The Art of Dying and the Art of Intelligent Living

I was listening to a lecture on the art of dying. This lecture was given by a gentleman named Atulanand Ji. It was a little bit difficult to agree with, but he said that when we dream, we don't have desire. I told you about that dream when my love came back to me and told me he would only stay three days. I remember feeling that I wanted more time, but I was happy for three days. Never in my life have I experienced such desire. Still this gentleman went into great discussion about irrational fears and a distinct drop in intelligence. Yesterday, out of my irrational fear of getting cancer, I suspect I had a distinct drop in intelligence. Just because I have to have some uncomfortable testing tomorrow doesn't mean I'm going to die, and even if I do get that cancer it won't mean I'm going to die. Although, someday I will. It's just probably not going to be in the immediate future. I love this blog and I'm not going to stop after all. I love my brother, the one who communicates with me, for calling me and telling me he loves me. Again, I am not alone. I love my best friend for taking me to the hospital tomorrow. I love my love for teaching me that the richest man cannot buy health.

Ask not for whom the phone rings...

I wasn't going to blog anymore. I was going to close this chapter of my life and move on. Big words! I'm not sure if that is really going to be the case. I promise myself that whatever comes from this moment forward, I will accept with grace. I won't try to fight or control or whatever. I'm waiting for a call from my doctor. Isn't that funny. I somehow thought my health wasn't really in question, but maybe that's not true and maybe I'm going to go through some other journey. I can't say at this moment. If the news is good, I won't even publish this entry. If it's not so good, I will. My stomach hurts and I can't stop thinking that maybe my love went away for a reason. I know it sounds stupid, but I always knew he went first so he would be there for me when I go on to another life. Some of my friends this week told me they don't believe in the after-life and that my belief is because I need to believe in it. Well, it's times like these you don't want your faith to waiver too much. I can tell you right now that even in my fear, I do believe in the after-life, and I so want to believe that I will be with my love again. I think I'd like to see my mom again too. Funny when you are really scared you want your mom. Once when my mom thought I had eaten a poisonous plant she put her finger right down my throat in a flash. Yuck! It wasn't poisonous, but I never ate plants again (just sometimes from the grocery store). I knew she cared about my life. I cared about her life and when she died, I missed it by only a few minutes. I woke up in the middle of the night and was on my way to see her when she died. I was always sad that I wasn't with her at the end. Death really sucks. I'm so mad right now and I can't say if I have the energy to go through any big thing right now. I'm kind of thinking that being with my love would be so preferable to anything I'm doing right now with my life. I get it that it's not going to be my choice. Still, I guess you could say I can't lose (unless there is no afterlife) because if I stay it's good and if I go it's good. That's my belief for this moment. Who knows how I will feel after this phone call.

Closing the Book on the Past

The book I created about my love came in the mail today. It had several surprises in it which I did not even realize while I was creating it. Our favorite restaurant, the one with the warm fireplace and the French bistro look, was the backdrop for one of the photos. I hadn't even noticed that. There is a beautiful landscape of the beach where we first met. I had not intentionally put that in the book. Strangely, most of the pictures are from the final years of our life together and not the beginning. Maybe this is partly due to the fact that when we started together so many years ago, there were film cameras and digital had not come in yet. Oh, how the world has changed. It's funny that the pictures I chose are not the best photos of us. As a matter of fact, they are mostly the really ordinary ones where we look so comfortable together. My love would have said he looked like a farmer, and I never realized how many plaid shirts he owned (I'm crying and laughing at this moment). When I received the book, I couldn't stop looking at it. I read it over and over and stared at the photos as if I had never seen them before. I added some stickers in the back of the book which show what kind of world into which we both were born. They were very different times and I can see that the world my love was born into was much more difficult than mine. His birth year includes the arrest of many famous criminals like Bonnie and Clyde, the dust bowl and Hitler becoming Fuhrer. My year has John Glenn's orbit of the earth, Jackie Kennedy's tour of the White House for television viewers, Marilyn Monroe's death and the Cuban missile crisis.  I know it's getting time to close the book on the past to some degree. It's not that I won't continue to grieve. It's just that I need some right-of-passage out of this dark journey. I'm ready to step out into the light of day and try to remember all the good things and let go of the sadness. The world I'm being born into today is, to borrow another quote, the best of times and the worst of times. So be it. I miss my love and I go on in peace. Take care. I will too.

