Breath

I always seem to have some of the most inspiring conversations with my two Erics. One of my Erics is my hair stylist. The other is my acupuncturist. Yesterday my inspiring conversation was with acupuncturist Eric about breath.

My acupuncturist Eric practices Classic Five Element, different from the practice most people think of as someone laying on a table covered with a bunch of needles that stay in for a time. The first portion of our sessions involves a verbal check in, almost like therapy. I relay to Eric how things have been going since our last session, which is typically every four weeks. Eric then treats me based on his reaction to me, which is quite Zen.

I relayed my recent last minute self-evacuation from my originally scheduled flight to San Francisco along with the wonderful couple I had the honor of sitting next to on the plane the following day. He said he was glad I did what I did, it's a strong example of caring for myself, that most people would bite the bullet and suffer. I acknowledged the gift for me was the new acquaintances I made.

I relayed about my post San Francisco visit to Dr. Ramaley, a Seattle naturopath who does muscle/resistance testing. Just using his hands he probes and finds weak points in the body. Apparently my weak points were thyroid, which I expected, gallbladder, stomach and parasites. The doc couldn't pinpoint the root cause of these imbalances, only to also acknowledge underlying everything is my heart. Specifically he said my heart isn't producing enough energy needed to completely heal my body.

His statement makes so much sense to me, the inhabitor of this body for the last 41 years. Through my now three year long battle with chronic illness, my chest is the area of most prominence for me. This is where I occasionally feel tightness, restriction, a void and experience shortness of breath.

Then I told Eric about my recent conscious breathing workshop. When I got to telling him about the moments I felt enveloped in divine love, he asked why I was starting to get misty-eyed. I wasn't aware I was. Perhaps he was projecting or I was once more present to that feeling? I honestly cannot say for sure.

"Well, it sounds like you got from that practice exactly what you needed. Love." He said.

I shared about my sudden realization from that workshop about the breath being so much more than just the biological way we oxygenate our blood to sustain our lives. Eric told me the Chinese word "Chi" means breath. Then he pointed to the congee symbol that he uses in his practice's logo.

"This is the symbol for the word Chi," he said. "It's a grain of rice with steam coming off of it. The steam represents breath. In Chinese medicine, the Earth element is food. We get our food from the Earth. Breath or air is the element representative of Heaven. Think of all the ways we intentionally use our breath. Meditation. Tai Chi or Qigong ..."

Ancient cultures used the same word for breath as they did for spirit. Our modern English language has a word for sharing stories which is derived from ancient languages. The word conspire. It literally means to exchange breath. Native Americans would "conspire" around a fire, "exchanging spirits."

I think of breath in a new way. It's not just the air we breathe. It's a force of nature and it has intelligence.

God Parenting Class

When my bestie asked me to be her child's Godfather, of course I was utterly and completely thrilled. I can think of no greater honor than for someone to want you to be their child's spiritual guide. So in a nanosecond I went from thrilled to beyond humbled.

A while later my bestie informed me part of my commitment is to obtain a God parenting certificate from a Catholic Church, the faith her daughter will be baptized in. I consider myself spiritual, and I identify as Buddhist ...

My bestie assured me her parish acknowledged the parents have every right to choose who they see best fit to fulfill this role. I know I'm totally up for it. Do I really have to infiltrate a Catholic parish and take a class there? Yes.

Last night I went to my local St. Francis of Assisi in Burien to participate in the required God parenting class. Of course I found a parish with a really effeminate name that's super fun to say with a lisp. OK, I know this is even more immature. They have a priest there named Father Dick. Sorry, sometimes I just cannot help myself.

Our first order of business was for each of us, and there were about a dozen in attendance, to introduce ourselves, whether we were part of the parish or where we were practicing parishioners. As luck would have it I was first up at bat:

"Hi, I'm Brad Davis ... I'm not yet a parishioner here ... Thank you."

The funny thing is in these moments of complete awkwardness, I've learned not to own it. I said what I said, so there. That's all there is. Thank you/NEXT.

The woman who led the group was really great. Totally pleasant, kind and welcoming. I think only three or four people in the room actually belonged to that parish. Except I was the only one who didn't claim another parish. What was I going to say? Buddha Jewel Monastery? I would have totally blown my cover.

When I shared with my bestie about my intro., she was quite impressed: "See, that's why I chose you, fast on your feet. Well played." she said.

After some history about baptisms in the Catholic church since the time of Emperor Constantine (that was a mighty long time ago), we learned about the history of baptisms at St. Francis. Then came our next sharing exercise. We were asked to take a list of symbols from our workbook and associate words with them. Here they were:

• The Cross
• Water
• Oil
• Garment
• Candle

Pretty much all the items our facilitator had up on an alter in the middle of the room.

Confession. Perhaps it's because I was not raised in any particular faith, I always feel inauthentic within a church. The exception being the monastery where I've been learning and practicing Buddhism. So I can't help but feel a little like an imposter. I never told anyone I was Catholic, and I never told anyone I wasn't Catholic. In my faith, sharing information that may be harmful to another can create bad karma. Anyway, I just needed to express that. Thank you.

I actually enjoyed the word association game. I even shared with the group. Here's what I came up with:

• The Cross - Sacrafice
• Water - Emotion, Life, Purity, Cleansing
• Oil - Essence
• Garment - Protection
• Candle - Light, Warmth, Spirit

We were also asked to write down three people who have passed the faith to us and what we remember about their sharing the faith. We were to do this among our table.

The gal sitting across from me is a mother of four boys. Her youngest, an infant, was sleeping peacefully in her arms. When she talked about this being her fourth baptism, she sounded a little exhausted and a bit "over it." Anyway, she shared about her oldest. When he was three, he underwent surgery. When they brought him out from the anesthesia, he told them he saw Jesus. She and her husband asked him what Jesus said to him. The boy said he didn't speak, he just stood by him and watched over him.

When I relayed that story to my bestie, she asked "Now do you believe?" Of course I believe there was a man named Jesus. There are plenty of them south of the boarder.

The woman explained while they said a prayer before her son's surgery, they didn't elaborate on Jesus. I must admit I was inspired by her tale.

I shared about my Grandma. For me she was such a wonderful source of love in my life, unconditional love. Again, the reference was to the faith. I imagine unconditional love to be fundamental value across most if not all religions. My Grandma was raised in the Welch church, and she also was not Catholic.

One of our last shares, which was for the whole group was about how to share the faith without words.

"Listen. Practice non-judgment. Live your values. Live with gratitude," I said.

I wanted to also add be present and meditate. But ...

Lastly, we were asked to take a candle up to the alter and light it. Before we did, we said the name of the child we were praying for. Gianna Di Maria Rhody

Artful Weekend

Today concluded both Seafair and Seattle's inaugural Art Fair weekend. My hubby and I skipped the former and indulged in the latter. We passed up the Out of Sight opening reception in favor of the Art Fair, which was the more commercial of the two. For one thing, we were gifted a couple of complimentary VIP passes.

