Two Odes to Joy

Ode to Joy by Jeanne

Today was the most unexpected delight.
Almost a miracle, in fact.
Impossibly perfect weather
Spurred a spontaneous drive.

My hot Ruby red Miata, top down
Both of us screaming "freedom!!"
Her engine purring perfectly,
My purple cowboy hat on tight,
Ipod blasting classical opera.
Both of us jacked up on sunshine and
Basking in the warmth on our skins.

No resistance...
No timelines...
No expectations...

Wind in my hair
Sudden flashback of my 16th summer
That elusive sense of immortality!
A glimpse of simple joy and peace
That people spend their lives and
Fortunes chasing.

Why so elusive?

Spontaneity focuses one keenly on
Living in the present.
Accepting the reality of now,
This very precious moment,
And the choice
To be there or not.

Today was a quiet celebration.
I was there.
I stepped over the rut
Of grasping and clinging
Or pushing things away --
Wishing "past" difficulties --
And fearing the future --
Or re-playing the past.

My habits were not quick enough!
Euphoria tricked the ego
And I escaped!
Then luxuriated all day
In perfect little moments,
Savoring each -- slowly
Like melting dark chocolates
One by one under my tongue.

A heavenly connection to acceptance
With how things are right here and now....
Is happiness.
Is possible.
Is woven together with grace and beauty

And found in simple truths
Taught in every country and culture
By humble enlightened messengers.

I know them.
Do you?
Why isn't the world listening?



These are the words to Ode To Joy
as sung by Opera Babes
They made me cry with joy today.

All believing, all embracing
Earth below and sky above.
There will never be a power
Greater than united love.

O light of hope enduring
Ever in our hearts reside.
Now, the time to stand together.
No man may alone abide.

All as one in every nation
By our bearing will be bound.
Peace, the true and humble treasure
Through compassion will be found.

O light of clearest vision
No illusion shall divide.
Now, the time to stand together.
No man may alone abide.

Side by side though oceans part us
One by one its understood
Day by day the dawn is breaking
On the bond of brotherhood.

O light of pure intention
All dissension cast aside
Now, the time to stand together
No man need alone abide.

EVERYONE SHOULD HAVE A SHACK!

Everyone Should Have A Shack......

Well, it is hard to admit that I live here in this purple shack most of the time, even though I have a beautiful home on the mountain with million dollar views of three mountain ranges and Canyonlands.

Two years ago we recognized that Max was becoming a teenager who did not want to live in isolation on the mountain. We found that between seminary, football and debate, we were practically living at my office and even spending nights in motels. We'd sometimes get home to the mountain house at 11 pm and get up to head back to town as early as 6 am. It just was not working.

Real estate prices were skyrocketing, and there was nothing available to buy in downtown Moab. We looked for a "crash pad" for months as the real estate market went completely out of sight. Anything near $200k was gone in a day. I finally put an ad in the newspaper for a "fixer upper". No response for three weeks. One day I got a call, came and looked at the shack, and we took the plunge and bought it. You should have seen -- or even better - should have SMELLED this dump. It was completely overgrown with weeds, peeling paint, leaking everything, cement floors, roaches and a complete and total putrid disaster. But the price was right - for that time - and we felt kind of lucky getting it -- l/5 of an acre, and only four blocks from the office downtown. The bargain basement price was $165K.

We closed in three weeks and the appraisal came in at $185K. Then the heartburn began. We got the tractor and cleaned up the yard and ripped everything out of the inside. It took three dump trucks to get rid of the crap. Then over the next three months we started over. We installed all new kitchen, bathroom, hardwood floors and painted it a whimsical purple and green. We dumped money into this joint faster than Grandma used to feed the slot machines in Vegas -- all new furniture, local art work, funky tiled kitchen and bathroom, flat screened tv, etc. When we were finally exhausted and out of money, we found out that the sewer pipes had rotted, and the house was sitting on a lake of literal "shit". So, we had to dig under the house and have the whole sewer line replaced all the way to the street. Cha-ching, cha-ching. That took care of the smell and our last dime at the same time.

After we'd sunk a fortune into this shack the real estate market and economy crashed. We were left with one of the most expensive shacks on the planet. In deep gratitude for our sacrifice of time and money to create a better life for our spoiled teenager, Max says it "I hate this place, it looks like it was painted by Pixies" (true).

Funny thing is this. I love, love, love it here. The inside is simple, comfy, feminine, and most important -- super small, uncluttered and easy to clean. With my insane, demanding and stressful life, this is one thing that is really "manageable". It does not overwhelm me and send me into a panic like the big house and the increasingly impossible demands of my job. Yup, the shack is the one thing I am able to manage and keep in order. The big drawback is that I really, really miss David. He spends most nights on the mountain taking care of the dogs, yard and house there. I get up there about twice a month.

I feel on the cusp of something -- like maybe a new era is dawning. A time to simplify my life and get rid of all the "things" that are weighing me down like heavy chains. I'm a "vintage" woman. My dreams are passing me by because I am too busy to be present in my own life. What do I really want? I want to work part time, ride my cute bicycle around town, go to pilates twice a day, work on family history, go to the temple once a week, join a book club, meditate, do water aerobics, find a creative outlet, go "adventuring" spontaneously whenever I want, spend time with my wonderful husband and sleep until 9 am every day. Someday soon it will be time for ME. And this little shack is just fine, thank you!

