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.
From our house at sunset
Mountain of God - from vZ's mountain house
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
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
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
Monday, May 18, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, May 11, 2009
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!
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!
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