We met a couple of our dear friends and toured the show with them. Such wonderful works. Some amazing resin pieces, including a couple out of this world sculptures, which were layered to look like a collective of a humanesque body. Here's an example:

Psychogeography 74 by Dustin Yellin. 2015, mixed media 72 x 27 x 15 inches, Winston Wächter Fine Art

We toured the Out of Sight show, which was a collective of local artists, inside the historic King Street Station. The venue was really authentic and old world. Though it was ill equipped to keep patrons cool on a 90+F degree summer evening. My husband and I toured the show on its second day. The turn out was minimal. The one notable attendee while we were there was Seattle Mayor Ed Murray, who was holding court with about a half dozen people. We didn't make the effort to say hello.

The hollow interior of the upper floor of King Street Station, which had a recent and quite spectacular restoration.

The show had a few memorable pieces and was well balanced. I preferred the more refined works on display at the Art Fair.
 

I had also intended to check out the TK Artist Lofts' Art of the City Street Fest on Saturday. Alas my in-laws paid us a visit. So it was steak dinner at Jimmy Mac's followed by getting caught in a late night dominos loop playing chicken foot. Fun, yes. Even so, my long time friend Aron was DJing on the deck at TK from 6-10 pm that night. I'm certain it would have been a lively scene with even more art to explore. Damn. Next year for sure! 

Inspired by the artful weekend, I wrapped up my Sunday out on my back deck, playing with paint and a couple pieces I started two seasons ago. Mixed media of exterior laytex, acrylic, spray paint and metallic pen. It feels wonderful to create. There's no better elixir than laughter and creative expression.



The Blue Angels roaring by the Space Needle the afternoon of 8/2/15.

News In Brief

This week's world headlines:

• American dentist trades soul for lion trophy
• Zimbabwe hunts lion killers
• Ebola suppressed, remarkable vaccine announced
• Iranians roasted alive, cooked to 165F
• Israeli Jewish suspect(s) incinerates 18 month old Palestinian
• Israeli Jew stabs Israeli gay party goers
• Jet incinerates members of Saudi's Bin Laden family in England
• Brazil readies Olympic facilities with raw sewage for 2016 summer games
• China 3D prints winter Olympic readiness
• Escalator eats Chinese mother
• Reunion receives suspected piece of missing MH370, Malaysia continues Indian Ocean plane hunt
• Central European bank cartel robs Greece
• American presidential candidate vows to end U.S. Federal Reserve cartel, J.F.K. last American president intend similar

Conscious Breathing

On July 22, I participated in my first ever conscious breathing workshop. My energist Erika Lynn brought this opportunity to my attention. She had done this once previous, and said it was mind blowing. She said people travel to other places, times and dimensions. Bare with me here, I know this is uber woo woo.

I wasn't sure entirely what to expect, other than I would be in a group of people all laying face up on the floor in a large space, breathing intensively for what I perceived to be a long period of time. For me it's the breath-work part of the practice that gave me more apprehension than anything. The fact that for so long I've been struggling with shortness of breath. Couldn't help but have some nerves around this.

Still, I went in with an open mind. Energy healer Zach Rehder facilitated the event. He had a very kind, calming and loving presence.

First order of business was to take care of business. Meaning a quick pre-workshop bathroom break. By starting with an empty bladder, there's less possibility for distraction during the breath work.

The workshop was in a modern, renovated factory space in Seattle's south of downtown (SODO) district along first avenue. Out the large floor to ceiling windows stood towers of shipping containers where red and white mega cranes loomed backdropped by the Olympic Mountains.

We got underway a little after 7 pm, which is a couple hours before summer sunset in the Pacific Northwest. So we were given eye masks for sight deprivation.

If memory serves less than 30 people attended. We were organized into three rows, each with feet pointing away from one another. Zach started by explaining ancient cultures used the same word for breath as they did for spirit. The purpose for this distinction was to share more insight about breath.

Typically we think of breath as a life sustaining way to oxygenate our blood. Zach went beyond this simple understanding. He said breath is consciousness, an intelligent force. When we welcome this into our bodies in such a way, amazing things can happen. Healing. Awakening. Miracles.

For about the first 15 minutes Zach set the tone in a very calm and compassionate demeanor. One of the most important things he stressed is to breath into the practice, let go and allow ourselves to go wherever we are taken. He did echo what my energist mentioned about traveling to other places and dimensions. That spooked me a bit, still not as much as whether I would be able to endure the breath element. Zach also mentioned we would not be given anything, shown anything or taken anywhere we're not ready to experience. That was comforting. Additionally, we all agreed to only share about our own experiences.

Zach instructed us to lay on our backs, blankets over us if we desired. I used mine as extra padding. With our eye masks on, he invited us to arrive and be present. Using our mouths only, we were coached to draw a breath in, let it go and repeat the draw as soon as the breath released. We were asked to envision creating a wheel with our breath, and to continue turning the wheel smoothly without pause. We would do this for 30 to 40 minutes. At various times, Zach would let us know individually when we could turn on our sides and then relax into our normal breathing. He turned on some very ambient, almost hypnotic, semi Buddhist monk-esque music, which played during the entire session.

So around and around I went with my breath. I held my focus on maintaining the flow as best I could. In and release. In and release. Every now and again I would hear Zach say, keep breathing, keep turning the breath, beautiful.

At first I wasn't sure where things were going, and I think that's the whole point. In previous meditative practices a fundamental mindset was to commence without expectation. Zach gave us a few possible outcomes prior to getting started. He said we may suddenly feel hot or cold. We may experience cramping. We were told to allow it, breath into it and it would ease.

In and release. In and release. I continued to keep my flow, focusing and allowing it to be what it is. At one point the breathing just took on a life of its own to a degree. I was conscious I was still driving my breath. At the same time, I was also in tune with the very pronounced sensations in my body. A deep vibration rattled my chest, my mouth, my upper arms. At times I felt convulsions, mostly in my limbs. Sometimes during meditative body scans I would experience something similar to restless legs syndrome. Only this was in both my legs and arms.

A little further in I felt a presence over me. It was Zach. He gently rested his hands on my waist and then rocked my hips side to side. I can't remember if he verbalized what he was doing or if it was just my knowing he was ensuring the energy moving through my body was coursing evenly. Either way I felt a loving force.

I began to have visions. I saw and felt my dear Grandma holding me in her arms, shielding my toddler ears from fog horns that whaled along the coast of Maine when we vacationed there decades ago. I then saw and felt myself holding my best friend and her infant child in my arms.

Whether it was before or after these visions, Zach came by and whispered for me to turn onto my left side to relax into normal breathing when I was ready to do so. At this point I believe I was still experiencing really intense vibrations in parts of my body, so I stayed with those a while longer and then very slowly made my way onto my side.

A short while after moving onto my side, I felt enveloped in divine love. That's the only way I know how to articulate what I experienced. It was brief and perfect. I imagine it was much like being in the womb. Perhaps I was having regressive memories?

