Overheard in the streets of Oaxaca

Two acquaintances or old friends  run into one another on the street and exchange greetings. I can't talk long, she says, I've got get to my class.
Oh, you're studying Spanish again, he says.
Yeah, but my Spanish still sucks, she says.
Mine too, he says, but I don't go hungry.

squash soup

street food/fresh made tortillas with Oaxacan cheese and pumpkin flowers

sopa azteca

shrimp with mole negro and tamarind

I didn't really come here to eat. I came for Day of the Dead and to create a piece of art as an homage to my mother. Somehow I did manage to do those things in between eating these beautiful meals.

This Earthly Life

I went to a party last night--a birthday party for the 87-year-old father of a dear friend. We gathered on a patio in the setting sun with frogs croaking in a creek down the hill. Next door in a grassy pasture, a deer grazed, its back to us, oblivious of the humans devouring cheese and conversation.

It was a small group--a dozen people, some of whom I've know since I moved to California in the 70s. Some I'm getting to know better and better each occasion I spend time with them. Others I'd met at a party or a dinner here or there over the years, and there was a couple I don't recall ever meeting before. It was one of those evenings where the light cast all of us in a glow and each morsel of cheese, each piece of fruit, each swallow of wine seemed more perfect than the last.

I frequently feel awkward in social gatherings. I sometimes drink too much or refuse to make eye contact or conversation with anyone who is not a trusted friend. I can't remember names and write off anyone I'm meeting for the first time while monopolizing the people I already know, following them around like a insecure rescue dog.

I don't know why exactly, but last night felt different. As if we were all there for a reason, intertwined whether we really knew each other or not, as if the ghosts of beloved departed ones were whispering in our ears, telling us how lucky we were to be at this earthly gathering in the company of one another's warm bodies, enjoying the creatures and fruits of this earthly life.

Secret Solstice Sunset

The sun refused to show itself at the close of the shortest day, sinking into the water behind a wall of clouds.

I haven't shown myself much lately either. I've been roaming the house in the dead of night with a throat so sore that I can't sleep, then making my way back to bed when the middle of the night House Hunters re-run lulls me into submission. In the morning I wake with half-a-dozen Ricola wrappers on the night stand, convinced that certainly this will be the day I feel better. And I do for a little while. But then. Crash. However, this being the longest night of the year, I may be up again watching Love It or List it, International House Hunters or god knows what. I should be reading through my stack of New Yorkers, brushing up on my French or something but it feels like there's a block of goo filling my brain. Okay, it might have been that last night I finally did sleep. If I sleep again tonight, I'm going to proclaim myself cured.

Meanwhile, I've been appropriately engaged during  these dark days.  I'm spinning around and around trying to get my mom on Medicaid. This morning I confirmed that state #1 has now faxed State #2 in order to confirm that the measly little life insurance policy of my mom's has no cash value and therefore cannot be counted as an asset prohibiting her from qualifying for Medicaid yet again. So if State #2 faxes back to State #1, all should be well. Riiiiight? How's this for a darkest day of the year fear: My mom will finally get that Medicaid acceptance letter the day she takes her final breath. I've been working on the Medicaid thing since the end of September.

Here's what I've been reading these short days and long nights:

It's Never Too Early to Start Thinking about Your Own Death

What Working in a Nursing Home Taught Me

Our Bodies, Ourselves

If You're 30% Through Your Life... (of course I know that I'm at least 60% through my life)

A Parting Lesson From My Parents

How Mindfulness Can Ease the Fear of Death and Dying

I might add that I've also been drinking some nice wine, eating rum balls and chocolate truffles, and lighting lots of candles.

One of the denizens of Hearst Castle

What have you been reading during these dark days, dear ones? Where are you finding the light?

Wednesday Morning Beach Report (Delivered on Saturday) And the Report from Pillville

Some days you're the pelican. Some days you're the fish.

Somedays I'm just me in couch limbo. From my couch, I can see the patio where my mom likes to sit. And I can see the front door if we're waiting for some one to arrive like the hospice nurse or the handyman or the music therapist.

Yesterday the music therapist (beautiful wonderful talented amazing person) was here. She encouraged my mom to strum away on her harp.

We had friends over for dinner last night so they could see my mom before she leaves for Iowa. I forgot to take pictures, but it was lovely. The best I can offer is the grocery list. Can you guess what I made? My friend Carol brought watermelon, blackberries and raspberries that we threw together with some fresh mint and it made the most delicious fruit salad. Prune juice was not served. The milk and bananas were for breakfast. That's enough clues. Oh-- and there was champagne, flourless chocolate cake and caramel bars for dessert. And espresso. And love.

Today, I feel like my mom and I are both hummingbirds. But not the way you usually think of hummingbirds. We've buzzed around and indulged in plenty of nectar. Now we're resting. Delicately. On a strand of a palm frond, balancing.

Report from Pillville: Cake and a Plot Twist

My mother turned 91 yesterday. My friend Carol turned 70. Last night we had a party celebrating their 161 years of life. My son and his family drove all day to join us. Carol invited friends. My friend Sasha's parents joined us. My friend Pete skyped in for the singing of Happy Birthday. Carol's nephew joined us after dinner and snared the last piece of completely delectable birthday cake. If Sasha had made two cakes we probably would have devoured both of them.

Sounds fabulous. It was.

What happened before the party was not fabulous at all. After my son and his family arrived and we gathered around the dining room table to talk with my mom about Iowa. How nice it will be to go home. To get her wish. How so many people there love her and will be happy to spend time with her. Then someone flipped a switch. I don't remember how it started. But my mom started to yell at us. She's not going to a nursing home, she said. (After a month of being totally in on the plans.) She's going to move in with my brother, and if they don't take her she's going to take back their bedroom furniture that used to be hers. She doesn't need a caregiver because she can make her own bed. Okay, I said. Okay. Guests are arriving soon, I said. Let's not spoil the party. 

My mom has never yelled at me. Never. Really. I've heard her yell like crazy about stuff that makes her mad and she used to yell like a maniac at my brothers when they were wild little boys. 

It could be the steroids that she's on. Which she kinda needs right now. It probably is the steroids. 

The party was perfect. Thank you for the party, she told me before she went to bed.

And not everyone in the inner circle is supportive of my retirement from caregiving. As with many big family decisions, there's dissent. I've been juggling that. I'll look like a liar now. Like I am  pushing my mom out the door. Because now I am.

Life is softening me up. That's what I think. A punch here. A kick there. I get that. I'm learning. It's the blows to the heart that hurt the most.

Population of Margaritaville shrinks from 11 to 4

And tomorrow when the population is halved from 4 to 2, I will begin to refer to our fair habitat as Pillville. Things will be quieter but a lot less fun. No dance parties,  no tag team kayaking, no chocolate cake, and the age range will no longer span 9-90.

Well, maybe I ought to make more cake.

But there's no less joy in some ways. Though these people I love won't be within hugging range, the love continues. They're fun and funny and it's a marvel to see how we interact together in small groups or with the complete contingent.

As for me, I'll be back to walking the beach.

This morning, there were hundreds of  feather's tangled in the sea weed. And while I now easily recognize the call of terns who have been quite active of late, I have no idea if these feathers belong to them or if those lost feathers signify disaster or a new stage of development.

Anyone know?