Saying good-by to an old friend

A few weeks ago, Ruby passed away. He was the most awesome house cat ever. He lived with Devi Mamak and her family in my favorite place, the Blue Mountains, Australia.
I met Ruby several years ago when I began my Aussie odyssey. Already an old man, he ruled the house with a velvet paw. He held court in his basket in the living room. Everyone that walked through was drawn to "make puja", stoop down to pet him before going on to the next task. He took all of this in stride, never lording it over us. He had a special physical characteristic, a missing a canine, so that his lip would often hook on his gum as if he were sneering, Elvis style.
I especially loved mornings. Each day Anthony, Devi's husband, the "man of the house" would make porridge for all of us. During this process Ruby would take the opportunity to make his needs known. He would stretch his arms up and "Meow" for his breakfast. Anthony would fill his bowl, but ever the optimist Ruby would continue to "Meow" for another morsel. Anthony would conclude this session with, "That's it Rubes, no more." At which point Ruby would counter with an "Ack!" and finally walk away.
But perhaps the best episode was one evening when Anthony elected to take the kids, Kalon and Dea, to their Yaya's house so we three teachers could have the night to ourselves after a long workshop weekend.
Moments after they left we heard a "thump' at the back door. When we opened the door we were treated to a dead rat. Including the tail the rodent was larger than the one-canine Ruby.
It was as if he were saying, "Ladies, the man of the house may have left but I am here to protect you. Here is a rat as proof."
I have never felt so cared for and protected. I will miss my friend, Ruby. May he rest in peace and always have the warmest bed and the most breakfast treats.

Sleep in the middle of the bed

A few years ago, I made the decision to become single, again. This seems to be an on-going game of mine. I think I want a committed relationship, find a victim and push for matrimony. Then, when things start moving in towards the goal, I panic and run away. I think there are self-help books on the subject, but I don't want to read them. This time I finally realized that it was time to look at my behavior and possible desire to live alone.
After all, over the years I have acquired my own house, have a solo business which provides income that is deposited into my personal bank account and am quite capable of entertaining myself. I am, I realized, very happy on my own and can meet my own needs.
One thing though, I was concerned about flipping the mattress. When I had a partner there was someone on the other side of the bed. Now I sleep on the left side of the bed out of habit and ostensibly to be near the table that hold my books, iPhone and reading glasses. But this creates the problem of putting all the wear on only one side of the mattress.
So, I flip the mattress to move the potential "dent" from taking up residence in any one spot . On my own I can manage turning it side-to-side, but need help with top-to-bottom flips.
I woke very early the other morning, because my mind was talking to me. This happens when I particularly good idea or solution to an impasse is coming to fruition. My mind said, "Sleep in the middle of the bed." Still half asleep I dutifully scooched to the center of the mattress. It felt good.
I got up and went into the spare bedroom to fetch two extra pillows. I put those on the bed and got back in. It felt really good.
During the rest of the day I let my mind continue to talk to me about the situation. By the end of the day I realized that I have been, metaphorically, sleeping on one side of the bed for my whole life. I have been holding a space open for a partner, not fully forming my life so I would be able to compromise and flex when the time came to settle down.
The message my mind sent that morning was that it was time to move to the center of my own life. Hearing that gave me immense satisfaction and brought back the old saying, "Wisdom is accepting the obvious."

A happy destination

I finished my taxes yesterday and decided to give myself a treat; time to browse at the library.

And look what was in the mail when I got home!

I'll take that as a compliment

I was at The BayHill Gym yesterday. It's a working-class place, no nonsense, no frills. I go every day that I am not traveling, except Saturdays when I work all day at the studio. I love working out, it makes me happy and keeps me sane. I like picking up heavy things.
I was talking to George, the owner, about a pain in my right shoulder. George is a "what-you-see-is-what-you-get" sort of guy. He is a Vietnam Vet and a fireman. He is straightforward and well, really cool.
As we were discussing the possible reasons for the pain and what to do about it he said, "A doctor would tell you to lay off the shoulder for a few months but you aren't going to do that because you're a maniac like me. We don't back down."
A manic like George? Really...me?
I'll take that as a compliment.

Can I talk to you about the wrinkles around your eyes?