Cousin Swirl

Wonderful 4th of July at Wannie and PopPop's house cousins, those teenagers can be so cute! Max is starting to get his smile back! J

Mary Mary

Mary, Mary


In tribute to my clever and very non-ordinary sister Heidi, and her equally contrary and colorful best friend Shahara. We found this in one of Heidi's journals, it is a perfect fit for her, and I'm glad she was exactly, unapologetically herself.

Mary, Mary
Quite Contrary
Contrary to what?
Now that’s a thought!

Cntrary to dull?
Contrary to boring?
Contrary to all that puts me to snoring?

Contrary to safe?
Contrary to normal?
Contrary to stuffed shirt and overly formal?

Contrary to tame?
Contrary to plain?

Contrary to washable, rational, sane?
Mary, Mary
I am glad you’re odd!
Very!

My Mother's Mother

The poem below is by my eternally young and beautiful sister, Heidi, who took her own life about seven years ago this time of year. We miss her deep wisdom, creativity, intelligence and love. We will see her and hold her in our arms again, that we know. I took a little editorial license, so it is not exactly as she wrote it. Thanks much to Shahara Crist, Heidi's best friend and soul sister for publishing this on her blog and making my day meaningful in all the maddness.

My Mother's Mother

My mother was made from warm red sand
And cool water from the San Juan
Her bright eyes were part of the clear desert sky.
Her heart's like the desert's hot sun.

She was nurtured in Bluff's deep canyons
With water from crystal clear artesian springs.
Soft sand and red rock were her playground.
Wild wind and sweet sagebrush her friends.

She grew in mystery and beauty and grace
With cliff flowers twined in her hair
Until another of desert's loved children
Was given my mother to wed.

Twenty springs have now passed;
Winds have shifted the sands.
Desert mourns the loss of her daughter.
Far to the north a woman waits,
She dwells in the mountain's dark shadow.

But red sand still runs through her veins
And the desert primroses calls her home.
The Desert is my mother's mother.

Found the Best of All Poets and Poems

My wonderful friend, Darioush Khaledi who owns the Darioush Winery in Napa, sent me a book called The Gift by Hafiz, the great Iranian Sufi master. I gobbled this book up in one night like a hot fudge brownie, and already have marked all my favorites. This guy lived in the 1300's, and his poems are originally in Farsi, the true language of poets and love. Very hard to translate, but the translator really "updates" the meaning into modern lingo.

Taste this one and see what you think. I think everyone should buy this book. These poems are spiritual, funny, uplifting, and clever as can be. I really needed this poem just when I found it, so Hafiz was watching over me with The Friend.

Your Mother and My Mother

Fear is the cheapest room in the house.
I would like to see you living
In better conditions.

For your mother and my mother
Were friends.

I know the Innkeeper
In this part of the Universe.
Get some rest tonight,
Come to my verse again tomorrow.
We'll go to the Friend together.

I should not make any promises right now,
But I know if you
Pray
Somewhere in this world -
Something good will happen.

God wants to see
More love and playfulness in your eyes.
For that is your greatest witness to Him.

Your soul and my soul
Once sat together in the Beloved's womb
Playing footsie.

Your heart and my heart
Are very, very old
Friends.

The Gods in Their Sandbox

The Gods in Their Sandbox

I don't mean to be sacrilegious,
But I am intrigued.
I just wish I had been there!
At the very, very beginning.
So I could tell you
What was it REALLY like
When the Gods got together
To express their creative genius,
And formed "worlds without number".

Didn't they have the most incredible fun?
Can you imagine -- their depth of knowing...
Their "beyond" scientific expertise?
Their perfect artistry?
Their pure joy?
Their delicious anticipation
And their incredible sense of humor?
Woven into everything.
Everywhere.

If we really look,
The evidence speaks through the millennia
And the eternities,
From the incomprehensible complexity of the brain
To the increasing evidence of a "soul" or "spirit"
Brilliantly capped with the exquisite sense of humor
Engendered in a Praying Mantis, a Sea Horse
A Giraffe, Wildebeest or an Elephant.
Or, the ONLY "you" and "I".

Some of us
Might pay more attention to stories
About "mysteries of the deep"
Or about "magnificent" or "monstrous" beings
Or "carnivorous plants"....

No matter what or how you observe
If you think and focus, you'll see
That the the Gods had fun
Serious fun
Experimenting....
Like kids in a sandbox.....
With play dough ... or legos ... or crayons.
They progressed
With wild and wondrous twists and turns
From kindergarten to "way beyond" PhD's.

Much later,
When the garden was planted,
The land cooled and ready,
The seas full of life
And the earth teaming with creatures;
The Gods tossed exact replicas of their own genes
Into a giant salad spinner
And with each twist and turn,
Tossed out a totally, beautifully unique individual.
One by one.
A spirit.
One of a kind.
Billions!
Every one, different versions of each other
And their makers!

Hey, that's us!

And that is where the story begins........

My Husband

Ode to David.
He's 54.
Damn good looking.
Smart, kind, loyal, good to the core.

Motorcycle maniac.
Mountain man and hermit.
Lover of nature.
Simple tastes,
Natural class
And great genes.

Rich in compassion.
Deep, soulful, spiritual.
Passionate historian, geographer,
Knower of wonderful trivia.
Master storyteller.

A Renaissance man
Born 100 years past his time,
In a far away fairy tale world.
No fan of technology!