I remember thinking upon my Grandma again, the sensation of her holding my hand, what a beautiful, loving soul she is. How she was so much the source of love in my life. How her light burned out in this life. I felt myself starting to cry. There were various times throughout the practice I heard others sob. It was a release of something, likely that which was no longer needed.

Even when I felt enveloped by divine love, I was still very much aware and conscious of where and how I was. I may have traveled to other places and experienced things far beyond the freshly repainted factory walls surrounding me. Even so, my mind was still very much connected to the state my body was laying it.

I saw people who had wronged me, and their ignorant suffering. Suddenly I'm seeing motivations from a whole new, egoless perspective. This gave me great compassion. Even some of my greatest enemies, like the Monsantos of the world, I suddenly saw cast in a new light. Even the most sinister darkness is part of the natural order of things and has its place in the world. For every black magic spell there is an equal and possibly even greater white magic spell.

Suddenly a chill ran up my spine and I flinched. It was Zach's hand. He placed it on my lower back once more. This time I didn't resist. He moved his hand up my spine. My knowing understood this as moving energy, assisting the flow.

A while later Zach spoke to the group intermittently, letting us know he would soon be calling us back. Finally he invited us to slowly sit up and remove our eye masks. Remembering my yoga, I used just one arm to prop myself up, only bringing my head fully upright once my torso was completely erect.

As I peeled the mask away, I could barely see, especially out of my left eye. The room wasn't necessarily dark. The lighting was soft and moody. It took my eyes quite a while to adjust. I felt a little woozy, like I had just awoken from a deep sleep. Yet I was fully awake the entire time.

Only one person was unable to return fully when we were called upon to do so. Zach knelt down beside them and whispered into their ear. Then returned to being present to the group as if confident he had done enough to bring this person back. Sure enough, a few moments later they began to stir and eventually sat up.

Zach went around the room and asked each of us to share a word or two about how we were feeling. I scarcely recall a time I felt more peaceful and at ease. When he got to me, the word my mouth formed was tranquil. I'm sure I even said it in the same manner as the word is defined.

Overall, I now feel like I just scratched the surface of something really incredible. I would love to do this work again. Zach advised us to engage in this as a facilitated practice at least 10 times before attempting to do it on our own. I'm looking forward to his return visit in October.

RIP Ann Rule

Ann Rule, thank you for giving this fledgling journalist the time of day for an interview in 1999!

May you rest in peace ...

For Fun ...

My husband's birthday was last week, and I gave him a very whimsical card. It was somewhat of a joke. The card is obviously for a much younger person, certainly younger than a forty-something. And it is a card meant for coloring, the cool coloring template with black velvet boarders.

We colored it in together. The above image is of him working on the butterfly. I was in charge of the flowers. We had a lot of fun.

The last panel can be cut away from the body of the card and used as a door hanger. So ...

Ta daaaaaa!!

Today's Gift

For no particular occasion or reason, my husband gave me a gift today:

These gilded words embossed on fine paper are words SCOTUS' majority ruling justices ascribed to the sanctity of marriage equality. These words now hang just outside our bedroom. They will greet us each night as we retire to our quarters as well as each morning when we part ways to go about our daily business.

#LoveWins

100 Years of Men's Fashion

Nevermind that he's flawlessly beautiful, the styles are amazing throughout the eras ...

Intersecting Events

What do Bastille Day, Pluto, San Francisco, Seattle and Teatro ZinZanni all have in common? July 14, 2015. Permit me to explain ...

The Reader's Digest version of the story: I returned home to Seattle yesterday from my San Francisco visit with my bestie and God daughter. Yesterday saw the intersection of several events including Bastille Day, New Horizons' close pass of Pluto (nine years in the making) and an acquaintance's memorial service at Seattle's Teatro ZinZanni.

The full version of the story: I no longer look forward to traveling. There, I admitted it, as much as I hate to. Maybe it was just being twenty- or thirty-something, having the ability to just throw some shit in a bag last minute and be on my way to wherever. Now there's prep involved. Meds and supplements, feverishly tying up loose ends with work (only to have them unravel while away). Making sure I have some healthy "snacks" just in case I get low on energy. Often it ends up feeling like a part time job just getting everything together just to step outside the front door and be away a while. I guess that comes with age, responsibility, oh, and chronic illness.

Before I get to sounding too much like Debbie Downer, I want to acknowledge what an amazing life I have. One of the most honorable titles has been bestowed upon me; Godfather. When my nearest and dearest friend had her first child, a girl named Gia, I flew to San Francisco on a moment's notice to greet her. It will have been two months since she first came into the world. Time goes by and they grow up so fast. If I didn't get to see her now, my next opportunity isn't likely until the Christening in Denver late August. That's far too long.

Meanwhile I just got a strange bite on my arm last the weekend before leaving for San Francisco. The bite had a distinct bullseye with bruising surrounding it. Within a day I was having challenges regulating body temperature, energy and having headaches. So my prep going into my trip also included blood draw and a last minute acupuncture treatment.

At the same time we're playing host to my Husband's bestie, who, as lovely as she is, suffers from anxiety and depression. On the morning of my most recent departure to San Francisco, hubby's BFF also was leaving us and preparing to embark upon her several day drive back to California. The same morning my long time friend was flying out to L.A. on the same airline I was booked on and at the same time as my flight to San Francisco. He lives in Town and no longer has secure parking, so he likes to leave his car at my house (in a very quiet suburban neighborhood close to the airport). My long time friend also suffers from anxiety. Since my health went sideways, I too suffer from anxiety. This is going to sound a bit flakey, I have also learned how sensitive I am to other people's energy, and my anxiety can easily be fueled by others'.

Like any morning of departure, it's rush, rush, rush to get ready and out the door. I wasn't feeling particularly well. Some lingering symptoms from my peculiar bite perhaps. General malaise, my stomach was burning a bit (that's new). In fact, in the 17 years I've known my good friend, for the very first time he asked "are you OK" while we were in the car driving to the airport. I've never known him to sound so concerned. He said it was because I was being so calm and quiet (which I try to have as my default when I'm feeling "off").

It's after the long July 4 holiday weekend, so airport security checkpoints are choked. My friend has TSA pre, so he could practically walk directly into the terminal. He chose instead to escort me through security, despite my insistence that he take advantage of his travel perk. It was very kind of him to see me through, and when we cleared security I was grateful to have him watch my bags while I had to urgently expel my bowels. Something was not right with me. The moment I sat down in the stall, the podium put out an APB fore me. Apparently my flight had already boarded and they were in the process of closing the doors.

I finished as quickly as I could. My friend also informed me about the loudspeaker announcement. So we hastily said goodbye and off I ran down C Concourse to catch my flight before it left without me. When I reached the gate, the agent greeted me and I explained my holdup in security, which was mostly true. The gate agent was kind, seemed understanding and went directly to the keypad to reopen the jetway door. Then off I went.

