58 Gratitudes for 58 Years

I was born in 1960, which technically makes me a "boomer" - a much maligned segment of the population. This could be why I feel increasingly irrelevant and why I feel like I am merely wasting space and dwindling resources. Why have I been allowed to live this long when others with more promise were not?

My birthday falls on ... no, "falls on" is too dramatic, too momentous to describe my birthday. My birthday elbows its way in between Christmas and New Year's. It is overcrowded, overwhelmed and overrun by the slew of holiday parties and family rituals mandated by this point on the Gregorian calendar. I suppose this is the reason feeling relevant has been one of my biggest challenges.

This feeling of lacking relevance has most recently manifested itself in the arena of motherhood. The people that I allegedly birthed - because the idea of it is so hard to conceive of at this time - are adults living in different cities, living their own lives. I am contacted periodically by one or the other of them. I contact one or the other of them from time to time. There is happy chit-chat. But there is an underlying discomfort in my lack of understanding of my role in their lives at this time.

I feel sorry for myself for not knowing. Not knowing how I should be using my talents, not understanding why I chose to derail myself so severely at an early age - a derailing that has required years of putting things right with myself - not knowing what I mean to the people I allegedly gave birth to, not knowing how to care for my aging parents, not knowing what my role is in the larger scheme of things. I feel sorry for myself for not knowing.

Because one of the things I measure my success by is travel, every year on and around my birthday, I grow depressed at my lack of will, my lack of initiative. Because I allowed another year to go by without taking a trip out west. I have never been out west, you see. And I feel like something is waiting for me there. But year after year, I ignore this. Here I stand, again, in Greensboro, NC, wondering what the Hell is wrong with me.

All this gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair aside, I recognize I have done unique things in my life that have enriched it, even if they were hard at the time. I recognize that I have encountered and even personally known a great many exceptional people who have brought meaning to my world. I recognize that while my family is not perfect, they are my family, my place of origin, my roots. And for them, I am grateful.

I decided this year to relive my life briefly by stating 58 gratitudes that include moments lived, people known, tasks achieved. They are not in order of importance. They are in the order I recalled them.

1. I am grateful for being born in the small clinic in Denton, NC with a head full of thick black hair. I gave people something to talk about and was, at least for a day, the town attraction.

2. I am grateful for snakes. They mysteriously pop up in my dreams and my waking life and draw me in to a world both of mystery and deep knowing.

3. I am grateful for horses. All pre-adolescent girls, from what I'm told, love horses. That may be. But horses became and still are a huge part of my psyche. They represent the untamable power inside of me. They represent freedom, dignity, and grace. Always.

4. I am grateful for my father. He taught me to read. He taught me an appreciation for music. He taught me playful mischievousness.

5. I am grateful for my mother. She taught me about love. She taught me to sew. She taught me to color. I am even grateful that she passed along the curse of perfectionism because it makes me push myself to be better.

6. I am grateful for my sister, Rebecca, who has helped me to survive 58 years on the planet. She is younger but in many ways wiser. She helps me get off the train of self-destruction. She helps me put positive spins on situations. But she also joins in when I need to bitch about something. Beyond all that, she makes me laugh most heartily.

7. I am grateful for my family physician, Dr. Stephen Hux, who first diagnosed my depression and prescribed medication for it. He helped me get right with myself after many years of self-annihilation.

8. I am grateful for Dr. Edith Wallace, who taught me that I have everything I need to solve my own problems. I have a direct link to a divine source of creativity that will teach me, heal me and help me to be my best self. She taught me to honor my inner jester. She helped me remember to play.

9. I am grateful for my sister, Helen, who helped me to understand that the ways of the patriarchy need not be my ways. She modeled an independence of thought and action that I aspire to even today.

10. I am grateful for my brother, Robby, who taught me hard lessons about standing up for myself.

11. I am grateful for my brother, Brett, who taught me silliness and to embrace the weird.

12. I am grateful for my two children. I am grateful for the experience of being pregnant and giving birth. I am grateful for the experience of breastfeeding two beings, nourishing their bodies through my own. (What a uniquely intimate experience this is! I never would have known this intimacy otherwise.) I am grateful for the residual stretch marks that remind me that all of this really happened. I am grateful for the strength that arose in me from knowing motherhood. I am grateful for the lesson of unconditional love that my children taught me.

