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