Gentle, patient, temperate.
Friend, comforter, advocate.
My love for life and beyond.

Here he comes!
So handsome.
No ego, a casual confidence.
Heart pitter-patters....
My David!

Trademark jeans and a t-shirt,
Smell of old spice and Crest,
Day or two of tickley whiskers.
Warm strong arms.

28 years ago tomorrow
We said "I do".
A million more to go.
I hope we get a little longer!

Closet Rebellion

Got home late as usual,
Slipped into an exhausted semi-coma.

Awakened....
The racket and screaming shocked me
Into a bleary panic.
What IS that noise coming from the basement?
Even the dogs are howling, and they're outside.

Annoyed and too tired to be scared,
I held the rail and careened down the stairs,
And slammed open the triple sliding door
On the left side of the closet.
Was this where all the ruckus was coming from?

What the hell?

My closet had transformed into
A fashionista's "Alice in Wonderland"
Pandemonium reigned
And I was suddenly only 5 inches tall.
Spinning through a a whirlwind that rivaled Dorothy's.

Pants and shirts, dresses, skirts flying everywhere!
Luckily, I ducked a heavy leather blazer
As it crashed into a hostile gang of size 6 jeans
Screaming something about elasticity.

Sailing sideways, eyes wide shut
I was not at all surprised to see
That my entire wardrobe - each individual piece
Had suddenly become uniquely personalized
With faces, hair, hands and feet!
And cleverly,
The "make, model and size" were stamped boldly
On each item's expressive forehead.

Everything was swirling toward the extreme left side
Of the closet
Where the outcasts lived.
I could hear chanting.
It did not sound friendly.
The whirlwind zipped me along toward the sound
Through fuzzy, sticky cobwebs
Till I landed on the floor
In "no mans zone".

The size 2's were rioting
Attacking the size 4's and 6's
With moth ball grenades
And broken hangers
Some were carrying picket signs with slogans...

ON STRIKE !!
"Cruel and Unusual Punishment"
"No Fresh Air for 900 days"
"Jailed Without Light"
"Chocolate Stole Our Jobs"

The boots were trying to set up a barircade
While the gloves were working together
To grab the roudiest of the 2's and 4's from behind
(Especially those tie dyed Calvin Kleins
and skinny legged Ralph Laurens)
The leather gloves deftly blindfolded them with scarves
And stuffed them into the hanging Kate Spade purses.
You could see the pathetic prisoners kicking
And hear them screaming
Right through that expensive leather.
What a wild, ungrateful and unruly bunch.

To the center, the bigger 4's
Were in hand-to-hand combat
With the 6's
There was slapping, spitting, cussing
And a full-on cat fight that
Puts the Budwiser cat fight girls to shame.
You would not have believed what the
Diane von Fursterberg wrap-around dress
Said to the Max Mara suit.
All just because the latter had been worn
Once -- a "lean" 6 months ago.

Oddly enough,
All the Prada's were fanning themselves
Chatting cozily and laughing.
They were the only size 4's unengaged
Sitting on the sidelines
Reveling in their exotic glory
And enjoying the show.
They'd been out and about a lot lately,
We all know they are actually
Two sizes bigger than they say -- liars!
Expensive, happy liars.

Then I looked to the right
The 8's and 10's were enjoying a Grand Fiesta
What a spread....frozen margaritas everywhere.
The Dana Buchman capris were draped
Over a plate of fried cheese
Chatting with a stretchy velour Zhara sweatsuit
(a little saggy in the butt if you ask me).

They all looked a little tipsy, tired,
Certainly well-worn,
And quite content in their girth.
The Anne Taylor palazzo pants
Weren't even holding in their stomachs!

I overheard the Queen of the Closet -
A vintage 1973 Halston Ultrasuede shirtdress
Cattily whispering
To the black Cache jacquard silk slacks,
"Daaaahhhling....Never mind this little skirmish
It happens every season
Those 2's and 4's just don't get out much"

I woke up at dawn, laying on the floor of my closet
With a melted Snickers bar in each hand.

Time To Get Over Myself

Vanity.......
is insanity
Especially
At 53!

I must agree.
Hip huggers
most certainly
do not become me!

Those little muffins
Show through my Tee!

Pilates - yup - every day
plus weight training,
running five miles - all the way
Just can't hold cellulite at bay.

HEY, you in the mirror!
This CAN NOT BE!
What happened
To that other me?

Where is she?

OMMMMMMMMMMM
Focus on the breath
Look deeper.
Breathe.......

Come back later, mean Jeanne
Go and taunt someone else,
I'm meditating...ommmmmm....
But - get over yourself first!!








Bu

The Battle of Justice and Mercy

Today. It was today. I'm unsettled and can't sleep. How do I capture all the feelings? How do I see it from different perspectives? How do I "divvy up" the blame? How do I learn, grow, evolve from this? Where is the perfect balance between justice and mercy? What will happen next? How do I keep my family safe?

Today was the hearing for the boy that attacked Max. It was the culmination of many emotions, decisions, discussions and strategy sessions. First, let me take you back in time.....

In December, Max was attacked at school by the same boy, knocked unconscious and ended up in the hospital. After much thought, discussion and prayer, we elected not to press charges but to enter a contract with the boy and his family for him to do community service and get his Eagle Scout Award.

We thought it was the right thing to do, and people tell us now not to second-guess that decision. Sometimes you can't help it. You wonder "what if..?"