The plane door was still open. It looked as if everyone was seated and I was the very last person to board. Thankfully had an aisle seat, so no one had to get up to accommodate me. Except there was no overhead bin space. The flight was jam-packed. The head purser wasn't very helpful, insisting they would have to check my bag. After pleading for closet space, another, kinder flight attendant made it happen. I finally sat down and was getting situated when I noticed how incredibly hot I felt. I wasn't sure if it was the plane or just me that was so stifling and stuffy. I wasn't breaking a sweat and yet I still felt incredibly hot, like I've never felt before. My insides were burning. I suddenly felt dry and dehydrated. Then I remembered in my rush to the plane I didn't fill my water bottle. I could feel the blood drain from my head and my vision started to blur. Then I felt like I was on the verge of passing out.

My awareness was around needing water. I didn't have any. Then my second thought was around whether this condition might worsen. The prior few days I had been "off," and here we are confined to this metal tube for a couple hours. I didn't know what was worse, the woosey, too hot feeling overwhelming me or the fact that once the doors closed my fate would be sealed. Suddenly one last person boarded and I stood up to tell the nice flight attendant I wasn't well enough to fly today. I've never done that before and honestly didn't think I was. So she thanked me for letting her know and retrieved my bag. The not-so-nice flight attendant also thanked me for letting them know I wasn't well enough to fly, and she actually displayed compassion. As did the gentleman at the gate podium, who came back over to me when I was on the phone to my bestie letting her know I disembarked the plane prior to take off and offered to assist me with re-booking sans change fee. Quite kind.

Not just anyone gets the title of bestie. Mine was beyond understanding, compassionate and kind. My husband on the other hand freaked out on me. I had to disconnect our call several times as I literally could not handle his anger toward me. I returned home from the airport, feeling physically and emotionally defeated.

Air travel aside, which I no longer find appealing, I had been looking forward to some additional connections. The night I was to arrive in The City was my friend Andrew's premiere party for his starring role in Bravo's new Million Dollar Listing San Francisco. I know my dear bestie and new mommy would have really appreciated a glamorous night out, and at a day spa on posh Maiden Lane. Can't say there will be another time.

I also missed connecting with a long time friend from college. We worked on the paper together. She's also a bit of a celebrity, though more for her strength fighting for social justice after she was racially profiled by an airline and taken away in cuffs at the Detroit airport. Here's a link to some of her posts and the constitutional protections her case made possible: https://www.aclu.org/bio/shoshana-hebshi

I did manage to visit with another long time college friend of mine. One out of three, yeah that's pretty shabby. I just couldn't fly that day. It was what it was.

Clearly I was meant to depart on the ninth instead of the eighth. Even the day following my last minute aircraft escape I wasn't feeling too well. Mostly had breath shortness and felt fairly weak. As my husband was on his way out the door to head to work, I wrapped myself up in his arms and burst into tears.

Envisioning a repeat of the previous day, the worst thoughts came to my mind. That we'd be thousands of feet above the ground and my body would betray me in some way. It's a really uncomfortable existence when one lives each day wondering whether one's body might suddenly turn on itself. I know, it's completely irrational. And yet my body has done this, on more than one occasion. Yeah, it's fucked up.

Pulling out my woo woo card here. I reached out to my energist and connected with her just before my cab pulled up. She tells me I've ascended to my light self so rapidly my body is having a hard time catching up. I'm not entirely sure what that means, it sounds kind of cool. She said my body's old programming for travel no longer works in this new paradigm, so I have to make changes. Incidentally I had consulted the day previous with the I Ching (the Chinese "Book of Changes"), and everything I was getting revolved around stillness. For me this means inner stillness; Zen.

She suggested I could repack into a different piece of luggage, which wasn't an option at this point. My Uber was on its way. Then she suggested I take with me a couple items that are more representative of the new me. So I put The Dalai Lama's Little Book of Inner Peace in my bag and a small, white origami crane I found on the street one day in my wallet.

At the airport I said a pleasant hello to each of the uniformed TSA staff I encountered. I breezed through security. I don't know what they did to make it so I could walk right up to the podium, show my ticket and ID, then put my belongings right onto the belt and pass through. I thanked a couple of them for their efficiency. One of them said "Don't get used to it." Of course not.

I sat next to two of the most lovely people on the plane. Within the first few minutes of introducing myself to Sorrel and Doug (from Victoria, B.C.), I came to know they, too, were Cal Poly graduates (class of '77 if memory serves). Most surprisingly, they shared with me about their daughter who just transitioned as a female. That's not your typical conversation starter.

Years ago, even before I began practicing journalism, I found I had a knack for getting people to open up. Now this was never really very intentional or pre-meditated. I'm just, clearly, a very open person. Naturally I believe this puts people at ease and allows them to feel comfortable enough sharing their lives with me. It's something I have always thrived on. I love sharing my stories and hearing others'. We all have such unique experiences to share with one another.

Both Sorrel and Doug Marks remarked about how much happier their daughter is now, that she walks with a new air of confidence and a spring in her step. Doug admitted at first he mourned for the loss of his only son. They have three other daughters. And yet seeing how happy she is now, getting to know this bright spirit, they both couldn't be more supportive.

The way they beamed with love when sharing with me about this experience, my eyes welled with tears. I told them how very lucky their daughter is to have them as parents. Truly.

As we descended into San Francisco, I felt utterly relieved to be greeted by cool, grey, overcast skies. Seattle has been a sweatbox, an unusually prematurely sweltering and dry one at that. My first night in The City, the moment I got into bed it began to rain. It's a sound I'm fond of and have ironically missed living in Seattle.

While I had a wonderful visit with my bestie and God daughter, it took a lot out of me. Late-ish to bed, early to rise, being out of routine. I feel like some geriatric eighty-something to admit it doesn't take much to throw my body for a loop. Historically, delicate isn't a word I would have ever used to describe my adult self. Now however ... Shit.

I had cut my trip a day short so my husband and I could attend the memorial service for an acquaintance. It was really more to support some of his survivors who have been close friends of ours. In fact, two in particular were his closest of friends. They were there with him his very last week on earth, tending to him in nearly every way imaginable.

His name was Mark Noyes. He died at age 50. A link to his obituary: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/daily-times/obituary.aspx?n=mark-lee-noyes&pid=174987223&

Apparently he had been battling liver disease for the past seven years. The disease was not enough to illicit any changes in Mark's drinking habits. In fact, no one even knew of his severe liver illness until a few weeks prior to his death. He kept it a closely guarded secret. It was only after his mother was given power of attorney and she looked through his medical records. She discovered he had been admitted to hospitals on several occasions to be treated for liver disease. Alas, when someone continues to use, the medical community forbids live saving procedures such as liver transplants. Such services are reserved for those who chose to play an active role in supporting their own health.

I see my mom struggle with cancer. Other than her western treatments, she does little if anything to take charge of and support her own wellness. Her bestie Sally, who underwent a double lung transplant this past year, she actually further injured her health by not following regimens and eating junk food. Post surgery she immediately developed type two diabetes.