13. I am grateful for the being that my daughter has become.

14. I am grateful for the being that my son has become.

15. I am grateful for Robin White Star, who reunited me with the parts that had broken off due to trauma. I am grateful for her wisdom and healing over the many years that I have known her. I am grateful for her teachings of Native American spirituality. These have enriched my life greatly.

16. I am grateful for the love of my friends. There are so many who have braced me up when I have fallen, who have laughed with me, cried with me, danced with me, played with me, listened to me and talked to me.

17. I am grateful for Tim LaFollette. I am grateful for having had the privilege of serving him as he lived with ALS/Lou Gehrig's disease. I am grateful for his grace, his wit, his passion, his determination. I was honored to observe the many changes his body went through during his journey with ALS. I was honored to give him care.

18. I am grateful for Britt Harper Uzzell, a.k.a. Snüzz, who by some stroke of luck caught wind of one of my stupid songs and invited me to record it. His generous spirit and fun-loving nature enveloped me, making me feel important and well loved.

19. I am grateful for Lee Wallace, who taught me about bravery. He shared his love of music and great movies with me. And he shared his dog Stella, whom I spent lots of time walking. All over, we walked. We explored. Stella helped me get out of my stuffy brain and enjoy the beauty all around me. I am grateful for that time of being in Lee's life, helping him by walking Stella, listening to his pondering, seeing a miracle performed that saved his life, watching him grow stronger and able-bodied.

20. I am grateful for WQFS, a college radio station at which I had a weekly radio show. For roughly 15 years, I sat in a tiny MCR and sent my musical love letters out into the world. I gained friends there. I gained awareness of new bands. I gained a sense of meaning by simply attempting to inspire listeners.

21. I am grateful for UNCG, where I learned to trust my instincts and study theatre.

22. I am grateful for Deborah Bell, who taught me mask-making.

23. I am grateful for Marsha Paludan, who taught me so much more than simply how to be in my own body. She exemplified a spiritual approach to performance that now exists in my bones.

24. I am grateful for Lorraine Shackelford-Giddens, who introduced me to Gabriel Roth's Five Rhythms. This is a life-changing practice that I return to again and again for release and clarity.

25. I am grateful for Bob Hansen, who taught me about the history of theatre, who cultivated in me an even deeper respect for the medium and a joy of academia.

26. I am grateful for Great Aunt Minnie Lee, who exemplified true Christianity with her unconditional love, generosity, and grace. I am grateful for the feeling of genuine acceptance I experienced when in her hugging arms. I am grateful for the example of integrity she left me with, for her creativity and her humor.

27. I am grateful for all my relations. Aunts, uncles, cousins. All the family get-togethers. All the many shades of myself I experienced in their presence.

28. I am grateful for nature, for going outdoors and sitting in the sun, for taking long walks in the woods, for riding down a river, for climbing a mountain, for sleeping in the cold, for looking up at the stars, for feeling the rain pour down on me, for playing in the snow, for seeing new landscapes, for witnessing wildlife, for the smell of rich dirt and decaying leaves underfoot.

29. I am grateful for my dogs Soupy Sales and Flossie Mae, who teach me about love and playfulness, about loyalty and service and who help me get exercise.

30. I am grateful for the life of Melchior the cat, who was seriously my soulmate. She was with me through all sorts of maladies. She comforted me. She amused me. She loved me and I loved her.

31. I am grateful for music in all its forms. I will listen to be inspired, to learn about different cultures, to break down barriers in myself. I will play music to learn discipline and how to create sound that moves others. I will sing to release joy, sorrow or to be silly. I make up songs to make people laugh. I love music that makes me cry, that pierces my soul with longing too epic to describe. Nothing else can do this.

32. I am grateful for the radical people in my life. The ones who do not accept the status quo. The ones who understand that our current system of government is by its very nature oppressive and must be eliminated. I am grateful for the people who are brutally honest with me about politics and systems of injustice, who call me out when I'm being lazy or naive, who help me to examine the ingrained biases I have. 

33. I am grateful for Gwen Frisbie-Fulton, a single mom who exemplifies the struggles that I experienced as a single mom with much more integrity than I ever had. She forges a path of fighting for a more just world. While it seems idealistic, even unrealistic, this path needs to be forged. And I need to be reminded of it.

