Mad Man

My Papa was a complicated man, creative, musical, artistic and intelligent. He was a great dancer, loved playing games of all kinds, was fiercely dedicated to his Judaism, a combination of politically progressive Reform Judaism and mystical Judaism - a very rare combination at that time.

His physical as well as mental health was always quite fragile. He had terrible allergies, a dodgy stomach and many afflictions of the skin, such as boils. I think he must have been in physical pain a lot of the time. Later in his life he was subsumed by mental illness which, I've realized recently, accounts for the fact that I often feel a familial attachment to the mentally ill.

Before he went off the deep end when I was in high school, he had his good years and not so good years. At his best he was really spectacular. He was an incredible raconteur who, once he got going, enthralled everyone around him. To this day I have never seen anyone lead a Passover Seder with the skill, intense and whole hearted passion he put into it. I also very fondly remember Shabbat dinners. When we were kids he actually put on a suit before coming to the dinner table on Shabbat. (We dressed up, too. It was very cool.) My sister Deborah can still recite from memory the words he used to bless the Sabbath. Beautiful, stirring, inspiring words.

He loved sports and was a bowling coach. Such a funny thing to think of now! He loved all the arts. He taught us to listen to music by pointing out specific instruments, specific melodies. Sometimes he would put some music on the hi fi and ask us how the music made us feel or what it made us think about.

I tried to avoid him when he was not as his best because he could be one of the cruelest people you can imagine. His idea of appropriate fatherly guidance was to either humiliate or insult us - or both. Sometimes he flew into a rage over something or over nothing. It was quite frightening. Even as a kid I saw the imbalances. I hated the way he treated my sisters and my mother. I flew under the radar as often as possible, hence was infrequently the recipient of his rages. I guess that's good. For all intents and purposes I wrote him off when I was still in grade school. I remember thinking, Papa is nuts; I'm not going to listen to him. When he died I felt it physically but did not grieve. I don't think I ever shed even one tear. When he died, it was a relief. Is that a terrible thing to say?

Among the gifts I've received through Facebook are the memories of my father recounted by the people I grew up with. One of my friends said my father was the first person to ever treat him like an adult. Papa challenged my friend's beliefs in ways that left a lasting impression - a good one, should say. "Your father taught me to think," my friend said.

Just the other day another old neighbor was remarking on Facebook that Papa constantly corrected her grammar for which she is still appreciative. Really? I hated it when he corrected mine!

The name of this post refers to one of his many careers, in advertising during the 1960s. He was no Don Draper - nope - but he appreciated the creativity in that field at that moment in time and worked as an art director for a Kansas City agency. I remember the magazine Advertising Age arriving in the mail.

First Edie, now Papa. Coming up on the day I receive my Shalom tattoo, and the next day when I walk through the Holocaust Museum exhibit, I am calling in my ancestors - apparently.

Papa you were such a piece of work while alive! My goodness no wonder you died so young. All that internal/external drama must have been exhausting. Eating terrible food, smoking all those Chesterfield Kings, could not have helped either.

It's all water under the bridge now, of course. I love and honor my father. In my heart of hearts, all is forgiven.

What is remembered, lives. Shalom.

Edie

The last time I was in Paris, it was just for one day. I flew over from London where the rest of the teaching team was planning British witch camp. I went specifically to see my Aunt Edie.

Edie, my father's sister, moved to France after World War II to help resettle refugees from the camps. She liked it there, found a great job in the financial sector and stayed for sixty years. She, her husband and son lived in an apartment in the swanky 16th arrondissement that was so small I could not figure out how they managed a peaceful coexistence. Their kitchen, for instance, was hardly bigger than this blogpost. Of course in Paris, going out to eat is not chore. Yeah. But still - that apartment was so tiny.

We spent much of our time together sharing family stories. She regaled me with tales of the years when my father and mother were good with each other, happy even. They worked together in politics mostly and were great allies, a good team. I had never seen them happy with each other; her stories were such a gift!