Please don't misinterpret these statements as judgments. I'm only stating the facts. I just find it fascinating how people can get so in the way of their own wellness. For Mark he yielded to his addiction. That's powerful. And he was a good human, a very good human at that. While I've known him, and spent time with him, I didn't get to really know him until the night of July 14th, 2015.

The venue for Mark's Seattle memorial service set quite the tone. It was held under the big top at Teatro ZinZanni. Mark worked there for a time, and was ironically fired from there. He still had family there though. I don't mean the family you're born into. I mean the family you create through the sheer magic of touching their lives.

At first it was almost like a reunion of sorts. Attendees shuffled in sporadically, mixing and mingling. It was quite festive. The perimeter of the room was outlined in some of Mark's artwork, which included some modernesque paintings and a lamp he had made out of our friend's dress. If Mark were wealthy you could call him eccentric. He was definitely creative, and he lived enviably out loud.

One of Mark's nearest, his ex and our dog's uncle (he watches her while we're away) Chip, called the program to order. Another of our friends read her beautiful euology. Then a really nicely executed slideshow to music followed by a couple of Mark's former ZinZanni colleagues playing a song MTV Unplugged style. The rest was open mic night. So many people bravely went up to the podium and bared their souls. Tears were shed, great stories were told and often times laughter filled the tent.

Our dear friend Rhoda, who was one of the two with him in his final moments, started back at the beginning of their story. They first met when she was only 17 (and married) at a Marie Calendar's in Farmington, New Mexico. It was her first day on the job, and she was (barely) carrying a tray with four glasses of water. Mark whizzes by her carrying two trays full of plates and such on each arm. As he passes by, he looks her up and down and says, "good luck!"

She also offered up some of their final moments together. I have heard about pre-death dementia. And the story she shared seems in some ways like this, and in another way nothing like it at all. Apparently Mark's body had deteriorated to the point he was unable to get out of bed on his own. He kept asking his two bosom buddies to leave the room so he could get up on his own.

Rhoda wanted him to rest, and asked if he could just lay with her and nap. He asked her if all the travel arrangements had been made. She played along and said yes. He asked if he had given her money. She said he had and again begged him to just rest with her a while. He said he needed to get going, that she and Chip could rest and join him when they're ready. To me, that was rather spooky.

Rhoda adorned in a Hedwig wig paying her last respects to Mark.

Chip shared about first meeting Mark. He was at a party with some guy when he first laid eyes on Mark. He was instantly attracted. Apparently so too was the guy Chip brought with him, so he said he had to do a lot of cock blocking that night.

Our friend Laurie told of Mark's promise of spring. Seattle winters can be dark and dreary. So he encouraged her to look for the first flowers that bloom. To me that's always the cherry blossom, and pink looks divine against a dark grey sky. She mentioned it was Forsythia but I think she may be confusing it with Scotch broom. Either way, she went to Mark's one day feeling a little blue. He had a fresh arrangement of these golden flowers in a vase, and showed her he had picked them behind his building. For Laurie, it was a beacon of hope, an incentive to look for what's blooming all around you. Such beauty may be much closer than one expects when one looks for it.

Then this guy gets up to the mic. Clearly straighter than an arrow. Mark was a drinking buddy of his as well as a co-worker at ZinZanni. They would drive up to Snoqualmie Pass together with bottles of wine, hike up a mountain until they fell back into the snow and that's where they would drink their wine. One night they were up on his building's rooftop, drinking. At one point Mark leaned over and tried to kiss him. The guy socked him in the stomach. He thinks to this day Mark told people they got to second base, which this guy doesn't know what that would be and of course denies. From what I recall when I was a younger, more active gay man, I think it might be a finger up the ass. Not sure. I digress ...

Another of Mark's gal pals, Holly, shared of the dreams where he came to visit her in recent weeks. He told her he was going down the middle road to find enlightenment and wanted to know if he was scaring her.

An artist once remarked about the people in our lives all being part of our collective conscious. Mark's is an amazing one at that, clearly having touched so many others' lives profoundly.

My husband watched as bottles of booze were passed under the table in front of us. A handful of people excessively imbibed. Is getting drunk at a memorial for a guy who accumulatively killed himself with alcohol appropriate? Is it ironic? I personally think Mark would have wanted everyone to enjoy themselves and live it up. He certainly made no bones about that for his own life.

Part of me reflects on Mark's memorial and wonders if it could be transformed into a musical or an inde flick. Would that be the ultimate remembrance? The people who shared and what they imparted was like performance art, an impromptu show. It was raw, real, unrehearsed and mostly unscripted. In that way it was touching, moving and quite inspiring. And isn't that what life is all about anyway? Touching lives.

A long time college friend in California recently wrote this piece, which I find dark and beautiful, entitled Dying Meat: https://readpaintwrite.wordpress.com/2015/07/22/dying-meat/

Jolting is more the word than moving. Her piece begs one to question purpose.

After the myriad of people shared their stories of Mark, we gathered New Orleans funeral procession style and paraded ourselves down to International Fountain at Seattle Center in the shadow of the Space Needle. We wore beads, played with lit sparklers and had a really great time!

We didn't really observe Bastille Day. I had to throw that in there if for no other reason than to add to the intersection of events in a single day. Of course, I have been keenly interested in the Pluto mission. That's history in the making. Exploring worlds so far beyond ours rivets me. Fact, if the New Horizons spacecraft were travelling at the highway speed of an automobile, it would take 6,000 years to reach Pluto. Here's one final link before I put this post to bed: http://www.nasa.gov/image-feature/nasa-celebrates-new-horizons-closest-approach-to-pluto

Time Travel Discovered!

On a visit today to my esteemed, long time friend and hair stylist Eric, I couldn't help but notice the oversize Life magazine on his waiting area coffee table. This June 1969 issue has a cover story about test tube babies.

The questions the issue raises on the cover are adorable (yes I'm being a bit cynical here).
When new methods of human reproduction become available:
1. Can traditional family life survive?
2. Will marital infidelity increase?
3. Will children and parents still love each other?
4. Would you be willing to have a "test-tube" baby?

As a first rule of journalism, I tend to agree with question everything, especially authority. When it comes to publication, a reliable news source answers questions over raising them. The heart and soul of journalism is for the sole purpose of informing the public. I didn't think Fox news existed in the late 1960s. Yet this incite-fear-filled prose on this magazine cover appears to be the very brand of sensationalism Fox revels in preaching.

From Eric's perspective, America's sexual revolution is what led the right to define itself by opposing contraceptive birth control, abortion, queers, etc. Eric believes to this day the right is still obsessed with and ultimately stuck in this era. To those Rip Van Winkles on the right I have some news for you; it's 2015.

I think I've discovered a way to time travel, at least to the past. It's surprisingly simple. Attend the Republican National Convention. That would be such a trip. I'd be interested to just sit in and listen to the archaic rhetoric, especially in light of recent victories for equality.