34. I am grateful for the experience of having been married to Steve Mitchell. From it, I learned to be true to myself, to honor who I am with great ferocity, to never allow violent words or acts be directed at me, to fight the patriarchy with all my might, to value my gender, to defend and fight alongside my sisters who are struggling against a system of oppression.

35. I am grateful for the many routes my activist nature has travelled over the years. Writing letters to foreign governments asking for the release of prisoners of conscience, marching in the streets with signs and banners, shouting slogans, painting graffiti, organizing Really Really Free Markets, engaging in community dialogues, listening to others. While I still don't know how to save the world, I am dedicated to continue trying.

36. I am grateful for learning to trust my inner knowing enough to heed it.

37. I am grateful for great literature. Victor Hugo. Mark Twain. John Steinbeck. Kurt Vonnegut. These writers helped shape my world view. I am grateful for good books that immerse me in a world unlike any I've known and carry me away on a storyline that I believe in wholeheartedly.

38. I am grateful for film as an art form and the directors who know how to use it as such.

39. I am grateful for writing. It is something I have done for as long as I have known how. (My first book was titled "Happy the Duck." I wrote and illustrated it.) I have poured my heart into notebooks and journals, periodic articles in local rags and blog entries. Some things are read by others. Some not. Sometimes I gain praise. Other times, I write only for myself. Outside input is nice, but I write as a way of putting order to a world which often seems to lack it. I am grateful for words.

40. I am grateful for dance. Truly beautiful choreography executed flawlessly by physically capable beings. And spontaneous dance combustions executed clumsily by my self.

41. I am grateful for food. For growing my own vegetables, for preparing meals, for enjoying nourishment as I take it in to my body. I am grateful to have this luxury of being able to nourish my body when so many are not able to do this.

42. I am grateful for my health. I have experienced health crises in the past. Cancer. ITP, which I still live with. But in general, at this point in time, my body is healthy and able to do the tasks I need to do on a daily basis. I am grateful to have mobility. I am grateful to have the use of my brain. I am grateful to have strength to move and to make things.

43. I am grateful for the doctors who have helped me achieve health.

44. I am grateful for the teachers I have had throughout my life who taught me more than just the subject at hand. They taught me to think independently, to be myself, to love myself, to explore knowledge, and to question.

45. I am grateful for my creativity, my urge to make things. Whether it is a painting, a play, a song, a mask, an embroidered piece of fabric, or a patch for some jeans, I live for making. Without the spirit of creativity, I am nothing.

46. I am grateful for humor. For all the beings who help me laugh at myself. For all the beings who help me laugh at the idiocy of this world. For all the beings who taught me about the idiocy of this world through humor. Laughter heals. I am grateful for this healing force in my life.

47. I am grateful for all the animal beings that inhabit the planet. All the creepy-crawly insects, all the furry four-leggeds, all the winged creatures, all the reptiles, all the ocean dwellers, river dwellers, creek and pond dwellers. I am grateful for the quality that each of these beings brings to the world. I am grateful for their unique wisdom and teachings.

48. I am grateful for my grandmother Helen, whom I never knew. She died when my mother was nine. But I feel as if her presence has always been with me. I feel as if she has moved through me in loving and playful ways. I feel as if I would have loved her greatly had I known her. But then again, I feel as if I have known her.

48. I am grateful for the roots that my family has here in North Carolina. I am grateful for this state's mountains and coastline. I am grateful for its history and its pre-history. I am grateful for the town of Winston-Salem and the special affinity I have with it.

49. I am grateful for my time spent serving The Garage, a now defunct music venue. It was so much my heart and soul for a time. I am grateful for all the musicians that enriched my experience there. I am grateful for the different sound people but especially for Brian Doub, who was most consistently there and who always produced the best sounding shows. I am grateful for Vicki Moore, Doug and Molly Davis, who worked with me in the beginning of my stay there. I am grateful for Richard Emmett for creating The Garage in the first place and then for providing me with an opportunity to work there.

50. I am grateful for my experience working around books. Kernersville Public Library, B.Dalton Booksellers, Waldenbooks, Borders Books and Music. These were my loves. Everything about working there was a pleasure. The people I worked with, the people I met, the joy of reading which turned into the joy of spreading the joy of reading via the distribution of books. I had so much fun in all these places.