But now is now, and today we had our moment. We started talking strategy with the County Attorney and the Victim's Advocate about a week ago. They explained the pros and cons of (1) charging him for attempted murder vs. aggrivated assault (2) charging him as an adult vs. a juvenile. Once we wore out the conversation and expressed our concerns and questions, we agreed with the advice of our advocates. Charge: Attempted Murder. Level: Juvenile.

You might wonder why, after such a carefully pre-meditated attack we did not charge him as an adult. It's complicated. There was another boy that provided the bat and publically encouraged the attack for a number of days before it happened. He has not been charged, nor will he.

But back to the actual case. Bottom line is this. Adults can opt for a trial and jurys in Moab are extremely liberal. Adults can post bail. Adults go immediately to prison and do not have access to evaluation and therapy under normal conditions. Juveniles are sentenced by the juvenile court judge, are not eligible for bail, and generally serve longer sentences. They are observed, evaluated and given needed mental and emotional treatment at a secure state facility, then sentenced to serve time in a juvenile facility.

We felt it would be vindictive to go after the adult charge so he'd suffer as much as possible. That route also has the jury and incarceration time risks and almost guarantees that a monster will be on the loose in 3 to 5 years. Or, we could make the choice that we'd hope someone would make for us if Max had attacked their son. We opted for a juvenile level charge.

We were surprised and comforted to have friends show up to support us at the hearing. The Moab Ya Ya's (Sena, Valerie and Kim (and her David) were there) along with quite a few of Max's friends. The adults were allowed in the room, the kids were not because juvenile court is confidential.

We were so impressed with the compassion, eloquence and holistic style of the judge. No question that she wanted the best for Max, but she was also making decisions in the best interest of the other family.

The boy pled guilty with no contest. He never turned to face us, and his mumbled responses to the judge were almost inaudible. The plea precludes some of his rights, especially those for an appeal or future trial. Therefore the judge was able to secure commitment to the Utah State Mental Hospitalfor evaluati on for 90 days at a time until they report that they have done all they can do. At that time, he returns to Moab for his sentencing.

I had an opportunity to speak to the court on behalf of our family. I explained the impact on our family, particularly on Max. His physical suffering, the agony of a brain dehydrated by the loss of so much spinal fluid, 18 days in the hospital -- sitting up all the time, and tied to the bed to prevent him from ripping out his tubes for part of the time, and the painful recovery from two delicate brain surgeries. The permanent deafness in the right ear and the paralyzed face. The need for ongoing medical attention. The loss of income for parents who had to take time off work. The bills - over $200,000, and the emotional costs for all of us.

I had a chance to ask the judge to consider the prior incident at school and our decision to not press charges. On behalf of the family, I asked the judge to keep the defendent confined as long as possible after the hospitalization and treatment because of the pre-meditated and violent nature of the attack.

The judge clearly had studied this case well and she gave us what we asked for. In reality, it is likely the boy will serve no more than 18 months. The detention centers and prisons are overcrowded, and if a "gang-banger" who has murdered someone needs a place, they have to accomodate by releasing those charged with lesser crimes.

It didn't feel like a victory, but it let a little steam out of the pressure cooker which has been the nature of our lives the past month and a half. Out of the courtroom we hugged and thanked Max's friends for waiting to show their support. It was one of the few times I have broken down with emotion.

As we walked out and toward the stairs, we came face to face with the boy who we believe is almost as responsible for this as the assailent. This boy and his father were outside the courtroom waiting for his hearing on other charges -- for theft and burglery. He is the one I mentioned who provided the bat and a great deal of encouragement which is documented by witnesses at school in the police reports. They do not currently have evidence to charge him in Max's case. We have requested that this boy be ordered to stay away from Max. As I approached the exit, I passed within 15 feet of him. He looked me right in the eye and shocked everyone within earshot by loudly saying "bitch". I was dumbfounded and kept going out, but some of my friends who overheard told him "you should be ashamed of yourself". His dad didn't say a word. At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter. His Karma will find him and there will be consequences far beyond the control of the legal system or any other human being.

Haven't been able to calm down from the drama of this day. I am so proud of Max. He handled everything with a lot of class and dignity. I was proud of him, and am hopeful this is one of the bigger hurdles we must go over before we can have closure and peace. My hope and prayer is that somehow justice and mercy can be equal partners in this incident.

Moab - Not a Tapestry, A Crazy Quilt!

Welcome to Moab. Are you odd enough and open minded enough to love this bizarre and unexplainable place? Moab spits out people like a kid spits out watermelon seeds. Not many last, but the von Zastrow's, we're a different breed.

Sure, we saw what you see -- visually -- this place is a spectaculor combination of wild landscapes, magnificent red rocks; uncivilized terrain; unstoppable adventure -- yes, paradise found for the naturalists!

What you didn't know before you gave up your big salary and left the cultured society, luxuries, and status behind you was what you found out...later. There is something edgy about small town life. It's full of complex and bizarre connections
-- like the policemans wife who had an affair with the doctor, who's wife ran off with a gay woman tourist. Or the produce guy who was busted driving drunk on the river road and discovered during his change of clothes at the jail house to be wearing women's bra and thong. Of course everybody knows about it, the newspaper editor is married to the sherrif. "Now which one of Max's friend's dad was that?" we try to remember.