The other thing she gave me was a name, one word she pulled from an old book or something, one of the random things that ended up in the U.S. when my grandfather came through Ellis Island. She believed it was the name of our ancestral shtetl.

It was a wonderful 24 hours during which my auntie kept saying, "You don't want to go see the Arc or the Tower?" Nope. I just wanted to hang out with my aunt.

It was that one word, in my aunt's handwriting on a scrap of paper, that I took to the library at the Holocaust Museum. The librarians told me immediately it was not a spelling they recognized - not Polish, not Ukrainian, not Russian. Edie told me the location of the shtetl was west of Lvov in modern Ukraine. With just two bits of information, the EXCELLENT librarians found the shtetl and a pictorial archive not only of that town but the other small towns close by. There is a Yizkor remembrance book in a library in San Francisco, written in Hebrew. Some day I would love to get some of those stories translated. The librarians said the Yizkor books are kind of hilarious, compendiums of shtetl gossip. I would love to read some of that!

Aunt Edie was glad for my company as she was grieving the loss of her husband. They were married almost all the years she lived in Paris. Coco, as she and all of us called him, was someone she felt she really could not live without. I'm grateful for that 24 hour visit. My aunt died three months later.

I cherish the gift of that final visit with my funny, haughty, wickedly intelligent auntie. I cherish the gift of family myth, also the misspelled name of the place where my ancestors lived for centuries and died all at once, asphyxiated in volkswagons on August 9, 1941. I'm thinking of my aunt with a lot of love this morning. Hey Edie! I know you're flying high. I love you. Thank you! Shalom.

Rites

My goodness this year has been a coming of age transformation and transition! Not just for me, of course - we are now in the midst of a societal, collective transformation of huge proportions.

On the personal level, too, it has been a rather harrowing year in some respects. Age 60 is now just a few months away. Gulp. Please do not misunderstand - getting older agrees with me in so many ways. But no matter what, it is daunting. I'd be an idiot if I didn't get that this is a big decade coming up, right?

Perhaps in response to the daunting nature of my next birthday, my spirit guides have encouraged me to be courageous - whole hearted as well as brave is what they mean, willing to stand up straight, lift my chin, put my shoulders back and walk into the 6th decade with a smile on my aging face. They've suggested I work my way up to my birthday by doing some stuff I've avoided because I'm afraid of it.

For instance, I am going - for the first time ever - to walk through the exhibits at the Holocaust Museum this month. One of my greatest teachers, perhaps the greatest teacher I have ever had, will be visiting DC later in the month. She and her partner wanted to go, asked me if I would accompany them. I swallowed hard and said yes. The tickets have been purchased, the date and time is on my calendar. I will not schedule clients so will not have the option of backing out at the last moment.

Saying yes to the invitation is a big deal for me. I've spent many an hour in the library of the museum, especially a few years ago when the excellent librarians helped me locate my ancestors' shtetl, found a pictorial archive of the place, a business directory in which my family's name appears.

Also, because the Nazis were just plain old weird, recording every detail of the murders, I can tell you that the Melikiers, and everyone else in the town, too, were killed by asphyxiation in volkswagons on August 9, 1941. The shtetl was bulldozed.

There is only a railroad crossing in western Ukraine now where the bustling shtetl once was. But because of the excellent library at the museum, I saw pictures of the people gathering at the street market, pictures of the living world before the Holocaust. My ancestors were short, stout and alarmingly hairy. Ha. I loved seeing those pictures, and in a museum! It made my lineage palpable, real. I felt I could reach back through time, connect with the foundation of my tribe. It was an amazing experience.

The journeys to the library have always been wonderful. Perhaps the journey through the exhibits will be healing, too. This is my hope, and if not, I'll be OK anyway because Pandora will be with me. I still believe she can do anything, hence if my energy is askew she will instantly notice and help me restore balance.