51. I am grateful for the experience of managing a little gift shop in Harper's Ferry, WV. It was a magical little place filled with warmth, lovely smells, beautiful objects, silly cards and music. I honed in on my business skills and my love of creating a pretty and welcoming environment. I met interesting people from all over and made a lasting friend.

52. I am grateful for the hard experience of living at Claymont. It served its purpose of acting as a sort of pressure cooker to expedite needed change. It served my children well by offering them both the wild-ness of the landscape and a nurturing school environment. It gave me rich and challenging experiences which helped me to grow into the person I needed to be. Above all, it reinforced my need to maintain my individuality and my critical thinking.

53. I am grateful for the experience of attending the NC School of the Arts in high school. I am grateful to have been shown that world. Though challenging in its own right, it definitely impacted me positively. I learned of whole different populations that I had previously not been privy to. Gay men, gay women, transvestites, transsexuals, artists. It broadened my perspective and appealed to my desire for a more liberal and liberated life.

54. I am grateful for the lovers in my life who valued me as a partner. Who honored my sexuality by pleasuring me.

55. I am grateful for my current ally, Brian Talbert, who offers me all manner of support, who honors me for the person I am, who calls me out on my bullshit, who makes me laugh a lot, who taught me about riding rivers and gave me immense thrills by taking me down white water. We vowed to make our lives better together, both individually and collectively. And he has upheld his end of the bargain. He makes me happy. I am most fortunate.

56. I am grateful for the house I live in. I am grateful for the neighborhood, for the neighbors, for our yard, for the dogwood trees, for the front porch. I am grateful to share this house and my existence in it with Brian. I am grateful for the work we both put into keeping the house in working order as well as looking pretty.

57. I am grateful for the people who currently employ me in a variety of ways. Cleaning houses, pulling weeds, doing estate sales, making masks and Bohemian Prayer Flags. All of these people are granting me a form of freedom that I need in order to feel more fully myself. For this, I will be eternally grateful.

58. I am grateful for today: my 58th birthday. A day in which I may reflect on my life, on the errors and subsequent corrections I've made. On my ability to overcome obstacles and remain true to myself. On my ability to survive all manner of challenging situations and come out victorious. I am grateful for all lessons learned and all teachings that remain. I am grateful for this path, which is uniquely my own. I embark upon my continued journey without judgement, with an open heart, and love of the unknown.

On Giving and Gratitude

The season of giving thanks and giving gifts is upon us. We are reminded every time we turn on a television or radio or walk into any store of the approach of the one holiday that creates more mass hysteria, anxiety and depression than all others: Christmas. For many years, I worked in retail establishments during this time. For my own health and sanity, I needed to retreat from these hubs of consumption. I had to examine what this season means to me and how I might best express it. In coming to terms with my heart and the world around me, I have realized the following:

1. I do not need a lot of stuff.
2. While I am grateful for the stuff I have, excess stuff does not need to reside with me. I can give it away.
3. Stuff that I give to other people is given with love and no expectation of reciprocation.
4. My money is as powerful (and maybe more powerful) as my vote. I will vote with my money on a daily basis. I will choose how and when to spend my money.

Let's look at the word consumption for a moment. In biology, it refers to the process of ingesting something for energy gain. Consumption was also a term used to describe pulmonary tuberculosis, a disease that causes the body to gradually waste away as it loses a drastic amount of weight. In this way, the disease appeared to consume the body. When I use the word "consumption," I am referring to the process of purchasing everything I need to live: food, a place to live, clothing, fuel for my car, energy for my home, a phone service, medical services. A certain amount of consumption is necessary for our existence here on the planet. But an excess of consumption is like a disease, causing great waste. 

I like to look at my level of consumption as an ecosystem. In an ecosystem, there is a balance between consumption and output - that which is produced by an individual that benefits the greater ecosystem. I examine the amount of energy it takes to produce the money that I need to purchase things necessary for survival. I examine all that is needed to provide me with this energy. In this way, I have become selective about the amount of money I spend and how I spend it.

I purchase very little new stuff. I go to clothing swaps or buy things from secondhand stores. I acquire things from yard sales and estate sales. I've stopped buying books and started using the library. I make gifts or purchase fantastic items from shops like Reconsidered Goods in Greensboro - which bases its business model on recycling goods of all kinds - or Earthbound Arts in Winston-Salem - where everything is handmade with great love and care. These sorts of energy exchanges work for me. I know that I am supporting an economy based on recycling and a do-it-yourself mindset.

