far away places

I don't believe I will ever visit L.A. and be solely in the present moment, bug-eyed as a young alien stumbling anew onto a fresh planet. Zenlike presentmindedness eludes me. As long as I am alive I will go and I will remember. My heart will breathe in and out its episodic heaviness.

Tuesday morning I jogged in the sands in Redondo Beach. Back in the days I lived there I didn't jog.; I pumped iron and pranced aerobics at the gym while chasing skinniness. My 40-minute beach run framed itself into the ahhh yes of the pungent ocean air and the pounding waves [a bit rambunctious that morning they were]. I left my shoes and socks on a ledge and jogged barefoot. I played tag with the waves. I let my feet get wet.

I love the ocean. Growing up in Venice I will never forget falling asleep listening to the sounds of the waves, their distant rhythms soothing while family life crackled. Years later the boardwalk got dirtier and I longed for escape, especially after my father died. But as a child I listened to the waves breaking.

I jogged and breathed deeply. I thought of my life then in my early twenties. Why didn't I move back to the Westside to live closer to my beloved father? I kicked myself inwardly as I ran on the sand. What was I DOING here? Why in the hell wasn't I living in Venice?

I'm not sure what I was doing living in Redondo. I was beginning a long slide downhill and didn't know it. I went from being raised mostly in Venice Beach to a mid-teens parental split casualty with me 'n not-quite-together mom winding up in Palos Verdes. This was not a good move. Neither of us fit in. After two miserable high school years I went screaming out of the house as soon as I was of legal age and moved into in an 8x10' basement room of an elderly English couple in exchange for thrice weekly housework. I earned a pittance as a part-time Church secretary. A few years later I had my own apartment on the Esplanade, had said goodbye to Jesus and the Church, and thought that Top 40 bar bands were an exciting "calling" after my originals band disintegrated. I worked restaurants, offices and those L.A. bar bands. My father always filled in the blanks financially so I never starved - except of course in another delusional left turn.

I lived in Redondo until I didn't. And on this trip, for the first time since the early 1980's, I drove north along the beach roads to Venice in my rented Chrysler convertible with the top down. The last time I drove that route I was going to see my dad. It was and is embedded in my beingness. I drove and held my breath. He wouldn't be there this time. He died in 1988.

I found a parking spot on Pacific Avenue and walked the back streets to 28th and Speedway, the alley behind Ocean Front Walk. I looked at the hyper-priced cement monstrosities that were put up in place of the apartment building my father built in 1950. I walked past them slowly. "I used to live here," I thought-said to them, "and so did others… my mother, my father, my brother David… we all lived here and others did also. You don't know that. The old building is gone." Who knows what was there long before my father bought two oceanfront lots for $5,000 in what was known as a poor beach town?

I strolled northward along the boardwalk to the vendors and then walked "home." I don't know how to walk along there without feeling that I'd soon see Dad. He'd be there. He was my anchor. I loved him and never told him until after his stroke.

He died too young, before I could ask him enough questions, before I could listen more to his Brooklyn-tinged Yiddish accent, before I could let him load another bagful of groceries for me to take away. He was 73; I was 32. He is in my heart and prayers every day but I long to hug him and hear his voice once again.

Seems as if where I've lived isn't as important as what and who continue to live inside of me.

airborne

I'll be in soCal soon - this coming Monday through Wednesday. A very short visit. I pray that it all unfolds according to God's Will. I don't have to keep reminding God that I'm His; however I notice I need to remind myself.

My trip was planned with an intention that may not take place. I'm still showing up. Southern California is where I'm from. I'll be in a little B&B cottage a block from the sands in Redondo Beach, where I lived from 1974-84. I am always revived being close to the ocean. I am always revived by surrendered closeness to God.

So here I am, posing in mid-jump on my Urban Rebounder. Daily I give my lymphatic drainage and goofball ka-boing quotient an 8- to- 22-minute bounce on this mini-trampoline. It's part of my wellness protocol along with many other things I'm entering into a willingness to be more open about.

