-half. Please stop me here, because I got a million of 'em.

This is not to say that I don't do similarly mindless things myself. Believe me, I do. It's just that it's more fun to recount the things that Billy has done over the decades we have been together. However. However, lately I have been saying and doing a lot of idiotic things. And I thought, for a change, I would focus on a few of my own stumbles.

Now, of course salsa dance is going to be in this litany, because it's something I do. A lot. It's a jungle out there on the dance floor, and we've all been hit, kicked, and stepped on. I have caused some damage myself, though not generally by stepping on people because I no longer take those large steps that mark the beginning stage of all salseros. And I don't have big feet; I'm more or less average-sized. Also, I don't wear spike heels which can really do some damage, as in the case of my friend, Joy, who fell on the dance floor (it happens), and then had someone skewer her hand with a spike heel. Yikes. And I'm smart enough to stay away from a certain salsera who allegedly slaps other salseras deliberately. She came to salsa by way of roller derby, we think. But here is what I did Tuesday night: I stepped on my own foot. Yep. I don't know how I did it, but one of my feet got under the other, and I stepped down fairly hard. Ouch, and how stupid is that?

I also notice that as I get older, my tongue occasionally gets tied, or my thoughts become verbalized before I have a chance to run them through my brain's filter. Case-on-point when recently Billy and I were talking about North Korea's ability to shoot an armed missile at the US. I had remarked that if they can only reach Texas (as I had heard on NPR), what were we so worried about? Even judging only by the political figures who have come out of Texas, I think Texas is, more or less, well, expendable? But then Billy said that they didn't have that range, but that they could probably reach Hawaii. Hawaii? I exclaimed. That's ridiculous! Who would attack Hawaii? Who indeed? I've always thought geography was one of my weakest areas of knowledge; but evidently history is creeping up.

Lastly, I was hanging out with my salsera frister, Carol, last week when I uttered a phrase in response to feeling overwhelmed: My eyes will turn to pinmeals. Now, I'm not sure if I was hungry at the time, or if my tongue twisted, or if I just decided to turn that W upside-down to an M. Regardless of reason, we got a good laugh out of it, and it became part of our lexicon for that day, and beyond.

Mind you, I am only sharing a few recent faux pas(es?). The older, and more stressed I get, the more I lose things; say ridiculous things, and display that non-discriminatory curse of aging--forgetting things. Actually, the items on that list shouldn't all be attributed to age. For, I have always lost things since I was a little kid. I recently left my favorite coat behind at the Canary Hotel in Santa Barbara. We phoned when we arrived in Carmel, our next stop on the trip and the place where I really needed the coat. Luckily, they did recover it. But the stories of backtracking in an attempt to retrieve things (and, happily, usually successfully) that I have left behind is pretty-much legendary amongst Billy and my inner-circle fristers.

Maybe I get scattered because I spend a lot of time writing. Not, sitting-down-at-the-computer, or with my journal on my lap, writing, but in-my-head writing. I love words. I love combining them into sentences. I love the play of them. So, I guess it's not such a stretch that I would try to create my own language, with the first word being pinmeals. It will be an interesting, vocabulary-driven language. One with no real structure nor grammar. It won't be easy to learn. Don't even try. If you do, it will, most certainly, turn your eyes to pinmeals. You must trust me about this. Thanks for reading my blog, and if you are from Texas, I apologize. Kinda... 

Emotional Velcro

Los Angeles, California

The holidays are upon us, and, as can happen at any time of year, the planets in my universe are not aligned. Holidays can bring their own out-of-whackness, but other things are random and can happen whenever. We can rail about the unfairness of that, if we like. Or accept it as one of the vagaries of life. I write that, but I still struggle with it.

Recently I wrote to my friend, Max, that I was feeling like emotional velcro. He wrote back that he thought I had coined a great name for a rock band. In the course of tussling a bit about claiming this terminology, I knew I would use it as a blog post. I'm surprised I didn't come up with it earlier as it describes an aspect of my nature to a T. Tell me that you've got a migraine and I will instantly feel a throb in my temple. My mom is currently dealing with skin lesions, and I am now itching all over. When Billy's back goes out, I find myself hobbling with low back pain even though I never have any back problems as a rule.

We all take our place in our family's structure, and Billy has often said that I am the sin-eater for my family. But my family barely exists anymore. There is only my mom and she has been dwindling for several years with blessedly slow-progressing dementia. So now, with my frister Lydia suffering from an interminable bout of vertigo, I find myself dizzy and disoriented. Or maybe that is the state I would find myself in anyway, given recent news.

Sandra, my frister especial and blog namesake, meets the challenge of a second go-round of difficult treatment starting late this week. She got through the first round two years ago, and was still recuperating from that and putting weight back on when this news hit. She is the strongest and best woman I know. She is in so many ways who I strive to be and that is the reason I named my blog What Would Sandra Do? She is the reason I attend Mass in Carmel which has put me on a spiritual quest that I have yet to completely conceptualize but that has brought a great deal of meaning to my life. And, she is the most wickedly fun person I know. She brings out the best in everyone, and I feel profoundly fortunate to have her in my life. We have a history that includes masks and funny hats, face-painting, Halloween jewelry that lights up, toys -- including wind up cars that we raced around the groove in the Bora Bora Bar at the Kona Village Resort. There was no stopping us at the Village and everyone gave up trying (we just dragged them down with us). We have spent ten of my birthdays together at the Kona Village Resort, and have traveled and spent time together together in Tahiti, Panama, Las Vegas, Napa, San Diego, Lake Tahoe, and Carmel.