Think about all the things you buy. Think about how often you buy them. Think about altering that pattern. Consider going 24 hours without buying anything. This was the idea behind the launch of Buy Nothing Day, a day of alternative activities held on Black Friday aimed at getting people to look at mass consumption.

Several years ago, I was invited to help organize a Really Really Free Market on Buy Nothing Day. For me, this presented an alternative to participating in the annual consumer mayhem. But beyond that, a profoundly different economic model was demonstrated: a gifting economy. In a gifting economy, goods are given without any expectation of a return. At a Really Really Free Market, for example, individuals drop off goods that are no longer needed. Others shop through these goods and take what is needed for free. It isn't necessary to bring items in order to shop at the Really Really Free Market. There are no expectations of equitable exchange. Items are gifted to the market for anyone who needs them.

The Really Really Free Market was originally established as a form of protest in conjunction with the G8 Summit. But it endures as a means of sharing wealth and acquiring goods outside of our consumer economy.

The Really Really Free Market creates much gratitude. Gratitude is expressed by those who take items. And there is gratitude in the hearts of the givers. Because when we provide goods and services for others, we are looking after their well-being and hence, the well-being of the larger ecosystem that is our local community as well as the planet. It really is a wonder to behold the joyous display of gratitude among all who participate. This is why every year I make certain that there will be a Really Really Free Market on Buy Nothing Day.

This year the Really Really Free Market will be held on November 24 from 10 a.m. until 3 p.m. in the parking lot of The People's Market at the corner of Grove Street and Glenwood Avenue in Greensboro, NC. Join us for the love and gratitude!

My Plea, My Yawp

The time of making is upon us all.  There is no more reason to tear things down, to divide each other and pit ourselves against our brothers and sisters.  We all want the same things: to be healthy, to be happy, to have a job that pays us enough money to buy housing, transportation, food, healthcare, clothing, heat and air conditioning.  At the very least, most of us want these things. We want to take care of our families.  Some of us want to help our neighbors in need.  But fundamentally, we want to survive and live a decent life filled with opportunities.

Beyond that, every human being has blood that runs through their veins.  We all piss and poop.  We eat and sleep.  At the end of our lives, our bodies die and over time are reduced to a pile of dust.  No one escapes this fate.  This is our reality.  We are here temporarily.

What then will we choose to do with our few years on this planet?  Will we deny our brothers and sisters the same wishes that we have for ourselves?  Will we force an image upon our brothers and sisters that makes them seem somehow different from ourselves?  We might choose to focus on our common humanity and all our similarities instead.  We might hold compassion in our hearts rather than contempt for "others."

If we are to focus on the commonalities between us, then we must fix that focus on the reprehensible characters that we revile. Hillary Clinton.  Donald Trump.  Muslims.  Native Americans.  Women. Wall Street executives.  The poor.  It becomes challenging.

Yet I know in my heart of hearts that we are capable of doing this.  We can be unified in our common humanity.  We can rejoice in the creative spirit that resides in each of us.  We must look beyond the illusion that some would try and create: the illusion that there exists a more deserving group of people, a more privileged group.  We are all privileged.  It is a privilege to be alive in this moment.  And the next.  And the next.  Every breath we take is a miracle.  Because at any second, something beyond our control could take that ability away from us.  And we would soon be a pile of dust.

So let us celebrate this moment of breathing. This next moment of eating.  This next moment of pooping.  Let us celebrate this moment of hugging, of crying, of leaping.  We are all the same.

A Metamorphosis: The Death and Life of Tim LaFollette.

September's end brings a desolate loneliness. I feel adrift, without anchor. The waters are calm on the surface, but I can tell a storm is brewing. I haven't much stamina left. Still, I must weather the storm.

Tim LaFollette's body died on a Tuesday. I was driving back to Greensboro from Carrboro listening to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' The Good Son, a particularly mournful record filled with songs such as "Lament," "Sorrow's Child," and "The Weeping Song." Melodramatic, self-indulgent and beautiful. I had just finished meeting with a naturopath, who helps me with physical and emotional maladies.