Talk about the Hatfields and the McCoys. You can't invite a Holyoak and a Shumway to the same party, or any gathering, because there's generations of bad blood between them -- but nobody knows why. Same thing with the Redd's and the Skinners. It takes years to learn how to put together an acceptable party list.

Yup, we moved here because it was the most "diverse" town in Utah. We'd lived in DC and LA, and we wanted something a little simpler, yet more interesting than the typical small Utah town offers.

What sold us on Moab was the totally unique population combo of: Hippies, Trustafarians, Red Necks, Dirt Bags, Mormons/Catholics/Buddhists/Baptists, Cowboys, Environmentalists, Government Types, Old Timers, Meth Addicts, White Trash, Extreme Atheletes, Native Americans and Mexicans. So, we thought, a "rich tapestry" of diversity for our family! PERFECT!

It doesn't work like that, and we had to find out the hard way. You DON'T mix. Mormons stick to Mormons, Red Necks stick to the Outlaw Saloon, Hippies and Environmentalists ONLY at the Wabi Sabi Fashion Show, Old Timers get to choose between the Chevron and Dave's Corner Market, and the entire law enforcement population sticks to Walker's Convenience Store, and so on..... I don't want to say more because it could come back to haunt me. Opportunity lost. How disappointing.

Another thing that'll sneak up on you is the fact that you gotta be very careful not to make any enemies here -- because for sure, someone at the assessors office, DMV or highway patrol will be related to them and you'll have hell to pay. That means you better not ever take any kind of public stand on anything because somebody's uncle will "fix your wagon" when you least expect it. The relationships are as convoluted as Bill Clinton's definition of sex.

Nevertheless, we love it because we are just odd enough to be perfect misfits. I am a new-age Buddhist, feminist, environmentalist Mormon. Nobody knows what to think of me, so I fit and I don't -- but that's ok, because I am never here long enough to really connect and I am a Geminii anyway. David is a multi-lingual, highly educated, multi-cultural, adventurer, safari rat, hermit and blue collar worker with a tiny sprinkling of red neck when it is absolutely needed for communication purposes.
Max -- well, let's just say the poor kid is completely confused and hasn't picked his team yet. Hopefully all his world travels and his fairly odd parents will broaden his selections and make him a misfit, too.

Yet, at the end of the day -- for us, this "Moab", life -- like the Biblical Moab, which we have visited, is a unique and beaitiful "crazy quilt" woven together with complicated and unexplainable magnetism.

And the biggest surprise of all. When we recently had a terrible and tragic situation with Max being near death -- the love and outpouring of help came from all...and I mean ALL of those diverse segments of Moab. So there IS a way to transcend those barriers.

God Bless You Moab, and may someday all your people see each other's beauty.

For me, I've decided I will stay here till the primroses do not bloom in the desert; until the rosy dawn forgets to touch the snowy peaks of the La Sal Mountains; and until the full moon's final midnight makes shadows for my coyote cousins to howl at. Forever and ever.

Return the Magic

Life is complicated. I am on a roller coaster, like some kind of wacked-out demented old bi-polar madwoman. One day things are great, the next day I am overwhelmed and paralyzed with the sheer weight of the demands on me - personally, professionally, physically. The world is spinning too fast and I can't catch my breath.

On Saturday my best friend, Kim Boger, called to ask me if we were still "on" for the Mother's Day picnic. I swear to Buddha, I did not remember anything about this plan -- and she assured me we had discussed and confirmed our plans the day before. Am I losing my mind? I am too young to be senile. I am just a 16 year-old locked in the body of some strange old gravity challenged woman. Nevermind.....

Staying positive is my goal, so to lift my spirits I went to look through some of my poetry and found something that made me smile. This was dedicated to a person who swooped in with even more than a magic wand, and brightened my life at one time when things were very, very bad. So now my poem is back for an encore and dedicated to all the many wonderful, loving, considerate people who have carried me the past month. It is a little bizarre, but so am I. How may people do you know who have purple crushed velvet curtains and burn incense in their pet-friendly office?

Oh, and watch for my sister, Donna's, far superior poem that she wrote years ago responding to mine. According to my darling husband, David, who should be my number one fan,right? ;) Donna is a far superior, more creative writer. Donna, you Smarty pants. Forward the poem!

Return the Magic

I awakened refreshed...
Surprised....
Perplexed...
Atop the softest cloud.

I ate sunshine for breakfast
Wove a dress of fragrent primrose
And wrapped myself in a cloak
Of warm Maui wind.

I slid down my rainbow
To bring your magic back.

To hear your smile
And feel your laugh
And smell your touch...

And return your wand.
It worked.
Thanks!

The Divine Primrose Princess of Moab Sweet Evening of Escape

Tonight is perfect. I, like my little sister, Heidi, have discovered how wonderful being alone (not lonely) is, especially after the past month.

The von Zastrow men are away. Do you think I cleaned the house and did the laundry and made my sweet family freezer dinners for next week when I am in London? You don't know me.

I started off with an l l/2 hour massage and sailed into pleasure and relaxation from there. I'm gobbling up every second of this precious alone time. I banished the stress of 500 more emails to get through tomorrow with an exotic mineral bath, candles, incense, my favorite Persion CD and my lap top (so I could tell you to do this for yourselves very soon).

For a special treat, dinner included a quart of organic lowfat kefir (probiotic cultured milk) followed by 6 sugar-free fudge bars and an apple for dessert. I washed it all down with exotic chai tea spiked with cayenne powder and evaporated milk. My own home made stuff, don't laugh till you've tried it.