It's important to delve further into the fear factor. Eric acknowledged during our conversation, the easiest way to control people is to tell them they and/or their way of life is under attack. With that mindset, people can be manipulated in a variety of ways.

The 911 terrorist attacks are the most extreme example of mass fear-based manipulation in our modern age. As a result the American people agreed to sunset some of our most important rights involving due process of law in the name of the war on terror for national security. Make no mistake, the only beneficiaries to the abolishment of such civil liberties are the government and really the powerful financial interests it now exists to serve and protect. When the government states "for reasons of national security," what is really meant is "to insulate government and its corporate interests from the American people."

I mentioned the 911 example to Eric under the pretense of false flag domestic terrorism. He hadn't ever heard the term false flag before. Thus the explanation of an act purported to have been committed by a foreign entity when in fact it was carried out by the home country. His response to this was simply that he willfully disbelieves the U.S. government directly implemented 911. He said he thinks our government may have played a passive role in the event. He said if it was an inside job, the truth would have been revealed by now. We both agreed people often believe what they need to believe, mostly for self preservation purposes.

Eric comes from an uber conservative Christian upbringing. He acknowledges it took him such a long time to admit to himself he was misled. Then he broached another interesting subject, the Bhagwan Shree Rajnessh. Apparently one of Eric's former clients was a member of this notorious Oregon-based cult in the early 1980s. Eric thinks this individual stopped seeing him as a result of some negative remarks Eric made about the group's activities. The former cult member came to the Bhagwan's defense, stating the problem was with some of the people who worked for the Bhagwan.

I said to Eric it's much easier to fool people than to convince them they've been fooled.

The Elusive Intersection of Time & Inspiration

I seem to do my best brain storming behind the wheel of a fast moving automobile. Like this past Wednesday when I got clocked going 49 in a 35 on First Avenue. Oops. My gift from the (hunky) officer (aside from general eye candy)? He cited me with the lowest possible infraction, driving inattention, which comes with a minimal fine and no reporting on my record.

Officer Henry (that even sounds hunky) said he was pleased I didn't greet him with a bunch of excuses and he appreciated my attitude. I was pleased with his physique and appreciated how the rolled up sleeves on his fitted police uniform gave him somewhat of a burly lumberjack appearance and left little to the imagination. This is where I almost day dreamed he was one of those novelty strippers until I quickly realized I was actually being issued a traffic citation.

In all seriousness it pays to be kind. WTF else was I going to do? I actually was in a daydream haze just prior to finally noticing the flashing blue and red motorcycle lights in my rear view. I didn't know how fast I was driving. Heck, for a spell there I wasn't even conscious I was driving. I'm going to consider today's citation the universe issuing me a warning for my recent lack of mindfulness.

Started a writing project a few weeks ago. Well, project makes it sound a little lofty. Let's call it a little writing excursion. A flashback to memory lane, if you will. As I settle into middle age, I've noticed a couple things. The first is I often get stuck on recalling the most common of vocabulary. The second is I've been oh so nostalgic. Is this a fortysomething right of passage? My excursion is somewhat of a coming of age story, based on real life experiences being transplanted to the middle of the country in the middle of high school. At the time I seriously thought my life had ended.

In reality, over the past few years, I've suffered a mysterious illness. At times also serious. Serious to the point of thinking and feeling in actuality my days were numbered. Perhaps they are. I mean no one really knows when their number is going to be called.

Today, for example, my husband and I ventured into Downtown Seattle to partake in the LGBT Pride parade festivities. I had been feeling a little winded all morning. This can occur for various reasons. Sometimes due to stress and anxiety while other times due to physical conditions such as lack of sleep or being a bit dehydrated. In today's case I chalk it up to the latter.

So we were standing on a high balcony overlooking the parade and thousands of parade-goers. Both of us were in a mood. I had been in a good mood, mostly, until we got in the car. My husband is blue. His closest friend just left after having visited this past week. He said he really feels like himself when she's around, and he considers her his one and only true friend. His eyes welled with tears. It is so important for us to have great friendships.

Incidentally we were on our way to meet up with some friends who ended up no showing. That was a bit of a bummer. Looking around the sea of people, I recognized only one or two people here and there. Despite having so many people around, including my beloved hubby, I cannot help having a feeling of isolation. Is sadness transmittable in the way a cold or flu is?

Why am I feeling sad? Today of all days is a momentous occasion. Since the summer of love this is the first ever Pride celebration which marks the official legal precedent for LGBT equality in America. Historic. Epic. Why then would I have any reason to be mopey?

At one point I felt my breathing further constrict. So I attempted applying what I learned in biofeedback. Slowing by breath down. Five counts for inhale, five counts for exhale. Easier said than done when one's lungs or diaphragm aren't allowing full breaths. I made the mistake of helping an exhale along by further forcing my diaphragm to squeeze out a breath. Suddenly I found myself unable to draw a breath for a couple moments. An immediate wave of being light headed to the point where I felt as though I might faint. I called it out to my husband and told him I needed to sit for a minute. So we ventured inside the Westlake Center and took a seat at an open table. It wasn't long before he decided it was time for us to just head back home.

My illness has completely transformed my way of being. Almost everything is more of a challenge at times. In consideration of being in a crowded urban area for a day of festivities, my first thought is always "will I have the energy for this?" If I get hungry, where and what will I eat? Alcohol is out of the question. I've not been able to drink it or caffeine for about two and a half years.

All of the friends I used to spend time with regularly, our encounters by in large revolved around food and drink. In that regard I know I've been no fun to be around. I loathe feeling like I have to be specially catered to in any way. Therefore my default has just been to lay low and stay at home. The last thing I would ever want to do is rain on someone else's parade. For crying out loud I used to be the life of the party!

When I do have the time, inspiration and wherewithal to venture out, it's kind of a big deal for me. That even seems strange to me to admit such a thing. It's the truth. So to not only want to be with my so-called friends and commit the time and energy toward being with them only to have them end up not matching my effort ... I have to admit this injures my feelings quite deeply. On a spiritual level I do understand my vibrational energy isn't a match, and there's no ego in that. It's just a tough paradigm to adjust to at times.

In my thirties I had the zeitgeist with me. I was on top of all the chic new spots that opened in town. Had my fingers around the pulse of my community. Heck, to some degree I helped give my community a pulse.

It must be me, and not just my illness. I don't have any strong relations within the family I grew up knowing. Some of them I don't necessarily care to know.

I cannot help but feel lost at times, lost and isolated. Surely others have had this experience. I suppose the good news is I know better exists for me and my life. By better, I simply mean a warm, uplifting sense of connection. My spirit so craves this.

Just spaced out for a moment and two things came to mind:
1. My bestie recently had my beautiful God daughter. Perhaps part of my disconnect stems from the sudden shift in our ties. She has her fiancé and baby to focus on now. While I know we are still vital to one another, things have changed, for better or worse. How could they not have? Even so, I am very happy for her. Truly.

2. I've not been focusing inward as much lately. Days I either started with yoga or meditation, I felt wonderful and totally dialed in. I think at the very least some before bed meditation is in order.

