zOld Age Day by Day January 31, 2012

I've already read two books on crows and ravens, but the other day I saw an article in the newspaper about them, and laughed out loud.  Crows and ravens know how to have fun.  They had recorded a Russian crow using a plastic disc to snowboard down hill repeatedly, and crows in Alaska learned to imitate the sound of explosions and scare the stuffing out of the human population.  They prefer McDonalds french fries over the other brands and can read the logo and select them.  They mate and take care of their extended family and even mourn the death of one of them.  They use tools and make tools and wait for the walk signal to cross the street in Japan.  They are fun to watch and ravens up at our cabin area whistle and sing and do a clock, clock sound that makes me turn around and look every time.  But they are up in the trees having fun.

I can see why they have iconic status in certain aboriginal cultures, and how they represent tricksters and shamans.  There is a lot to admire in nature, and the intelligence and ingenuity of crows and ravens is awe inspiring to me personally.  So next Halloween, think about the big black birds, and have a little respect.

Old Age Day by Day January 30, 2012

I'm reading a series of mysteries by Louise Penny.  She is delightful.  She sets them in a small village outside of Montreal.  The characterization is vivid and the plots interesting.  Her philosophising is so intelligent and provocative that there is a lot of resonance to each one, and also a lot about art in each.  I read one, went back to my local mystery store and bought another, then found the others in another indie bookstore and bought the lot.  It is a treat to get to know this fictional world, and see the characters grow and change.

Yesterday I had fun having brunch with my younger daughter and daughter-in-law, and then shopping at Macy's.  My daughter-in-law was spending her Xmas gift certificate, and we wandered the isles, and she and my daughter tried on clothes, and I found a pair of my favorite jeans Not Your Daughter's Jeans - for 50% off.  I'm having to cut them off, because they aren't petite, but it's worth it.  I also got two tee shirts on sale, and imagined myself in a lot of dressy clothes without going to the waste of actually trying them on or buying them.  My daughter-in-law came home with a new watch and jeans, and my daughter with nothing, but she's proud of her frugality, so she was pleased enough.  Every time I'm in Macy's now I wonder if it will be the last time, as the day of department stores is over.  I only get to Macy's now about three times a year.  I don't really shop that way.  I'm not much of an online shopper, but I have favorite little stores, and for underwear and socks I end up at Target or a little local department store in Oakland.  I do shop locally, and independently mostly, but it's a strange world of now big stores, except for the hideous ones, which I avoid.  Target is getting to be less satisfying as well, as it morphs into a grocery store.  I go less and less.  So I am watching this transition, but ambivalent about it.  My kids, well, they are online shoppers.  They have no nostalgia, and no loyalty, and online serves them better.  But me, I liked the deja vu of yesterday's outting, reminding me of big trips to Richmond, Virginia, and the magic of the big department stores, and the perfume smells and lights and mannequins.  Soon to be over.

Old Age Day by Day January 29, 2012

I enjoyed a lovely day yesterday.  I took a long walk, was out with friends, meditated and heard a great dharma talk, and generally basked in the sunshine.  Today I'm headed up with my younger daughter to see my daughter-in-law and have brunch and shop.  It's gorgeous out. 

One of the subjects Adyashanti discussed was memory, and how it is not who we are.  I've been contemplating this idea a lot.  Our memories are often not true memories, because they are moments told to us over and over by others.  Also, the brain hides and reveals different angles on the same events over time.  And we change the story of the memory every time we speak of it, so it's relationship to the truth of what happened becomes more and more distant.  Memories create a veil over who and what we have experienced, and then pop up and surprise us.  It might be that they no  more define us than our dreams.  They are thoughts sweeping over us, but do we own them?  I now see some of my early memories as stories my parents and others told about me, but they reveal nothing about the complex little being I was.  They were portable and succinct, but were they real?  I trust only two memories from before I was five, and those I trust because no one else would ever bother to tell them, or know what I felt.  The first was standing in front of a mirror in our house and feeling angry because my mother had given me a haircut and I hated it, and her, because she was responsible for it.  She would never tell that story, and I wouldn't either.  It's not pretty.  The second is standing by our car on an overpass in Kansas City and looking all around the train yards and seeing nothing but water.  There had been a huge flood.  It felt bizarre and and unreal to see it, but it was real.

But stuff about me and my brother, about him peeing on me when they brought him home from the hospital - it could be true, it makes a great story, but do I really remember it?  No.  I remember seeing my mother, whom I hadn't seen for two weeks, come through the door with a bundle in her arms.  I remember unbearable tension.  That's all.  The story makes it so much less - a funny ancedote, not the painful, confusing,  huge shift in my life. 