Today I'll just write about exercise, leaving other entries for healthy nutrition, customized herbal supplementation and my Christian path. If I say nothing else, it is to proclaim that my Risen Lord Christ IS the core of my aliveness today. This doesn't mean I won't die someday, even of AML. I loathe writing that but I need to be real here. I consider my life and well-being as absolute gifts of God, as well resulting from the "things I do." If someone Googles "MDS," "AML" or "leukemia" and finds my blog, may there be morsels that are edifying! May the clearest be that my life is in God's Hands. May they also be firmly convinced that this is my path and that my purpose is simply to share my experience (& strength & hope!). Have your own wellness team, whether conventional or holistic! I suppose even an atheist can "beat cancer" but I'm not here to be the queen of diversity. This is my blog and my path - and for that I give thanks to the LORD God.

With that said - here's me on the Rebounder! I learned about this a year ago when I stayed at Hallelujah Acres in Branson, Missouri. Further studies on how Rebounding was fabulous for lymphatic drainage put me on the trail to buy my own. It's a brilliant at-home break as well as discipline since I work at home. That does get claustrophobic after awhile, so…. out I've been on the jogging trails over the years! My best in the past two years (post-hospitalization) has been 30-minute runs. I then bought a bicycle, the first I owned in aeons. I wanted both local eco alternative transport plus that wind in my face fun that only comes with bicycling, although if anyone hopes to catch a glimpse of me pedalling up Mt. Tam, think again. I'm a beach girl and flat works for me.

I joined a wonderful health club in mid-September, the Marin Osher Jewish Community Center (JCC). I'd been a guest several years ago so it was always on my radar. I found myself sharing with a dear friend that I was trying to max out what I thought would be "the wisest" way of getting my exercise. I think myself into corners like this on a regular basis, sometimes with good results and other times just painting myself into corners. "It's Spring and Summer; you SHOULD be out jogging and hiking! Look at all of this gorgeous northern California weather! Mush, l'il doggie, mush!" Boy, where did I learn to be such a pendantic glum-o-mat? Well, mush I did…. out in the local neighborhood and even driving to more adventurous jogging trails such as on the local Mt. Burdell.

One of my issues is, I don't really like jogging. Oh, I did it! {Effusive pat on head}. It was hard. Ka thump ka THUMP I went 2-4 times a week, listening to my goonball collection of 1970's and '80's dance music. Yes, I downloaded and work out to the likes of Play That Funky Music, White Boy! I filled in the remaining blanks with Rebounding and an occasional vigorous (sic) hike, which is not always fun by oneself.

It was time to find a gym I liked and this one rocks. It's clean. They don't blast offensive pop music over the speakers. It's not a pickup joint. It's family-oriented. And I felt it was - and it is! - I place I would GO to. I'm even working with a marvelous personal trainer named Robert Werner. Muscles are being shaped. Endurance is slowly increasing. A few more names around the club are remembered. And my half-Jewish heritage is always triggered when I go there. There is a primal part of me that will never forget that, I feel it in my bones and in my blood… those parts of me being held and healed on a daily basis.

Yes, I look in the mirror and am sometimes aghast I don't see the 30-year-old I remember. After 6+ weeks of fairly consistant work, I think my triceps and glutes should at least be a little bit tighter! But I feel it. Hey, I work at a desk… I stare at a computer and try to make sense of market mayhem. To get off my butt and move it is a gift.

One of my newer practitioners tries to caution me not to overextend myself. I'm finding my own push point without turning it into unhealthy exhaustion. I'm not an effusive fan of pain or even discomfort, so honestly I'm not that worried even if he is. It took me being a prayer rebel to step away from conventional oncology in February 2009. I wish to be completely obedient only to God. With humans I'll wrestle a bit.

I'll write future posts about how I'm living. A huge part of this is shifting my focus OUT of the paradigm of "trying to beat cancer" and more fully into the affirmation of a Spirit-filled life. I don't wish to be in denial here; I'm in remission with a serious-ass blood cancer from which I pray for a complete healing. However if I stare at it long enough, fear will swallow me whole. It's not much better if I put my hands on my ears and holler, "La la la LA LA, I can't HEAR you!" My love of the Lord is not as the big daddy in the sky who does my bidding verbatim.