I have added a bunch of things to my Gratitude Journal, including the sheer luck of ditching the men tonight.

I am indeed the divine Primrose Princess of Moab again, just resurrected from the buffetings of my own story of reality. Yup, I'm back. Tomorrow, I'll fire up my hot little Red Miata convertible and drive like the maniac I remember being only a month ago, before the world caved in. I'll wear my cute yoga outfit all day long. I will park in the fire lane at City Market and I will drink as much diet coke as I want (YUP,Kim ;)

Coming back to life. Feels good. Feels like me again. Baby steps. I am the same, but different in a better way. Thank you Universe.

Alone But Not Lonely

This was written by my sister Heidi, who had a wild, creative spirit and though she is gone, she is never forgotten. She lives on through her writing and her children, and her presence is felt as a ministering angel when we need help.

Alone Not Lonely

I hadn’t planned on watching the sunset over Arches National Park when I woke up that morning. The late sun on those red rocks makes them almost glow, and as the sank deeper, the dusty green of the sagebrush deepened until it became nearly blue. And the smell! It rained that afternoon, and there is nothing like the smell of the desert after a rain. It’s a heavy , musky almost minty smell that burns cool when you breathe it in. It’s as if the desert is so grateful for the rain that she offers up that rich earthy smell as her thanks.

As I rested on the red sandstone, still warm from the evening sun, I began thinking about my fear of being alone. Somehow I had mixed up the ideas of “lonely” and “alone.” I thought that being “alone” meant that no one wanted to be with me. It had never occurred to me that might mean I didn’t want to be with anyone.

I had left my sister’s house in Tuscon at four o’clock that morning to make the thirteen hour drive home to Northern Utah. I wasn’t looking forward making the trip all alone but I was certainly looking forward to getting back to my friends.

I did all the calculations. I figured out how long the drive would take at three different speeds, I planned exactly where and for how long I would stop, I even planned how many gallons of gas I would buy. Everyone in my family was worried about me driving so far alone. My dad called with instructions about what to do if the car should break down. My mom called and told me not to stop along the road for anything (there are a lot of weirdos out there, Heidi”) to stop only at busy restaurants, to lock the whenever I got out and, of course, to never talk to strangers. My two sisters in Washington D.C. even called to offer advice and concern. I was so wrapped up in the logistics of the trip I didn’t even realize (and probably wouldn’t have cared) that I would be traveling through a national forest, a national monument and a national park.

My first scheduled stop was at a Circle K store four blocks from my sister’s house. The half cup of coffee in the bottom of the pot was cold and stale. I had to wait six unscheduled minutes for the grouchy clerk to make a fresh pot. My irritation must have been obvious because he pushed me out the door without letting me pay.

Speeding alone the freeway, I put in my most familiar cassette tapes to keep me company, They reminded me of home and of the friends I’d soon be with again. I was so consumed with my thoughts of home that I didn’t notice anything around me for what must have been 250 miles. A siren and flashing lights brought me back to reality, and with a few profanities about the highway patrol I pulled to the side of the road desperately trying to think of some excuse to give for speeding. To my surprise, the officer whizzed right past me, tail lights flashing. I had to laugh at myself and wondered what my dad would say.

As I pulled back onto the freeway I was astonished at what I saw. I wasn’t in the desert anymore. I was in a pine forest. There were meadows and flowers along the road. The sky was deepening from powder to cobalt and the early sun was dancing on the trees. Everything looked fresh and beautiful and alive. I unrolled my window and the crisp cool air swept away the smell of stale coffee, cleared my head and opened my eyes.

Forgotten were the rapist lurching along in their dark cars; forgotten were the flat tires, dirty old men in greasy cafes, dead batteries and exploding radiators.

Instead I saw a mule deer eyeing me from a grove of pines. A few miles later an old Navajo with bobbled hair stared and scowled at me from the back of a rusty pick-up.

Something in me had awakened and all the advice and schedules I had been relying on to get me home safe and untouched were forgotten. No, not forgotten, hurled out the window as I raced beyond them.

The rest of my trip I stopped at every view area, talked to every stranger and broke every rule.

I traded my walkman for a silver and turquoise necklace at an old trading post.

I played opera full blast and listened to wild, uninhibited music from the sixties which I inherited from my oldest sister but had never understood before.

When I crossed the Arizona-Utah border I got out of my car and kissed the red sand just for the hell of it.

At Monument Valley I was overwhelmed. The majesty of those towering cliffs against the sapphire sky took my breath away. I spend an hour or two driving and hiking around the monuments. When I sat down to eat the sandwich I had packed, giant red ants crawled across my bare feel. And I let them.

Speeding over the curves and hills my mind raced and I thought thoughts never thought before. I made great plans for the future and all my problems solved themselves.

When I cam to the small town where my mother was born I parked the car and walked through it. I took pictures of the beautiful old house where my mother grew up with her cousins and sisters. I talked to a man at a gas station who turned out to be my mom’s grade school sweetheart. He said I looked just like her and I was so proud.

My parents had told me to stay the night with cousins in the town where my dad was born, but I drove right through without even stopping.

I stared down a mean looking dog in front of a café and drove with one foot out of the window (I had always wanted to do that).

I sang “I can’t get No Satisfaction” at the top of my lungs—even when cars passed. I let the wind mess up my hair. I even ran the air conditioner with the windows open!