Return to Sender or My Love

This morning I was continuing to go through papers and let go of whatever I can let go of. I found a valentine that I gave my love with Snow White singing "...someday my prince will come..." The music doesn't play anymore but the writing is still there. Then I found a valentine from my love. When I opened it, the music didn't play either. I was a little sad that I couldn't have a song, but then as if by magic it started to sing to me, "I feel good. Knew that I would now. I've got you!" Now that was a message from beyond that made me feel connected. I needed that today.
I've been waiting for that beautiful book that I created to arrive. It's kind of the final chapter in my life with my love. I added quotes from Rumi, Virgil and Hafez. On the back cover there is a picture of the most beautiful cloud that my love photographed. He had an eye for beauty. So, I've been waiting and I had guaranteed delivery by today. The mailman came and went. My disappointment grew. Finally started to track the shipping and the book had actually traveled to many of the places that my love and I had really enjoyed visiting. I cannot account for that since my address is really out of the direction of these places. The book finally ended up in Florida as undeliverable. Florida! Now my love has several connections to Florida and we visited there shortly before the huge hurricane that nailed Fort Myers a few years back. I just have to believe that my love is hanging out with the gators in some swamp down in Florida reading his book. Enjoy.

Son of a Great Man, Brother of a Great Woman

When my love was a little boy he would walk down the street and people would recognize him and come up to him and say, "Your father was a great man." They knew that my love had lost both his father and his mother at a very young age, but they also knew just how kind and generous his father had been. The father of my love would literally give you the coat off his back, and he did this once during the winter. He would deliver coal to families he knew were poor and without. He was a great man and when people would see the beautiful sad face of my love, they would remember just how great his father was. My love had a sister who was only a little older than he was. As a girl without parents, she would have the lessor opportunities of two children with very few opportunities. But children of great men seem sometimes destined to create opportunities where there are none. My love's sister would quickly be married off after the death of her father. She would be expected to raise her little brother as her son. In the house of her in laws, she would know hunger and great frustration. Even though her own life would not turn out as her own father might have wanted and surely not as her mother might have wanted, over the course of years, her great love for her little brother would work miracles. It was her love her that would spread across several continents through her little brother to others.  She would do without to give her little brother an education and a future. Her brother loved her so and came to see that without her, he would have had nothing. He was lucky to be the son of a great man and the brother of a great woman. There life was not built on sand but the indestructible stone created by love and suffering and loss.

Heaven is where True Love Goes

The moment you walked inside my door, I knew that I need not look no more
I've seen many other souls before-oh but, Heaven must've programmed you
The moment you fell inside my dreams, I realised all I hadn't seen
I've seen many other souls before oh but, Heaven must've programmed you
Oh, will you? Will you? Will you?
I go where True Love goes, I go where True Love goes
                                                                          --Yusuf Islam" Heaven/Where True Love Goes"

Long before I could understand that my love was going to die, I heard this song and it made me weep. It made me weep because I had such a strong love, and I could hear the truth in these words. Now that my love is gone from me, I think of God so much. When I hear this song my feeling is that my love and God are one--connected. I cannot even imagine one without the other. It seems that I misunderstood about God completely. Imagining death does seem more peaceful this way.