Another way in which I'm going to mark the passing of my youth is by finally at last getting my tattoo. I've thought about this for years, and in the last year have finally pinned down exactly what I can live with for the rest of my life. It's the word Shalom. I am so not a biblical kind of gal, hence the contemporary Hebrew which is clean and streamliined. The word looks like a magical row of sigils. I love the word Shalom and all its layers of meaning. I will have it inked on the inside of my right forearm.

I know, Jews are not supposed to be tattooed. But the thing is, the God I worship doesn't really mind what I do as long as it's not mean or destructive. The God I worship understands that by getting this tattoo, I am confronting a fear of pain, but also a fear of commitment. Getting a tattoo is a lifetime commitment! I am committed to the idea and soul of Shalom. I am.

The placement of the tatt, on the inside of my forearm, is an echo of the prison numbers the people in the camps received. I purposely chose the location. It's treif to be a Jew having the word Shalom tattooed on that part of my arm. It's so treif it spills over into the territory of holy. At least this is my justification.

OK so here's the crazy bit about that tatt - the artist who will do the deed is Fernando, a name I subsequently discovered means "be courageous." Yeah. And the only time he had available in the next six months is the day before my visit to the Holocaust Museum.

File all of this under the heading: "You Can't Make This Stuff Up." Hell yeah.

Shalom.

Toad Strangler

What a week! Good lord, life has been exciting, vivifying, shocking and dynamic. I'm talking about the impact from the recent pair of eclipses, Venus' transit across the sun, and the moon occulting the Pluto system. All of these events are eclipse-like, hence they pack a wallop individually, but clustered as they were this past couple of weeks? It has been a toad strangler energetically. In the midwest we used to call heavy downpours "toad stranglers." It's evocative, hey?

This morning, the wake from the event has settled at last. It feels to me that the energy has coalesced into a large gold snake or current moving in curves and waves underground, turning over stones, aerating the energetic landscape the way worms aerate dirt. It's all for the good, but feeling eclipse-like energy underfoot here on planet earth is a bit unnerving.

I'm heading into a big weekend of work, a good thing for my bank account, also for body and soul. I'm a very intense person with a temperament that makes me inclined to tilt into the dramatic side of everything including, of course, planetary events. During these events somehow it always slips my mind that there will be an energetic hangover when all is said and done. Whew! Tending to the bodies of my clients will be a god send, it really will.

It's another Tahoe summer day in DC today. I am not complaining! Have a wonderful Friday. Shalom.

Big Energy, Big Magic

I'm eager to get out, walk around a bit on this beautiful day in Washington DC. I'm eager to experience the energy from the transit of Venus, notice how that energy is settling over the landscape. There was an eclipsed moon the day before yesterday as well.

These precise planetary alignments create huge bursts of energy, at least that's what it feels like to me. Last night's transit had the quality of a moment during which the unspoken is at last said out loud. Even if it's an unpleasant truth, it's such a relief when someone says it out loud. Same goes for pleasant truths, like when President Obama said out loud, in public, that he believes gay people should be legally allowed to marry each other. In ten years it's going to seem so horrid that we ever thought we should not allow this.

When someone finally says it out loud - that the emperor has no clothes, for instance - it's not possible to go back to the old ways. Beyond the sense of relief that surrounds truth telling, the speaking out loud creates an environment ripe with possibility for change.

The eclipses/transit were more potent than I expected, making possible many new paths, creating possibilities for unforeseen benefits and opportunities for growth and evolution. Like I said the other day, we can spin straw into gold now, right now. But we must get out the spinning wheel and get to work. It won't happen just by thinking about it. Yes? I say yes!

I'm an intense person, hence I find this kind of planetary craziness quite exilarating. How are y'all faring? Well, I hope.

Onwards and upwards. L'chaim and Shalom!