Strong girl that she is, with all the family and friend support that she has, I still think she could use some extra wind beneath her wings right now, and I ask you to think of her and send prayers, good thoughts, meditations, whatever you've got - in her direction. I believe our lives are about good work, the choices we make, and the friends and family in our circle. But at times life is also about the fight. Sandra's up for this. And so am I. So, please throw what you can her way. I believe in the power of prayer and positive thoughts, and especially in the strength in numbers. This, as much as I believe in her.

The holidays can be tough for many. They stir up all kinds of feelings and memories. My friend, Lydia, and I had a tender heart-to-heart recently when she expressed how she now felt during the holidays, after losing both her parents. It reminded me of my mom saying that every time she started to bake bread (the special Christmas bread that my grandmother, mother, and I have baked -- a photo of which you can see in the post entitled A Loaf of Bread, A Glass of Scotch, and Thou which is available here throughout this holiday season...and beyond) she would sit down and have a good cry because she missed my grandmother. Holidays can do that to you. And even with all the good in my life, and with our impending trip to Carmel, the longing, and the missing, are just barely below the surface.

So let us enjoy the season. Let us think of those we love, and cherish them or their memories. Let us make merry this Christmas and/or light the Hanukkah candles with a full heart. And let our emotional velcro collect all the joy, all the good, and all of happiness that this season holds. Thank you for reading my blog. Love you, my Frister Especial.

Away We Go

Carmel-by-the-Sea, California

Billy and I are packing up and will leave Carmel tomorrow. Every trip takes on its own sense and flavor. This trip is no different. We haven't spent any September time in Carmel in years, and it is somewhat different than the time we spend in January. First, there's the weather. It was foggy here for the first week. Then the sun came out and stayed out for almost two weeks. Then it got foggy and pretty cold. House guests who were coming out of 90 to 100 degrees at home were pleased. But I brought more long-sleeved tee-shirts than sweaters with me. Still, you make it work. Layers, layers, layers . . .

Second, we spent most of our time here alone. Las Chicas came in for a visit, and so did Sandra and John. But we often stack three or four sets of house guests while we are here. It's a way and time to get together with our friends who live in Northern California. And a good time to get Billy's mom out of Arizona. Except that she was in Washington with Billy's brother. John and Sandra hadn't been to stay with us in Carmel since January 2010, due to Sandra's health issues. And we no longer have Kona Village to reconnoiter each October. So their visit was a given.

We were going to invite other friends who live up in the bay area, but we learned he would be traveling a lot through the month. And, in recent months, she has dropped off on our email communication. I think she isn't currently interested in maintaining a regular dialog. And that's ok. I just wanted to make sure there wasn't something else going on. I gently questioned her about this; asking what was going on as she seemed a bit down. But she didn't respond to the query, and came back with a cheery email, so I let it be. You want to be there for your friends, and especially for the fristers (she is one). But, you can only do something about what you can do something about. I am kind; I stay in contact; I wait. While I have been known to jump in with both feet, sometimes it is better to give friends the time and space they seem to want. Hopefully she will know I am here, when I am needed.

When I talked to Lydia about this, and about the trip, she suggested that Billy and I should not have house guests on the front end of the trip. Billy was here for ten days at the beginning of our stay. He returned twelve days later and stayed until the end (ten more days). I talked to him about Lydia's advice. She thinks we need this, I said. Billy agreed with Lydia. So we went short on house guests and spent our first ten nights here all by our lonesome. It was better. It was something we needed after the strain of recent hectic and stressful years. We walked; went out for drinks and/or dinner; drove the 17-Mile Drive (yet again); relaxed and slept well. Batteries were running low on juice, but we didn't know how to recharge them. Lydia did.

And so we go. It's always hard to leave, but, perhaps easier this time, as we will be returning in late December. Billy worked straight through from late January to September 1st without a break or vacation besides Fourth of July. It was too long. Having the two one-week periods off this September was good for him. But not enough. We both know that next year he will take a few more shorter breaks, and we plan to recreate a bit more. We are getting older, and all work seems harder to do. Billy wants to work another five years, but I hope to shorten that (financial wizard that I am) by at least a year.

I return to Los Angeles to attend a Dodgers game with my frister, Lydia, the next evening. It will be the second to the last game of the season, and the Dodgers hang on by a very slender thread to the possibility of a wild card spot. I have to accept that for Dodgers baseball, the season is most likely ending. Dodgers baseball became a true respite over the past six months, even when they were nose-diving. I've learned to love baseball again, and I've been grateful for the distraction. But, its season is coming to a close with no other sport to replace it for me. Football, ugh. Basketball? Lakers are getting pretty long in the tooth, and it's so frantic. I think I will just need to hang on until April. After all, next year is a new, clean page yet to be writ. And people have invested over a billion dollars in this team! Which is crazy. But. Let's go, Dodgers in 2013.

And so, home. But again, Carmel feels more and more like home, so I get confused. Better to say that we will be returning to Los Angeles, where everyday life including our business and gardening chores await. Oh, and we will be having a new roof put on our house. That's what you do in between trips to Carmel. You take care of business. Carmel will be here, and I will think of it in the way I always thought about the Kona Village when we weren't there. Daily life goes on whether you are there or not. You just can't see it. It's like Brigadoon. Only without that 100-yearlong siesta. Wake up, and thank you for reading my blog. See you soon in Los Angeles!