Modesty and Medicine

Today I must go to the doctor. It's a regular check up with my doctor who takes care of my women's issues (it's a doctor whose type of medicine begins with the letter "g". I know I should be able to say that word, but it's embarrassing. He is also an oncologist because I had a little trouble with an illness that begins with the letter "c". The big "C". That word you won't mind if I don't use because in most cultures it is taboo to say the word. Anyway, I'm OK now and I just have to check in with the doctor to make sure nothing has come back. When I first got my doctor, I did not know anything about him other than he is a man. A man! I really tried to get a woman doctor, but that was not possible, and I really tried. It's not that I don't respect men doctors, but the thought of a man woman's doctor was difficult to accept. When I first met him, I couldn't believe what I saw. Of course I had hoped that he would be an ancient ugly frog that I could pretend I did not notice, but that was not to be. My love took me to the appointment and even went in with me for the first consultation. I suspect God works in mysterious ways. These days I think my doctor is beautiful because he saves lives and he probably saved mine, but when I first met him I was dumbstruck that not only was he very young and very handsome, but he was from the same country of origin as my love. The country they both come from is not one where women generally have men as their doctors. How could this be? It was so embarrassing. Luckily my doctor and my love hit it off and the doctor understood that it was my love who needed the reassurance more than I. Luckily my doctor has a loving heart. I always feel sorry for my doctor because his job must be really uncomfortable and I suspect his reward will only come in heaven. My love will be there to meet him one day. When my love was very young, his own mother refused to go to a man doctor and this for her was a very bad decision. Had she gone, she might still be alive today (although very old). I know for myself, had I not gone to the man doctor, I would not be here either. For today, I am grateful to be here and very grateful to have a doctor.

The Last Supper

I remember the last meal I fed to my love before he went to the hospital for the last time and would taste food no more. I gave him grape leaves and hummus. He only ate a little, but those were dishes he always loved. I tried so hard to give him any food he would enjoy, but towards the end, food was not so important to him. We spent our life together cooking and eating and while this was not especially healthy, it was fun. I even studied Greek cooking for three years so I could make him the best food.
Imagine for a moment that it was your last meal. What would you want it to be? I think for me it would have to be cheese blintzes. I was a waitress for a very long time, and blintzes covered in strawberry jam were my favorite thing to eat. My love always wanted eggplant cooked in a variety of ways with tomatoes or yogurt or garlic. In a book called The Meaning of Food, a man named Brian Price, who had been in prison for several years, tells about how he would cook the meals for the men who were sentenced to death. The condemned men could choose what they wanted to eat and he would fix it for them. Sometimes the prison wouldn't have the exact ingredient like fish or whatever and he would try to take something else and make it as close as possible to what the condemned prisoner wanted. Most other prisoners did not want to fix this last meal for the condemned but Mr. Price came to believe that his cooking made a difference and that he could give these men a little peace before their last moment on earth came. I guess you could say we are all condemned to some degree. It's just that these men know the hour they will complete their lives. The rest of us don't. I do remember that in all my grief, food had no real attraction for me. Hunger and grief just don't go together. "What if that was your son or your brother? Would you be so ready to see him put to death like a dog? Or would you rather seem him get a good last meal?" This is the question Mr. Price asks of all of us. Peace--this is what I set out to find when I started the blog. Peace is what I am still searching for and just beginning to find. Mr. Price is a good man for believing that everybody deserves this even if just a little.

Babett's Feast and Difficult Times

Difficult times have helped me to understand better than before how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way and that so many things that one goes worrying about are of no importance whatsoever. --Isak Dinesen