I had spoken with her about the news that I'd received the previous Friday that Tim was in a coma, not being fed and not expected to last past the weekend. She asked whether I'd been to see him yet. I told her I had not. She recommended that I go see him, that I hold his hand, kiss his forehead, tell him I love him so he'll know. Because people in comas can hear, can sense what is going on around them, she said.

Once home, I was filled with an overwhelming fatigue and laid down for a brief nap. A knock on the door awoke me. By the time I rose to answer, the visitor was gone. Very soon after, I received a text message saying Tim was gone.

One more man gone One more man gone One more man......

The news spread like wildfire on the social media outlet to which we all have become addicted. My friend, Lee Wallace, called to say he'd heard the news and to see how I was doing. I told him that I might need some Stella time.

Lee Wallace has a dog named Stella that I take on walks. Lee will be able to walk Stella again after he gets a new set of lungs. But for now, I enjoy the pleasure of her company whenever I decide I need a jaunt and when schedules align.

I picked Stella up from Lee's house and we proceeded along one of her favorite routes: down by Lindley Park Elementary school, briefly along Market to the Arboretum. It was a particularly beautiful day with the sky a vivid hue of deepest blue and clouds aggregating in what appeared to be regular patterns throughout the sky. It seemed as if they were worshiping from their perches on church pews. The shadows had that depth that comes only at the end of summer. Delicate fragrances of fading flowers hung on the air. Everything was a miracle to behold. And I thought, what a great day to die.

Stella and I walked for a very long time. And when I decided it was time to head back to Lee's house, I began to cry. Depths of emotion were welling up and I could not allow their ultimate release. I cried as much as I comfortably could and took Stella back to her backyard paradise.

Lee reclined in a hammock under an immense spread of trees with a book propped on his chest and music by his side. Stella and I joined him for a while: Stella, digging a hole in which to cool down from her walk, I chatting with Lee about nothing in particular.

An earthquake occurred. Neither Lee nor I felt it. Lee's wife, Leslie, called to alert him that this had just happened. At this news, I planted my feet firmly on the ground as if expecting any residual rumblings to reveal themselves to my soles. I breathed extra deeply as if there might be a trace of a quickening of the air. But there were no revelatory sensations.

For the rest of the day and a few days after that I felt slightly off balance. I kept bumping into things and was more forgetful than usual. I wandered around in a confused state wondering if the earthquake had tilted the earth on its axis a bit.

Tim's memorial service was to happen a month from his death. Like so many people, I use the formal funeral format for official grief processing. In this instance, I would have to postpone this process, which is a lot like taking a shit. You just need to empty your emotional colon. Often, there is lots of shit built up and you must undergo a series of prolonged shits. Eventually, in theory anyway, all the shit comes out.

I was constipated for a month.

At last the day of the service approached. By this time I'd endured a couple of additional unhappy incidents in the month of September and was still reeling from the most recent. I felt, almost, like there was no grief for Tim, like I had somehow miraculously processed it all without really crying and going through the usual grief-like sensations. However, I realized that there was a very real grief hanging out in my emotional colon and that it might be expeditious to use the forum of Tim's memorial as a sort of emotional enema. A colon cleanse was needed.

I went to the service directly after work in extremely casual jean, plaid shirt and tennis shoe attire, which I think was indicative of my recklessly non-intentional attitude towards this event. I was, almost, disrespectful. Yet I played the part of the participant with a modicum of small talk and a friendly smile upon greeting people I knew.

I did not expect to be overwhelmed by grief. I did not expect to experience a sudden realization that death is final, that Tim is gone, that I will never again be able to converse with him, that I will never offer him comfort in the form of a foot rub or a kiss to the forehead. I did not expect this surge of emotion to present itself so powerfully. You'd think I'd be an old hand at these matters. But no. The brilliance of this life is that just when you think you've got it all figured out, the earth quakes without your realizing it. And you have to make heads and tails of everything that's just been flipped.

In a Quaker-style service, people sit in silence and speak only when moved to do so. I sat in silence trying very hard not to break into hysterical sobs, not to wail aloud with the sort of primal abandonment I enjoy. I attempted to maintain dignity. Likewise, I tried very hard to prevent myself from saying anything at all, thinking that responsibility should reside with those who were closer to Tim than I was.

I controlled my urge to have a primal wail. I maintained a degree of dignity. But damned if I didn't get on my feet and start talking.