I don't believe we need to get our memories back.  If we need them, they'll come to us.  But they are not us.  They are stories that may or may not be true.

Old Age Day by Day January 28, 2012

I'm off to sit with a friend and her two friends.  I know, it sounds like an elderly thing to do.  But I am walking a mile or two to be picked up, and sometimes sitting is harder on me than walking.  My knees and back don't like it, even though I've capitulated and sit in a chair rather an the cushion on the floor.  Sitting is hard, too, because sometimes it's difficult to just watch what comes up in the mind - especially when it's not a pretty picture.  Usually it's not too bad, just the endless trivial drivel that pushes out any noble, insightful thoughts that might waft through.

But the overall effect?  A calming, a forgiveness of myself, a sense of an enterprise shared by all beings:  how do we live in this gift of a world?  I for one would like to live wisely and without harming others as much as possible.  Is this worth sore knees and a stiff back?  I think so, in fact, I know so.

Old Age Day by Day January 27, 2012

In an hour a friend is stopping by on her way to a meditation retreat.  She lives a state away, and is caring for her husband and he struggles with cancer.  There is so little we can do for her, but we are witnesses to their courage, fortitude and positive attitude.  What I admire most is how they each take care of themselves within this difficult situation.  They honor themselves, and don't sacrifice so much that they forget to be generous with themselves.  They are who they are, and have not been defined by this illness that is relentless.  I appreciate what they have in the midst of this surprising blow.  I would hope to do so well.

So it makes me happy she is going on this retreat, and her husband's brother is at the house caring for her husband.  She can accept help and trust.  She is open and transparent.  My Buddhist teacher says to ask yourself:  "Does what I'm about to do include taking care of myself or instead of taking care of myself?"  It's a good guideline for generousity - be generous to yourself as well.  Otherwise, the sacrifice can end up stirring up anger and resentment.  The intention should always be to balance, remain stable, and therefore have the inner resources you need to take action with whatever life presents to you. 

Old Age Day by Day January 26, 2012

When you're married, you have to cut deals.  So, yesterday I agreed to see "Iron Lady" with my husband.  He had good reasons for wanting to see it:  Meryl Streep, Meryl Streep, Meryl Streep.  I was hesitant, because the reviews were lousy and I am not an admirer of Lady Thatcher, Britain or Conservatives.  In fact, I am delighted Scotland is considering ceeceding from Britain.  I am Scottish and have that rebel attitude.  But I went, because I love the man.  Let us say, the reviews were accurate.  Yes, Streep nails the voice and persona.  But the movie transforms into an anti-feminist bashing of Thatcher that is undignified and downright ugly.  They would never dare make a film of Ronald Reagan from the point of view of HIS dementia.  Yet this movie is framed completely by her deterioration.  You get no sense of any charisma or warmth she may have had.  You cannot understand what she stood for and what her accomplishments might have been.  She seems branded as a terrible wife and mother, yet you don't see that either, it is lazily implied.  You don't weep for her, you don't even care.  For Americans watching the movie we needed some more background and history.  But no, I guess the film is exclusively for the Brits.  And here is the heresy:  I don't think Streep deserves the Oscar for this movie.  She's too stiff, confused or stubborn.  She doesn't seem human.  There is no way to engage with her character at all.  The explosions and missing son just don't cut it.  They are sloppy devices for a badly written and directed film.  Ironically, the director is a woman, and she has done more harm to women and their rightful desires for connection to the political world than all the misogynists ever might have.  Streep should have held out for a better script and refused to act in such a travesty.

There.  Now I'm done with my rant.  And by the way, my husband agrees as well.  He had no pleasure in learning nothing about an historical figure and seeing women's rightful desire for the political forum set back by this movie.

Old Age Day by Day January 25, 2012

The frogs were singing last night.  They are evidently extremely happy to have the rains come.  I love to lie in bed and hear them.  Elemental joy.  Ah.

Last night we connected with an old friend's daughter.  She was delightful, and looking at her, and seeing the mix of both her parents in her face was touching.  She's clearly super intelligent, and determined and independent.  We agreed to see a movie together next week.  I hope she becomes a friend of our daughter's, but you can't push these things, only encourage.  They seemed to have a lot to talk about around teaching. 

We've known her dad for over thirty years, and her mom almost as long.  I really treasure those connections when they come alive again.  Kind of like listening to the froggies.