I like this quote from Isak Dinesen and it really rings true for me--now. Long, long ago, I remember watching a film called Babette's Feast. The story was written by Isak Dinesen and essentially it's about a really great food party. I love to cook. It's my absolute passion. In the movie, this wonderful woman who cooks so well has to live outside her own country in a country which is so cold and so without all the ingredients of life that she knew before the war. When she finally gets a little bit of money she doesn't spend it on herself but spends it on a really amazing party for the people she has been surrounded by during her exile in Scandinavia. When my love was just a very young child, his family would run out of food at the end of the month. To keep from starving, they would collect bottles and have just enough to buy potatoes. They would generally live off potatoes at the end of each month. Over the years of gazing at my beautiful love, I could see the physical damage such hunger caused upon his body. Of course hunger never damaged his view of the the world's beauty. If anything, it was in contrast to the real pain of his life that he was able to see beauty in things which I could not. Oh yes, and he loved food too.
 I am somewhat familiar with Scandinavian food as my two sisters married Norwegians. With several years of practice, I have become somewhat skilled at making lefsa, Norwegian potato bread. My love took me to Sweden several years back and I literally ate my way through that country. Smorgasbords, yes! In the United states, our understanding of Scandinavian foods generally consists of smorgasbords. Few of us know anything about the starvation that Finns and Swedes have faced in history. Not to mention, more people still have no idea how one produces Lutefisk. I know how it is made, but I have very rarely eaten it. When I think about Babett's Feast and the French character of Babette, I have to say that my love lived his life this way. In essence, he lived in exile in this country, although, his name appeared on no black lists and he returned to his homeland many times. He really took  whatever God gave him and he threw a party which was his life. His life was infinitely rich and beautiful and mine was too for knowing him. The next time I have something which seems really troubling to me, I am going to throw a party.

Raindrops and Condolences

Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red
Crying's not for me
Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin'
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me   --BJ Thomas

I remember as a very young girl, long before I met my love, my oldest brother took me to see the movie "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid." Paul Newman and Robert Redford played in it. I of course fell in love with the character the Sundance Kid, played by Robert Redford. He was the "bad boy" and of course in the path of my life, this is the type of man to which I was always attracted. It was the character of Butch Cassidy played by Paul Newman that was the "good guy" and of course the sweetest and most empathetic character. Somehow, at that really impressionable age of eight, I got the idea that my older brother was the embodiment of Butch Cassidy. He is a funny guy, my brother, and he can really tell a joke or be tough when he needs to. Still, he never approved of my love and my brother and I grew apart during the last 30 years. When my love died last year, my brother sent no condolences and never called. It pains me over and over. I should let it go. It shouldn't matter, but it does. My favorite part of the movie my brother took me to is when Butch and schoolteacher Etta Place (played by Katherine Ross) goof around on a bicycle. This was a sweet scene and possibly influenced me more than anything in becoming a school teacher (who can say?), but that's the image I have of my brother. Just a funny guy goofing around on a bicycle.  I really don't have to many other memories of him from my childhood. Hmm. That's it for me because..well, crying's not for me. I love that song.

Hafez & The Story of Us

Whenever the road my love and I faced together became puzzling or difficult, my love would take out a book called The Odes of Hafez. He had some incantation he would recite (which I can't exactly remember or translate) and open to a "ordained" page. This was always fun for us even in the face of some seemingly difficult situations. I will miss those times, but after today I will use a new book and open it to an "ordained" page whenever I need that understanding that my love and Hafez always gave me.
I keep getting lured deeper and deeper into the Internet and honestly I have learned so much. Is that because I no longer feel the same about my world as I did last year at this time? Maybe. It could be because the Internet gives me an interesting diversion from grieving (which I know is not necessarily a good thing). Yesterday, I spent the entire day working on this "new" book which is about my life with my love. I imported every decent picture I could get my hands on from old photo cd's I had not looked at in years. I chose layouts and colors and wrote text to tell the story of us. Of course it made me cry, but I had to admit that my life has been filled with love and joy. I just love to look at the book. Since it is being published by Shutterfly (self publishing company) on the Internet, it will come in the mail in a week or two. The next volume of my life has begun. There is no stopping it.

I Have Learned So Much

by Hafez

I 

Have 

Learned 

So much from God 

That I can no longer 

Call 

Myself 

A Christian, a Hindu, a Muslim, 

a Buddhist, a Jew. 