Words came out of my mouth with very little intervention from my brain. I remember having the desire to speak concisely. I remember having the desire to keep myself from crying. But the emotion came rushing forth. I stopped myself to regroup. I paused and looked down at the ground as if to say Support me harder, dammit! Hold me up, here! I'm caving! And I continued to speak. But my voice grew higher in its pitch and I realized it had become that stereotypical Mary Tyler Moore voice that betrays emotion when trying to be so strong. I somehow finished what needed to be said about Tim, about his generosity and kindness, about my feelings of inadequacy in the face of the tasks that needed to be met for his care, about his patience with me while I grappled with all this inside myself as he taught me, he himself, how to more accurately suction the phlegm from his lungs.

I sat down. I received a gracious pat from the people on either side of me. And I sat. And I thought the wall had broken and the emotion had been let out. Or to revert to a previous metaphor, I thought the poop had vacated my bowels and the toilet bowl had been flushed. But then I saw Lis, who is my sister, my heart - one of those rare beings with whom one connects so completely that words are not necessary to achieve understanding.

We hugged. And I shuddered with silent sobs against her shoulder. I felt as if shock waves of grief transferred into her delicately defined frame from my crude one, but somehow they reverberated back and forth until they dissipated. I confessed to her that I had not seen Tim for six months, that I had decided to take a break from doing my weekly home care visits in order to focus on some of my own challenges. Lis had done the same. She said that Tim understood. That it was alright. She conveyed a sense of love through these words and I felt absolved of my sins.

The saga of Tim LaFollette is not over.  His entire journey with ALS is documented in the "Often Awesome"  web series.  People continue to watch it, share it and be inspired by Tim.  The Often Awesome Army continues to raise funds to help those living with ALS, it continues to raise awareness about this wretched disease, and it continues to be bound by the love of one great man.  But beyond that, Tim left an indelible mark on my psyche.  He taught me about love and service.  He taught me about generosity of spirit and courage.  I have no choice but to carry his teachings with me for the rest of my journey through this life and hopefully pass them on to someone else.

Tim LaFollette lived a life and died a death of transcendent beauty.  In this way, he is eternal.     

Of Tim and Cicada Song

My friend Tim is going to the hospital tomorrow. He's going to have a tracheostomy. Tim has ALS - amyotrophic lateral sclerosis - and needs a tracheostomy in order to breathe.

Tim's voice is not as strong as it used to be. This is in part due to the fact that he hasn't the lung capacity to support the mechanics of talking. But it is also part of the degenerative forces at play in ALS. After his tracheostomy, Tim will be unable to talk for a time. But there is the possibility that he will never be able to talk again.

It was a bittersweet evening last Wednesday when I hung out with Tim and his wife Kaylan at a friend's house. We sat around having drinks and food, talking, singing and laughing against the backdrop of cicadas' song. As the night drew to a close and I said my good-byes, I realized that I may never again hear Tim's voice, as it is currently. While this realization saddened me, I was completely grateful to have had this time with Tim.....to have shared one of his last nights before the tracheostomy with him.

Today, Tim's dad, Hugh, came into Planet Care. He had just arrived from Florida and had stopped in to pick up some food prior to going to Tim and Kaylan's. I was in one of my self-absorbed states. My body has not completely recovered from its bout with cellulitis. It has been a struggle for me to do the usual things required of me at Planet Care with an attentive smile. In fact, my smile feels more like a grimace these days. Part of my brain is in worry mode as I contemplate all the things that either are wrong with me or could be wrong with me. And when customers come through my line, I acknowledge them with a curt nod and grimace-smile.

Hugh appeared to know me. But I was lost in Hypochondrialand. Until he spoke to me.

"Hi Kathy. I'm Tim's dad."

I looked up at him through bleary eyes, allowing them to slowly gain focus. In the time it took my eyes to focus on his face, all proper connections were made in my brain and I understood who this man was.

Tim's dad. Hugh.

We had met several months earlier at Planet Care when he had brought Tim in with him to do some shopping. This was when Tim could still use his arms and hands. I was happy to see Tim. I was happy to meet his father.

Hugh told me that he spends 8 days in Greensboro with Tim and Kaylan, then returns to Florida for ten days, then comes back to Greensboro for 8 days. I don't know why this impressed me so.