Getting back into the groove with my coach is in the cards, too. Our next phase is to get me clear on my big why. Why do I get out of bed each day? What is my life's purpose? Those are anything but meager questions to answer. What do you believe is your life's purpose?

Marriage Equality Prevails

Last night was nearly like any other. My husband, his closest friend and I attended our town's local comedy night. We picked up some Mexican food after the show and had it for dinner al fresco on our back deck.

At some point during the course of the evening we broached the impending SCOTUS ruling on marriage equality. In fact, one of the comedians, an out gay man, broached the topic as part of his act. I know it's stating the obvious, this is a monumental social issue for the present day.

We knew a ruling to be imminent. I had not imagined when I laid myself to sleep last night it was to be the eve of the most historic social event in modern American history. I awoke today around 7:21 a.m. Pacific Time and immediately thought to check Google news on my iPhone. Sure enough, a news post had been made 13 minutes prior declaring SCOTUS' ruling in favor of national marriage equality. I immediately posted the article on my Facebook page, simply announcing: Marriage Equality Prevails

I awoke my sound asleep husband with this news. I gently climbed on top of him for an embrace with he and our little dog Millie. Shortly thereafter we both got out of bed. He started shuffling around the house singing, in his best Southern drawl, "I'm proud to be an American." How I would have loved to have spent the morning with him in celebration. Instead I had to rush off to a 9:00 a.m. client appointment.

I've been mostly out and about today. While I'm sensing mostly a joyous spirit via social media, I'm still processing what this enormous milestone means for me.

First, I realize while the SCOTUS ruling on marriage equality is a huge, positive step in the right direction, we still have much work to do. If we reflect on the past century to learn from other disenfranchised groups' struggles with equality, we know we still have a long road ahead. Just because women earned the right to vote and later replaced men in the workforce as part of the war effort, women didn't just suddenly elevate to equal status. Women still struggle for equality. Just because the country mandated racial integration, the population as a whole didn't just suddenly embrace our African American brothers and sisters. To this day the black community still struggles for equality.

As I posted earlier today on Facebook: Perhaps today's historic step forward for human equality will begin to move us together beyond our social issues as a people. We are all unique as individuals. Even so, you'll find below the surface we are all much more connected by our similarities than divided by our differences.

I often wonder when the masses will awaken to realize the social issues have been diverting our attention from government corruption. Public officials by in large are accountable to corporate interests over the people's. Our voices have been muffled. Taxation without representation led our forefathers to establish freedoms which are being systematically dismantled. All is not lost, yet, while we have an opportunity to create positive changes in each other's lives. If someone seeks tolerance, may they exhibit tolerance.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness;
only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate;
only love can do that ..."
-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

In SCOTUS' marriage ruling, Justice Kennedy embraced a vision of a living Constitution, one that evolves with societal changes. He wrote today:

 

“The nature of injustice is that we may not always see it in our own times. The generations that wrote and ratified the Bill of Rights and the Fourteenth Amendment did not presume to know the extent of freedom in all of its dimensions, and so they entrusted to future generations a charter protecting the right of all persons to enjoy liberty as we learn its meaning.”

 

A most powerful and wise interpretation of what is meant by equal protection under the law. People are people for goodness sake.

Kennedy continues:

"No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice, and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were. As some of the petitioners in these cases demonstrate, marriage
embodies a love that may endure even past death. It would misunderstand these men and women to say they disrespect the idea of marriage. Their plea is that they do respect it, respect it so deeply that they seek to find its fulfillment for themselves. Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness, excluded from one of civilization’s oldest institutions. They ask for equal dignity in the eyes of the law. The Constitution grants them that right."

"The Constitution promises liberty to all within its reach, a liberty that includes certain specific rights that allow persons, within a lawful realm, to define and express their identity. The petitioners in these cases seek to find that liberty by marrying someone of the same sex and having their marriages deemed lawful on the same terms and conditions as marriages between persons of the opposite sex."

One of my long time friends is quite anti-conservative. I'm sure like many others who have been targets of right-wing divisiveness, people are reveling in this monumental victory. He posted: LOL! It's been a tough week for conservatives. To which I replied: You mean the new minority? Remember our struggles to be accepted as we are. Then let us not be hasty to condemn and instead offer our forgiveness and compassion.

I would be inauthentic to conceal a small part of me wants to hold up a big middle finger to those who oppose equality, to those who oppose my love, my family, my right to exist as I am with equal protection under the law. Live and let live. Why is this simple, common sense way of being so unfathomably challenging for some of my fellow humans?!

To those who condemn marriage equality, try on God loving us all just as we are. Try on we are all perfect (despite our many flaws) and created equal. OK, at the very least, please try on great fences make great neighbors. I vow to keep my bedroom door closed if you vow to keep your nose out of my doorjam.

I am certain there will be backlash. Only time will tell to what extent. I read a post the State of Mississippi intends to cease issuance of all marriage licenses. In other words, if we can't have things our way, we'll have it no way at all. How entirely juvenile. I read a post the Texas governor will stop issuance of same sex marriage licenses, declaring the First Amendment protects religious freedom. That has to be one of the most unintelligent "rationales" I've ever heard. In fact, it completely negates Justice Thomas' dissenting opinion: "The corollary of that principle is that human dignity cannot be taken away by the government. Slaves did not lose their dignity (any more than they lost their humanity) because the government allowed them to be enslaved. Those held in internment camps did not lose their dignity because the government confined them. And those denied governmental benefits certainly do not lose their dignity because the government denies them those benefits. The government cannot bestow dignity, and it cannot take it away."

By Thomas' rationale, how is the SCOTUS' ruling on marriage equality the government taking away an individual's right to practice religion in the way an individual chooses? The government is certainly not requiring religious organizations to recognize or for that matter perform same gender weddings.

It doesn't take a scholar to make the distinction between state marriage and marriage as observed by religious organizations. So here it goes. State marriage is a bundle of rights. Period. A religious marriage is the spiritual joining of two people's lives in accordance with the values and practices of that couple's faith. One does not negate the other. Both state sanctioned marriages and religious marriages have peacefully coexisted for decades, and they can continue to. For those who still insist on going out of their way to force their spiritual beliefs upon others or me, are you not violating my First Amendment right to religious freedom and for the love of God would you please just forever hold your peace? Thank you.

Hubby, bestie & I exchanging vows on the eleventh day of the twelfth month of the thirteenth year in the Producer's Club at the Fifth Avenue Theatre in Downtown Seattle (where hubby & I had been first introduced nine years prior to the day). The three of us agree this day was one of the happiest of our lives.

Lastly, had to throw in this next image (a flag to offend all):


GOD HATES FLAGS!

#LoveWins

I HEART OR

I do, I really do just so love Washington State's quirky neighbor to the south. Oregon is as purely American as Weird Al Yankovic. Oregon is also known as "the Canada of California," "the Mexico of Washington," and sometimes "the Spain of Idaho."