The Truth has shared so much of Itself 

With me 

That I can no longer call myself 

A man, a woman, an angel, 

Or even a pure 

Soul. 

Love has 

Befriended Hafiz so completely

It has turned to ash 

And freed 

Me 

Of every concept and image 

my mind has ever known.

From: 'The Gift'  

Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Who Would Ever Want to Be King?

I've been making jam all morning. First I made peach and then blackberry. It all came out pretty well. I love to make jam although I need a great deal more practice. Still, it's nice to feel like you create something out of nothing. I've actually started doing a great deal. I took many classes in computers and technology in the last week or two. I started an ebay business to sell cookbooks (Yes, I collect cookbooks). I've started getting ready to go back to work. I know my love died in November, but is truly amazing how long it takes to get back to a semblense of your old self. I think I may have been much too judgemental of others in the past who I somehow mistakenly thought were taking too long to grieve (foolish me!) and now I know better. The song below is one that has fasinated me for some time. I use to listen to it and think that my day would come. I knew that for so long I had lived like a king. I felt that I did rule the world. Once my love was gone, it was as if I had to sweep the streets I once owned. I regret many mistakes I've made in my life. I woudn't change my love for anyone in the world past or present. I would, however, build my castles on more than just sand. Hopefully, if I build anything in the future, I will remember this.

Viva La Vida

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own
I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing "Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"
One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand
I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
Once you go there was never Never an honest word
And that was when I ruled the world
It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become
Revolutionaries wait  For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?
I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world
I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world--Lyrics by Cold Play
From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/viva-la-vida-lyrics-coldplay.html ]

The Opera Known as My Life

Isn't it funny about music? I'm sitting hear listening to Boz Skaggs (that's an oldie).  That song comes in my life before my love did. These days I can listen to songs I remember from before my love, but the ones that we shared together are so tough to hear. I can remember going with my love to listen to Luciano Pavoratti. What a voice! We sat way up in the nose bleed section, but his voice could carry to the stars. "Nessun Dorma" is a song that has always brought me to tears. I always thought the words meant something like if I cannot see your face I don't want to see any one's. I always felt this way about my love. Now, as I older and wiser, I know it means no one will sleep, and the story behind this opera is about a cold princess who does not want to marry (all those years of thinking it was something so romantic! It sounded romantic).
Years ago we went to hear Andrea Bocelli in the place where the story of Romeo and Juliet was set. Honestly, those star crossed lovers had nothing on my love and me. Looking back, they were just a younger version of us. The day of the concert we were to attend, the Pope held an audience in Rome and all the trains in Italy were running late. It was so close to the start of concert that I asked God to just let me hear Bocelli and forget about those really expensive seats. I remember frantically running and we got into the arena and they locked the gates after us. We couldn't get to our seats, but we could sit on the stone steps and listen to Verdi's Requiem and Andrea Bocelli. I told God I was so grateful he let me into the arena in Verona. What music filled that night!
Probably Bryan Adams best represents the soundtrack of our lives. That song "Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman?" is what made me love his music so much. I'm not listening to Bryan Adams yet but I hope that will change. It was from the move "Don Juan" and my love had too many things in common with Don Juan. Anyways, it's fun to remember all the music of our life together. I hope heaven is filled with music.

The Light of a Loaf of Bread

A traveler on the mystic path
is content with a loaf of bread;
By its light he may be turned
towards the Light of God.     Rumi

 