Wretched things happen.

So does Grace.

Today I'm being given an opportunity to LIVE, to give Him praise and to say a few words about it. Do not look to me; look to the Giver of Life. And while I'm still here, I'll let you know what's helping me. It starts with putting God first.

It ends with that, as well...

...world without end, Amen.

and a blueberry milkshake

I spent the day with an old flame.

Fourteen years since we'd last met, 18 years since our romance. I was nervous, excited, anticipatory. As I prayed I thought, "Lord, when I have I been this eager to see You? To fellowship with You? Does my heart skip an extra beat or do I trod into an Office, a prayer, a sitting…. like brushing my teeth? Would I buy You soft chocolate chip cookies to go with the real caffeinated coffee I myself would not drink? Would I tidy the home of my inner reaches or simply sigh, "I'm so glad You forgive and accept me." Am I taking You for granted again, Lord?

In the flesh another layer is peeled. This layer says, "You are a failure in relationship. You never married. You are cracked, broken, and now in mid-life, not the hottest chick on the block." I brush that aside while I yeah-but my way through my admittedly full days and evenings. Yeah BUT!

I didn't leave this man eighteen years ago; he left me. I spent the better part of a day with a man with whom I once fantasized marriage. We were companionable. No lunging, mind you. We're older and well-behaved. I spent the day with an old flame and felt the quiet pleasure of being with someone with whom I get along well.

I didn't feel so broken after all. We had a lovely day. We shared stories. Hugs. Laughter, oh yes, laughter.

He lives far far away. I spent the day with an old flame while an old frame crumbled away.

God can do that.

Now priority

This impassioned leader in the "Jesus Movement" from the 70's died way, way too young in a plane crash. Is this where "trust God but tie up your camel" comes in? I don't understand the tragic nature of his early death, but oh did he make big waves for God while he was here. Keith Green: October 21, 1953 – July 28, 1982.

I goof off in Facebook more than post in here - linking juicy articles, leaving one-liners, smirking at friends. In front of my big, fat 27" new iMac screen, I can let my prayers to be God's able steward dribble aside while I furrow my brow and try to make SENSE of it all. Zoom! go my adrenals. WHEEE! goes my self-will, aided and abetted by another mug of delicious pu-erh tea. I take cuts from work by sneaking onto Facebook... and find THIS.... a YouTube video of a recording so old it's audio only. And inside of me I felt, "I need to post this to my blog - not to Facebook. HERE."

I have such a rich life! Yes, many of my counts still suck while others are just the yippiest, but as I've said, I'm more than my lab values. I'm more than a remission roadshow. I'm graced by the Lord God to have another day to be fruitful, focused, praising His Name and.... happy.

I say thanks a lot more than I used to.

I still have fears and I round 'em off at the pass with prayer more than I used to.

This song of Keith Green's caught me in a mid-day brow furrow. Oh yes. I remember now, Lord.

You.

a delicious ordinariness

Only once in the past whatever amount of time has anyone said to me, "You haven't written in your blog lately!" What my friends do say is, "How are you?" Occasionally they'll add, although less and less so, "... um, I haven't looked at your blog lately, but... how are you?" I connect in real time now. Email? Hardly.... I virtually can never keep up with those. Calls. Yes. Within 48 hours a phone call IS returned. And in person... at Church... in life. "How are you?" Real life in real time.

"I'm doing really, really well," I say. It's true!

Blog-land began for me when the overwhelm of October 2008's AML tsunami rendered me speechless and unable to give one-on-one accounts. Perhaps I'm still looking for an ordinary mojo reporting tactic because for the most part, I feel marvelous and give praise to the Lord every single day. Is this a cure? I am praying myself into that paradigm shift! What a BLESSING that the gauntlet is such a memory.