I told Hugh that I would be holding Tim and Kaylan and himself in my thoughts and in my heart. I am unable to say "I will hold you in my prayers." For whatever reason, those words are less concrete, less genuine. It feels much better to say exactly where I will be holding a person. Plus, it offers them a visual image to hang on to.

~~~

I am limited in my ability to ease suffering. This much I know. I witness my limitations over and over again. It is a disagreeable sensation to realize that I can do only so much and no more.

For example, there was a woman who came in a few weeks ago. I had just been describing my floater turd epiphany to one of my favorite customers - the old guy with the drawn on eyebrows and overly dramatic nature. The former concert pianist who spent a summer at Haight-Ashby living with members of Jefferson Airplane. I enjoy entertaining him. He enjoys entertaining me. Meanwhile, a woman patiently waited for me to turn my attention to her.

I apologized for the self-indulgent description of my epiphany. "But," I said to her, "once you realize your life mission, it is cause for celebration after all."

She began to look agitated. "I wish someone would tell me what my life mission is," she said.

I watched her countenance darken and offered a meager, "Well, it is important to have compassion for yourself while you're on your quest." She then described to me the feelings of immense sorrow and rage she has been experiencing about the Gulf Coast oil catastrophe of 2010. She feels the death and devastation on a personal and organic level. Her co-workers have grown annoyed with her for talking non-stop about this atrocity. She cannot understand why no one shares her pain. She feels helpless in the face of it all. And her helplessness is causing a deep psychological and existential crisis.

In an attempt to help, I offered this: I approached a Native American wise woman/healer in a very similar state and asked her what must I do, how must I focus my energy and thought? She responded very simply, "The sea beings need us to express our gratitude for them." Upon hearing this, I experienced a stabbing sensation in the pit of my gut. But as I absorbed these words more fully, I understood that to fret and worry about the situation in the Gulf Coast only adds more toxicity to the environment. This is not what is needed at this time. It is necessary to put some love into the environment. And the best way to do that is to focus on the feeling of gratitude.

I shared all of this with the woman in crisis and her eyes filled up with tears. Her face turned bright red from the sheer force of having to hold in the tears that wanted to be unleashed. She nodded in recognition of the truth to these words. And she thanked me.

While it seemed like I'd been able to help this woman, I know that it was only a temporary fix. She will continue to experience her suffering. Because suffering of this nature is habitual.

A few days ago, a woman came through my line. She looked as if she had been ill - thin, frail, a greyish pallor. I asked her how she was doing. That question alone seemed highly invasive to this fragile being. She struggled to be remotely positive. I could tell there were immense volumes of despair locked away in her private library. I caught a glimpse of one of the tattered covers. I wanted her to know that I heard her, that I read the title of one of her books and it resonated as familiar. All I could say was, "I hear ya."

I hear ya.

Her purchases totaled five dollars and fifty-five cents. I commented that her total was three fives, and that had to be lucky. She said she could use some luck right about now. She handed me a ten dollar bill and I made change. As I handed it back I said, "I think your luck is changing. I can feel it." She told me that I was very kind and thanked me. She headed into the cafe to have some food.

It grew busy and I did not notice this woman go to the back of the store. But I noticed her return to the cafe. She had been crying. She had just engaged in an absolute emotional collapse cry, presumably in the bathroom. And she had braced herself up enough to go back out in public. She had attempted to put on the immovable warrior face. But her inner dissolution shattered that mask.

I wanted to chase after her. I wanted to hear her tale. I wanted to just listen. Really listen. And allow her to rail against God and the Universe. But customers were lining up. I fell out of my heart and back into automatic functioning.

~~~

I had been functioning in a similar automatic state when Tim's dad Hugh appeared. I had mentally checked out while the repetitious task of checking customer's groceries ensued. Hugh awakened me from my unconsciousness, and I was greeted by a person whose personal suffering - not to mention the suffering of his son and daughter-in-law - is too great to measure. The significance and implications inherent in Tim's decision to have a tracheostomy are staggering to ponder. As an outsider, my pondering is merely philosophical. There is no way I can understand the nature of having to make the decision to prolong my life by way of a mechanical breathing device.

~~~

It is half past midnight. The cicadas tease me with their night songs - songs that echo restless teenage summers. My heart is restless still. But rather than self-indulgent teeny bopper fantasies, I now entertain the notion that the words that I write make a difference. The cicadas' power is potent. I believe. Yes. I believe.