Today is Independence day where I live. So what am I fixing? I am fixing Italian American food. I am keenly aware of the contributions of the Italians to my country's development. Italian food is possibly the backbone of American success. I don't see how we could have developed without it. God bless all the Italians that came to this country for a better life. Pizza built this country (ask any kid in America since it's pretty much all they will eat). I can smell the yeast from the kitchen as my dough is warmly rising. I love the smell of yeast and baking bread. In the beginning years of my life with my love there was an Italian bakery just a few blocks away. This is where I discovered panettone, foccacia and ciabatta. These were truly a revelation for me because I grew up on strictly white bread. One of the only field trips my class ever took was to the Weber's bread factory. I knew then that there was something magical about yeast. By the time my love and I had a few years together, we traveled to Europe together. That's when I began to get to know Italy. It remains my favorite place in the entire world. By the time we returned for a second visit to Italy, to Florence, I was really hooked. I had a paperback copy of a Marcella Hazan cookbook and each morning I would walk many many blocks through Florence to prepare our food for the day. I still remember a plum cake I made that made me feel like a million dollars. We had a room with a view of the river Arno. What a life! I am so grateful for that time. More and more I am able to remember these things without sorrow.
This morning, I am baking foccacias for three different families. Some of the breads will have onions and others rosemary and olives. Don't get me started on olives! My olive garden memories are some of the most romantic memories I have. I seem to recall my love singing a funny song about bread and salt. It's a good day.

Time Travel Right Now!

I am watching what is going on in Egypt. Actually, I am talking to my sister in Washington and we both are watching a live cam of Tahrir Square while as we talk on the telephone and I blog to you. Wow! What a totally amazing thing to watch  and feel a part of--history for good or bad (I can't say). I don't know if what I see is what is really happening, but I am seeing laser lights, fireworks and cars honking. This world is amazing in many ways. Social media will touch every one's life too (I guess I should have seen that one coming too).

Egypt and Defying Death

I've been watching the news from Egypt lately. I'm not sure what will happen today. Will the military take over or will things continue the way they are? I read a book yesterday by Anne Rice (who by the way wrote Interview with the Vampire) called Pandora. Anyway, there were so many references to ancient Egypt and the Goddess Isis. How Isis is viewed in Pandora is pretty complicated. If I told you what I got, I could be really off the mark from that which the author intended. I knew instinctively, though, that Isis was in some ways a kindred spirit. What the book Pandora doesn't tell you is about the myth of Osiris and how he was murdered.This is a sad story of an unsuspecting victim and the devastated wife who searches for his body. I can surely relate to Isis in the depths of her grief for her husband Osiris.

 

Down through history, it is Plutarch (who I've actually had some occasion to read) who tells us  about the really extreme grief of Isis at the death of her dead husband. Plutarch, oh so many years ago, related the belief that the tears of Isis were thought to cause the annual flooding of the Nile. First it makes me think of a joke about "cry me a river," but after having cried now so many tears for so many months, for my lost love, the flooding of Egypt doesn't really amaze me at all.

 

Since before the time of Isis and Osiris, civilizations and all humans have had to make sense of death. Interestingly enough, the way that Isis' people, the Egyptians, and my people, the North Americans (U.S.) have dealt with death has been, historically, very different. I find the following two societal responses to death quite interesting and accurate:

 

"Death-defying--refusal to believe that death would take anything away and believe it could be overcome.  Example: early Egyptians who built pyramids for the Pharaoh which included their wives, money, and possessions for the world after death with the expectation that the Pharaoh could vanquish death."

 

"Death-denying--refusal to confront death, belief that death is antithetical to living and that it is not a natural part of human existence.  Example: United States, where there are few rituals associated with grieving. Rituals are generally replaced by contrivances for coping with grief."

From Rando, T. A. (1984). Grief, dying and death: Clinical interventions for caregivers (p. 5). Champaign, IL: Research Press. Copyright © 1984 by the author. Adapted with permission.

 

Blogging--contrivance or ritual? It is a lack of helpful rituals for my grief which in fact led me to this blog.

 

My sister is planning a trip to Egypt and Pompeii (where the Temple of Isis is found) in the very near future. Today, like so many places in the world, Egypt is staring down the face of real trouble and social unrest. What will happen today? What will the military do and what will the people do? I pray for all those people. I pray that those with power will let everyone stay in this world. The Nile has had enough tears.