Health quip: The MDS remains. I want it gone. And my blood counts and I are entering a new dialogue, with my Centering Prayer/meditation practice now including the visualization of their hearty NORMAL numbers. Like a fair weather bud, I've occasionally cast a pointed glance in the direction of my marrow, urging it to recharge and revive. While I attend to my health with intention and even the odd blast of discipline, it's less so under the umbrella of fear and more in a positive focus. Do I wig sometimes? Sure. So much less so than a year ago, even 6 months ago, praise be to GOD.

I continue to work with a strong healing team while investigating new opportunities, from hyperbaric oxygen therapy to a delightful energy session with Master Ron Lew down in San Jose. I've just joined a health club, the Marin Jewish Community Center - a treat I'd eyed for myself since returning to California late last year. My neighborhood jogging and home Rebounding needed a boost. I needed a boost. The pull of my heritage from my father's side is palpable in that environment.

I'm framing my life and story less in light of health or illness and more simply... as I am. If someone close to me was coughing their guts out, yeah, I'd move away and quickly. But it's more about how I want to let God reshape me... that IS my focus.

I am working again, catching up on 18 months of health crisis layoff and finding my place again learning about money, investments and markets. Daily I ask the Lord to show me how to be a "good steward of the talents." It's a mad and crooked arena, with smoke and mirrors the operating protocol. I'm trying to be disciplined and shrewd without losing my focus on what is REALLY important to me - my life here and now, blessed by God!

I read Forward Day by Day before bed each night. Here is an opening from last month: Psalm 81. I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt and said, "Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it." Have you every watched a nest of baby birds, where their insistently open mouths seem far more huge than their tiny, weak bodies? Something about this passage rivets me. Old sensations of feeling forever unworthy are falling away morsel by morsel while I learn to show up and say, "God, I know you want to love and bless me. I receive You now!"

Never ever give up

Thanks to Fr. Thomas Brindley and his inspirations in "Upward Call" for leading me to this video which brought me to tears.

pallin' around in the North

Yep. It's been an all-time record of not a peep in here, well over a month. I'm writing from a simple and quiet B&B in Ballard, close to my former neighborhood in Seattle. This was to be my stealth visit. I'm watching myself un-stealth myself as my fingers tap.

I have seen beloveds on this trip. Brandon here in this photo took the bus out from Astoria, OR to meet me in Portland for lunch as I drove northbound on I-5 from Keizer/Salem having spent time with other dear friends. (Am I blessed or what?) I had to use a psychic can opener to pry me away from All I Have To Do! in the Bay Area, which provokes an ironic smirk considering my former propensity for having a wander. I gotta work! I gotta do THIS! I gotta....! Well that's a change, wouldn't you say? So I continued praying and planning and here I am. I won't have phoned everyone. We'll see if they forgive me.

I'm not entirely certain of my dynamics in not writing in here for a bit o' time. At least a half-dozen events warranted my stirred intentionality. I'd take notes! And then... I would not. Am I looking for more accolades? (That's hard to admit). Am I becoming more interior? The answer is that I am not sure. Maybe "hope renewing" needs a new focus? The AKK!! AKK!! of "paradigm gauntlet" was readily released for the gentler vibration of this blog space. And now as I weave in more beyond the fears of "the thing that's out to get me ain't done so yet," I'm incubating what that might be. I get a bit quiet when I do that.

So I'm on the road and back home on the 24th. My counts and energy levels are holding. My hair is shorter. I've eaten chocolate on the road and LOVED it. And my Risen Lord has gifted me with the love of friends and the beauty of His Earth, from a 30-year reunion with Cathy from high school to saying Evening Prayer in my former Cathedral parish here in town.

Somewhere there's a leisurely tale from my exceedingly strict high raw vegan period to being handed the sacramental morsel of a homemade chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven from Kevin, Cathy's husband. The voice that says, "I can't do THIS! I'm on an anti-cancer diet!" made room for, "This was offered to me in love." It didn't hurt that it tasted spectacular. Would I make my own batch of cookies? Nawww. That's pushing it. But I'm bending some rules on this journey and showing up to savor them.

It's a blessed gift to cherish ones friends. You whom I've seen on this journey, I cherish you.