The Alchemy of this Week

When the Ecuadorian shamans came to DC, many things confused them, but not the Washington Monument. When they saw it, they said, "Oh. That's for the star people." Indeed!

Some people won't even notice the energy of this week. Tuning in to planetary configurations requires an ability to focus, to drop down deep into oneself, to listen in every way it's possible to listen.

Some people will feel the energy, but immediately create a personal story to "explain" why they feel whatever they're feeling - jumpy, energized, out of control or whatever. Still others among us will feel the energy and remind ourselves, over and over again, that this is a big moment in the sky, hence a big moment for we puny humans. No matter how high fallutin' we think we are, we are incapable of separating ourselves from the dance of the planets, I assure you. Ha. We're such a funny species, believing ourselves to exist outside of nature. How would we do that?

I've read extensively about the configurations taking place this week, taken in the interpretations expressed by my very favorite astrologers. I think of all of them, Eric Francis' Planet Waves is the best bet for a comprehensive interpretation. He is not a public astrologer; you have to pay for his forecasts, but they are top notch.

For free, you get my interpretation.

Have you read anything about the old art of alchemy, the process by which lead is transformed into gold? Isaac Newton was a passionate practitioner of the Art, oh yeah. Joseph Campbell, among others, believed the Art was metaphorical, a description of the process of human evolution. We human beings are pretty good at transforming the metaphorical leadenness of our lives into something resplendent, burnished, shining and precious.

We work so hard, each in our own way, to become "better" (whatever that means). We study, practice, delve deep into our personal issues seeking a better understanding of what holds us back. We change habits, households, jobs, vocations, relationships - all because we believe these changes will help us become smarter, more accomplished, kinder and more fulfilled.

Change is hard, but change is good. Even more important, change is inevitable. In Chinese medicine it is believed that if circumstances do not change, disease will result. Some of us tilt into change on a regular basis, others among us hang tight to what was, out of fear or because the discomfort of change is something we would prefer to avoid. Most people do a little of both, depending on the situation. 

This week, what's going on in the sky sets the stage for radical, beautiful, life-enhancing transformation. You can't sail without wind, or write without a keyboard (or pencil), etc. no matter how much you might want to, but this week, if you're meant to sail, a beautiful wind will kick up. If you're meant to write, you'll be inclined to pick up your favorite pen and get to it. If you're meant to dance, the Pandora radio algorithms will offer up the best selection of music for you.

Rise to the occasion, people! This week you can spin straw into gold.

The surfeit of creative, life-enhancing energy available this week feels dangerously exciting because it is so potent. Purification, transmutation, transformation of a very profound nature is within our reach. Open your palms, let go of what's heavy or toxic so as to receive what is rightfully your highest expression of beauty, balance and delight. You will not regret it, believe me. Digging in your heels will not help. This is a week like none other. Seize this moment, please?

Shalom.

St. Patrick's Breastplate

Tomorrow morning I will get behind the wheel of a rental car and drive out of the city, up to the mountains I am so in love with, to spend the weekend in a house on the Little White Neck section of the Potomac River with two of my nearest and dearests.

The weather is supposed to be spectacular. I'm taking two REAL BOOKS since there is no internet connection. I will not blog, spend time on Facebook or Twitter, or play Words with Friends or Scramble. Even I, She Who Loves Modern Technology, needs to unplug sometimes. I can't wait.

I will take my camera.

One of the books I'll have on hand is Anam Cara, a book of Celtic wisdom by John O'Donohue. It is an incredible book, beautiful and almost achingly soulful. Here's a lovely poem from the book, a Celtic prayer.

The Deer's Cry

I arise today

through the strength of heaven, light of sun,

Radiance of moon,

Splendor of fire,

Speed of lightning,

Swiftness of wind,

Depth of sea,

Stability of earth,

Firmness of rock.

(~translated by Kuno Meyer)

May it be so today and every day! Have a wonderful weekend. Shalom.