Over the 2009 winter holidays I was given the opportunity to be an employee in my own shop. Kae and Kristine were on their much deserved vacations and I was the last woman standing for two days at the studio. It was refreshing to set aside my administrative duties and instead be available for customers. My job was to show up on time, receive web orders, answer emails and greet last minute customers in the store.
Everything went pretty well, but I did notice one thing. The keyboard for the office computer was carpal tunnel waiting to happen. It even stressed my right hand so bad that I couldn't knit for the first few days of my precious down time! Things were going to have to change. When Kae got back I asked her if she wanted a new keyboard (yes please!) and off we went to the Apple Store. It's in the Stonestown Mall, a rather upscale experience with all the requisite shops and those little kiosks selling all sorts of things from iPod covers to cosmetics. As we left the store we were greeted by an enthusiastic young man who wanted to compliment me on my scarf, find out where we were from, make any kind of sympatico conversation that might lead us over to his booth were he was selling eye creams and other age-reversing potions. He was nice enough, and we were nice enough, but I really didn't want to get pulled into his pitch (he also had smaller shoulders and softer hands than me, and that's just wrong.) So, when he said, "Can I talk to you about the wrinkles around your eyes?" I just smiled (they really show up when I smile), said "No thank you" and continued walking.
And it got me to thinking, I don't want to cover up the wrinkles around my eyes. I like my wrinkles as much as I like my grey hair. I don't want to look younger because I don't want to be treated as if I were younger. It took me a long time to get to 49 and I want all the cred that goes with it. It also occurred to me that I don't dress and flamboyantly as I used to. I think this is part of the same vein, I don't need to call attention to myself with things on the outside of my body, I am interesting just by being me. I've been through a lot, good and bad, and have wisdom on my side. I want you to see who I am plain and simple (aka older women are the bomb, babe!)

Now, if he had said, 'Can I talk to you about the fat around your waistline?', he could have probably sold me the whole kiosk, but that's for another day.

Grand Torino-or if your are White, look down and keep going

I'm on a Clint Eastwood jag. I watched Grand Torino recently and I had a memory of growing up in Daly City, CA.
There is a scene in the beginning of Grand Torino, where a couple of African American guys have a beef with an Asian girl. Her Caucasian friend attempts to step in and is advised to move on.

These days, that's the politically correct way of saying it. Here's how it would have gone in 1974;
Black-hey Yellow, we want to talk to you.
Yellow-yeah, what do you want?
White-Hey! Yellow is with me, leave her alone!
Black-Whitey, if you want to get out of here in one piece just look down and keep going.
White-implied silence.

And that's the way it was in the multi-colored neighborhood where I grew up. Black and Brown and Yellow where always at war and if you were White the best thing you could do was look down and keep going.
This tactic worked well for me at Serramonte High School until I graduated in 1979.
But then, I had to get job.

I was lucky enough to land a job at Another Roadside Attraction, at Serramonte Shopping Center just down the hill from the high school. It was one of the first cafes to grace the scene in what is now an common place occurrence. We served Capricorn Coffee and Just Deserts in a world of MJB and doughnuts. I was hired as a counter clerk. I arrived at 7AM everyday to brew designer coffee and serve "natural (today if would be 'organic')" pastries. But I was frustrated at the fact that I couldn't get a better shift. Eventually, I confronted my boss and asked why I had the lousy shift. He paused and said, "Because you don't smile at the customers."

Oh! My safety mechanism for survival in Daly City wasn't going to work in the real world. I decided to heed the generous advice of my boss and give smiling a try. Within weeks I was promoted to waitress and had a great lunch-time shift with lots of tips. I even learned to be the one to smile first (perish the thought!) and keep smiling even when I had a cranky customer...tips! Or the "Smile honey" customer...no problem pal... tips!

Remember my story from SF Beledi when my teacher, Masha, told me to smile or get off the stage? That was actually before I worked as a waitress. But even with my real-world-waitress-smile-honey training, as I entered the world of teaching and performing on my own, I would often fall prey to "concentration face." I simply would forget to smile because I wasn't yet in the flow of letting the music move me. I was still thinking. Time for more strategy, if I wanted to attract and keep students and audiences...you guessed it...smile! It wasn't hard. The tip was still tied to the sale and I could see the results. I had to force it for a while, but as soon as it became part of my dance muscle memory, I was in.

So now when you see me in class or on stage, that smile is real. But it's not just for the tips anymore, it for the reward of lessons learned.