And then I detoured through Arches to watch the sunset. I sat on that wonderful, warm, red rock watching and wondering.

This day had been the most thrilling, exhilarating, unfettered, invigorating day of my life.

It wasn’t entirely because of the wonderful things I had seen because of course I’d driven past them all many times before. It wasn’t because I had listened to great music or because my car hadn’t broken down. It was because I had been alone.

I was under no obligation to anyone to get somewhere by a certain time, to play music they like or make meaningless, superficial small talk. I was free to do exactly as I pleased; to follow every whim. And because I didn’t have to give my attention to another person, I was free to notice things like deer and ants and sunsets. I had been alone for sixteen hours and I wasn’t lonely. When the sun set I had the urge to sleep on the bank of the Colorado River. And, I did.

Homecoming

Can it be possible that we have been home for almost ten days? So much has happened, so many emotions, I feel like a bus ran over me, backed up and ran over me again. Tired. Dead tired. Grateful. Eternally grateful.

Max was released last Friday, and we arrived home in time to invite some friends to join us for a celebratory dinner and movie. Max was so happy to be out of his cage. He faded early, but it was a happy fade. The next few days was a whirlwind of visitors - we had an open house for friends and family, and were pretty much mobbed and really enjoyed the visits. The Divine YaYa's of Moab (my girlfriend group) made sure we had plenty of food, games, visits and even housekeepers (thanks Val and Laura). It was a sweet time to return with minimal stress and loving arms embracing us every moment. The local radio and tv stations had "welcome home Max" ads, the Times Independent Newspaper did an article (www.moabtines.com) and the school had Welcome Home Max on their billboard. We felt good coming home. Thank you, Moab.

At church, we saw the family of the boy who hit Max. The boy is in custody, but it was very painful to see the family and know how much they are suffering. We still have our boy, but they have lost theirs for now and don't know what the future holds. May God strehgthen and bless this good family and may our community reach out with love and support so we can all heal together.

Today was our re-entry into the world. Max went to school on a modified schedule, and David and I went back to work. It was impossible not to get completely overwhelmed by everything that must be done. Bills are late, house and refrigerators are a mess, my to-do list has reached an all-time record of four typewritten pages... and frankly, we are all emotionally exhausted.

This week will be our time to rebalance, assess and gather our strength and resources for the next hurdle - the legal and insurance nightmare which will soon be upon us. How to approach? What to do? Choices that mean consequences for us and others will be weighty. Our deepest thanks to family, friends and the Universe for holding us in your hearts.

Lighten Up

Could it be the double dose of Prozac?
Or is it my invincable spirit,
Or the angel friends and family,
Or maybe my visions of Moab's azure sky,
Or just the Red Bull I am guzzeling?

Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys playing in my head
And my mind was just defragmented like a computer.

Renewed. Uplifted. Hopeful. Happy. Peaceful.

In AA, they say "let go, and let God"
Wow, it sounds so easy
I could never do it, you know me!
But how did it just happen
Without my effort or permission?

Must be another tender mercy from heaven
Another sneaky miracle
Joining the motley crew in my head
On this insane roller coaster.

I breathe, I smile,
I thank my Buddhist friends for their teachings.
Echos of wise counsel
Dance through the maze of my mind
"Stay in your body,
Stay in the moment,
Avoid the poisons of fear and anger"

I sit in the dark of the hospital room
Giving away the outcome
With the distinct feel of warm sunshine in my soul.

Thank you Universe
My burden is lightened.

Blessings in Disguise

I have always been a strong believer in "blessings in disguise" -- and I just want to find them as fast as I can, so that Karma or whatever it is will let me move from pain to pleasure. I've found and pondered three from our recent crisis that have crystalized in the many hours I have spent here in the dark listening to the hum of Max's many life-protecting monitors.

l. We are the lucky ones. We've met many people in ICU with whom we have shared a special bond of tears, pacing and wringing hands. We've seen them face with courage and faith the news of permanent paralysis, devestating brain damage and death.

2. I have a new respect for nurses, and the incredible stress and difficulty of their jobs. Visualize it from their point of view with me. People in crisis come into their lives for a few days or weeks; demanding, needy, traumatized and so completely obsessed with their own trauma that they don't even recognize the nurse as a person at all --- then, poof, both patient and their annoying families are gone and the next one arrives. It is the same thing over and over and over - just like a nightmare version of the movie Ground Hog Day. I admire those who have the compassion and patience to be good nurses, and we've been fortunate to have a few extra special ones so far.

3. My dear husband, David, has finally had his protective wall shattered. This is a wall he built around his heart starting at 5 when his parents sent this gentle and sensitive child to a boarding school in Africa run by brutal and sadistic Catholic priests. Since this was really the only choice for Colonial farmers in Africa, the parents did not want to believe the stories of their children and wrote them off as childish imaginations and exagerations. David spent 13 years in boarding schools, building that wall around his heart one stone at a time.

When he was 19, David's family lost their farm and home and almost all their possessions in Africa when all colonial farms were nationalized by the government. He had to come to the United States with nothing but his shattered dreams of continuing his farm and father's safari business. This event devestated his family, and David in particular, who reacted by just building his wall higher and thicker.