My husband and I drove down to Cannon Beach over the long weekend to visit my hypochondriac mother-in-law.

One of the things I love most about Oregon are gas pump valets. Yes, you don't even have to leave the comfort of your cozy, luxury automobile to refuel or just top off. By law Oregon requires people to be employed to pump your gas for you, and you don't have to tip them. I wish Washington would mandate such creature comforts for Washingtonians.

Pictured: An Oregon gas valet wearing an official day glow vest (a nod to the '80s), hoodie, beanie, shades and hipster beard.

It's true, this beloved Oregon law is primarily around public safety more than it is for convenience. The state's lawmakers believe the ordinary citizen is too stupid to operate gas pump equipment themselves safely. Now if only such laws existed in the Bible belt. I think there's a large percentage of the U.S. population in that region who inhale an excess amount of gas fumes. I digress ...

Admittedly, I get confused by Oregon's street signs. They just say SPEED followed by a number.

So are they telling me to speed? Is this a subliminal message to support the local economy's black market and buy speed at said dollar rate? Should I be driving at least 50? If so, 50 what? Miles per hour, kilometers per second? It's these subtleties that further enhance Oregon's charming mystique. I applaud the state's efforts to curb wasteful spending on additional ink for letters while at the same time keeping things interesting. Fact, Oregon drivers are statistically the slowest in the country. As I recall that recent study posted on Facebook, I don't exactly remember what they meant by "slow."

Speaking of mystique, Oregon has a couple county names that sound a lot like venereal diseases. Clackamas. Clatsop. I have also wondered how malignant the county name Multnomah is. Then, according to my friend Eric, there's the town of La Pine. As he drove through with a friend from France, it was revealed La Pine in French means "the penis." So if people living in Seattle are Seattleites; are the townspeople of La Pine called Penises?

Of course being from a state with one of the highest retail sales taxes in the nation, I love going to Oregon which has no sales tax. It's like the state is having a permanent 10 percent off sale. What's not to love about that?!

Oregon, you are so much more than Washington's weird step sister. Thanks for all the chuckles, The Goonies and for rescuing so much of Washington's unwanted garbage. You're a true friend.

Update on Mom 5/24/15

Hello All,

Hope this message finds you well. It has been a while since my last update. A big part of the reason is mom has been and continues to be doing wonderfully well. As of last Friday, mom’s most recent scans showed barely any sign of tumors; virtually non-existent! She’s still undergoing chemo treatments once per week, three weeks in a row with one week off. Being here in the Seattle area I’m convinced has allowed for the best possible care and treatment.

For the past month and a half, mom and Al have been spending quite a bit of time getting settled in their new place, which is coming together so nicely. For Mother’s Day Terry and I gave her our iPad 2, so she’s all setup on email and Facebook. Tech support is beyond not my forte, and it almost went a bit like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6A331B1oq8  

I recall having mentioned in a previous email, and just in case, please feel free to reach out to Patty direct anytime:

Please, she’d love to hear from you, especially to just catch up with you, what’s been happening in your life, etc.

Earlier this month I took mom to Gilda’s Club Seattle’s Surviving With Style fashion show lunch benefit. When my mom was much younger, my Grandma took she and her sister to department store fashion show luncheons. Our event was of course much different; quite an elaborate production with about 500+ attendees. Every model is a cancer survivor from all walks of life, very young to elder. Each model was introduced with their story. I for one found it beyond inspiring to see so many strong, courageous survivors as well as learn about their challenges. I thought it was great for my mom to know a vibrant community of people who know first hand what she’s dealing with are available to her and are wonderful people with the heart to celebrate life in spite of life threatening illness.

Martin Short was the master of ceremonies, and he killed it. Sincere, touching and of course laugh out loud hilarious, he shared unabashedly about how cancer has touched his life profoundly. Quite sobering to learn one in two men and one in three women (indeed the stronger of our species) will receive a cancer diagnosis in their lifetime. To me this phenomenon is more a symptom of an underlying problem and begs all of our collective, deeper curiosity.

The gentleman who quite reluctantly followed Short to make the donation ask had a very inspiring story of his own to share. He was diagnosed with stage three lung cancer. This was a man who coached his kids’ sports teams, was a professional and husband who was in his 40s; an active, fit non-smoker. He didn’t respond to any of the treatments. His disease progressed to stage four when the tumors spread to his other lung. At one point he was so ill, he was mostly in bed, lost his voice and could maybe make it up the stairs once a day.

Determination drove this man to further research options. He found a study he became eligible for. Only 26 people in the world were on this particular clinical trial. Within one week, most all of his symptoms subsided. Within three weeks his voice returned and he was back to jogging daily. I found this story miraculous and full of hope.

It’s important to regard each day a blessing, an opportunity to, as someone very close to me wisely put it, want what we have over having what we want. I digress …

Couldn’t resist a photo opportunity with mom at the event. I think she may be open to participating next year as a model. :)

In the meantime, Gilda’s Club provides free support and community to cancer survivors and their loved ones. Such an increasingly important nonprofit in our brave new world.

All my best

'80s Flashback

My mom recently unearthed a bunch of my old grade school art work she kept for me. This image is from a page in a book Mrs. Emmons' fourth grade class made for me when we moved and I changed elementary schools. This was one of the more creative pages, a crossword puzzle of "rock" songs circa '84. Not shown is a sidebar hint about the answers "they can go any way." Is that a metaphor for a day in life or just some child's play from a clever 9 year old?

Tim Wistrom's Seattle

He may not be known to many. In fact I didn't even know who this artist was until I recently did an online search for these works. I recall how captivated I was the first time I laid eyes on one of Tim Wistrom's post-apocalyptic Seattle prints. It may have been this very one. Something so haunting, isolating and beautiful all at the same time. At least to me. Think I was still in elementary school when these works began catching my eye in the early 1980s.

 

Around age nine, I built city ruins in my side yard with bricks and stone. I imagined the perils of ending one civilization and the daunting outlook of beginning a new one out of the rubble. I can't tell you why this fascinated me so. As a youngster I was always happy and exuberantly optimistic. Or perhaps there is a deeper nature in me, in all of us, one that is in touch with the way life works.

 

Just like each passing year; out with the old, in with the new. Seeing this image once more inspires me. I would love to know more about the artist. Perhaps he would allow me a brief interview ... ?

ENIGMA

If you haven't seen the documentary IRIS, you're missing out on a cultural icon; a true enigma. http://www.magpictures.com/iris/

Coincidentally, a recent past client cut me a few purple Irises from her garden a couple hours before I saw this documentary. She was unaware of my plans. Just one of those little synchronistic life events I felt compelled to make note of ...

There Goes the Gayborhood

My esteemed friend and former team leader is about to raise hell on TV from San Francisco starting July 8th: http://www.etonline.com/tv/162122_million_dollar_listing_san_francisco_first_trailer_debuts/

Look out, queens, there's a new bitch in town and her name is Andrew Greenwell (pictured above left). Kiss-kiss, sweetie darling ...