With his father's death and each subsequent heartbreak, his heart's fortress became almost invincable -- until the call on March 31 came about our son Max being attacked with a baseball bat. I was in Denver, and David rushed to the hospital to witness his son bleeding, semi-conscious and near death. On the life flight, David held on to that wall, but when the chopper landed at the hospital and he was met by our church elders and told by the doctors that Max had to have emergency brain surgery, his fortress crumbled. Tears flowed, his gentle heart was exposed, and for the next few days he was overwhelmed by emotions that he could no longer lock away into dark dungeons.

This brutal experience has softened him, his heart has opened up like the spring flowers that I just noticed today, for the first time, since our nightmare began. If David can hold on to this new, fragile open heart, and not be so afraid of feeling, I think it will be one of the most important steps for him to begin finding and fulfilling his great potential here on this earth and into his eternal progression.

Miracles

Last night, Max survived a five hour very delicate surgery with the help of two fantastic surgeons. Here is the miracle. Stay alert, it is a little complicated.

Three weeks ago my parents took their kids and spouses on a dream vacation to Israel. This was a serious "learning vacation" as we traced the steps of our Savior and many of the prophets and other characters in the Bible. My husband, David could not go because he had a new job, so Max went -- the only teenager on a trip of old farts.

We had premier, educated and experienced Jewish, Christian (LDS/Mormon) and Muslim guides with more lectures and learnings than Max was particularly enthused about. On this trip we bonded spiritually and personally with the people on our tour. One of those was a Dr. Griffin, an ear, nose and throat surgeon.

Two weeks after returning home from our trip, Max was attacked with a baseball bat in our home by a former friend. They had to life flight him to Grand Junction, Colorado - one of the top ten trauma hospitals in the nation.

Who was there to meet that helicopter? None other than Dr. Griffin, who just happens to live and work in Grand Junction at St. Mary's Hospital. For the past nine days he has worked closely with our brain surgeon, Dr. Whitwer.

We have been privileged over the past 9 days to have found worthy priesthood holders in the LDS faith who have given Max many blessings. Dr. Griffin is one of them. Last night Max had regressed enough to require a second surgery. They were surprised that the spinal fluid leak did not seem to be leaking from the skull fracture or a tear in the derma (lining around brain) as Dr. Whitwer had prediceted -- but after further investigation, Dr. Griffin found that when he went into the middle ear, there was a rush of fluid - and he was able to create a "dam" made of Max's own tissues layered with a type of glue to seal the leak.

So, if you were a statistician, what would you say would be the odds of a random family meeting another family on vacation -- then two weeks later one family has a medical emergency, life flights a child to one of the top trauma centers in the US and is met at the helipad by someone they just met half way across the world who just happens to have the exact skill needed to save the life of the child?

Dr. Griffin holds the priesthood and the authority to assist in healing both spiritually and medically. He was an angel supported in that operating by other angels (visible and not) who saved Max's life. God works in mysterious ways. Never has my faith been stronger.

We are so grateful for our Heavenly Father and his love and great plans for us here and after this life. Yup, it is a long road ahead, but we will find lots of new angels and we'll also find many great learnings and blessings that will help us be better, kinder, more compassionate and honorable people.

Prayer. There is a song called "Prayer is the Soul's Sincere Desire" and I have been stuck on this song for a few days with it running continuously through my head. For any believer in a God or higher power, this is probably true. Some people have not been taught how to pray, some pray silently, some have a regular ritual of prayer like the Muslim's teachings where they pray five times a day at specific times. I love that idea, and the fact that they pray openly and together. Some people are embarassed about prayer. I was fascinated and moved by the Jews at the wailing wall who crowded into big lines to pray and to put their written prayers into the niches in that wall that is so precious to them. Meditation like many faiths practice can also be a form of prayer. I have no doubt in my mind that we do have a loving Heavenly Father who listens to all our prayers, who knows us personally, who does not discriminate between our dogmas, but loves and listens and answers all of us who are sincere. I find great comfort in prayer, especially when I am on my knees and go to my Heavenly Father aloud in the privacy of my own room. Over the past week we have been lifted up by the prayers of many different people from many faiths. We will never be able to express the gratitude we feel for this outpouring of love.

People

People. I have so many in my life. Some I adore, some I tolerate, some who amuse, some who annoy, some who I want to know and some who I wish I never knew. People always surprise me, but never more than the past five days. David and I have been revived and embraced by people who have reached out to us and to Max. Friends, family, acquaintences, strangers and former adversaries have been our angels and soothed us with amazing love and compassion. People can be angels, and we have seen, heard and been comforted by many. The taxi driver who broke the sound barrier to get me to the airport, the United Airlines ticket agent who practically carried me through the security line, the compassion and service of countless medical professionals, the kindness and generousity of people we barely know, the calls, emails, flowers and tidal wave of love has carried us through the darkest days we've known. I love these people. Thank you, I hope I can return the gift when you need it.

Musings Past Midnight

The dead of the night is here and I am alone in Max's hospital room listening to his multitude of monitors and fighting the grip of fear around my heart. Max had brain surgery following an attack in our home on Tuesday by a fellow Grand County High School student. I am afraid of the unknown and uncontrollable. I am out of my element here, subject to so many variables and so unprepared to cope.

Max is our only child -- well, hardly a child -- he is 15. Just this year he shot past me in height and became a man, with man hair on his legs and the shadow of a mustache above his lip. How can this happen without my permission? The world is going too fast for me. Wait. Stop. Take me back to the days when he was little and I could carry him and make all the bad things go away with a song and a kiss.

Living the V-Z Life