Lillie Grace, our oldest, set off today on Ex Ed: a three-day/two-night camping trip in the Sandia mountains with her classmates and instructors. I will miss her. This is slightly ironic.
 
The irony is that this is the first week since March 15th that we haven’t had someone on a never-ending “spring break”. (It’s what you get when you put three kids in three schools.)
 
Of course, with a three-week vacation from school in the wings, that meant that things finally warmed up for me on the job front. After months of waiting, I was hired to ghostwrite a quick polish, headhunt three positions for a phenomenal independent school, coach two juniors through their common app college essays, and start the quest for an agent for our book Dear Oliver: A Grandmother Shares Tales of Love, Loss and Hope. (This is the amazing Young Adult book about a French Jewish family that I’ve been engrossed with since August.)  I
 
But did I mention “Spring Break “?
 
It’s a never-ending aria, interrupting my work, with solos mostly from my 7-year-old. His voice fills the day with, “Mom, I’m bored!” and “I’m hungry!” and “Mom, mom, can I please have Ipad time?” and “Mom, Lexi’s being mean to me!” and “I’m hungry!” and “Do you not give me more Ipad time because you hate me?” and “You’re not listening. I don’t want to do my chores, Mom. I’m bored!” and “Is it time for lunch yet?”
I organize play dates for him every day, only to find that I’m either supervising them, or back in the car to pick him up before I know it. Is it any wonder I’m just getting to the March blog?
 
Over her break, Lexi provides the bridge to Tyler’s blues, “Oh, this is just great. I have nothing to do today.” No matter what I come back with, she gives the common Middle School refrain, “But I have no friends.” Or “I know what you’re going to suggest, and the answer is NO!”
 
It was my oldest who did me in, with a single verse. She looked at me sadly and said, “I haven’t been anywhere since last July, and I’m getting texts from my friends in Turkey, Hungry, Budapest (same friend), Scotland, Mexico and Oregon (different friends). I feel so stuck here.”
 
“Me too!” I realized, gazing at photos of friends exploring the Australian coast, skiing in Austria and visiting Paris.  The first thing on the chopping block with unemployment was travel. Ten months of unemployment and the atmosphere can get a little…anguished shall we say?
 
So instead of traveling these past few months in my spare time, I’ve been hunkering down and decluttering. Slowly sifting through the final boxes of my parents’ things, over two years after their deaths. It’s mostly photos, which, along with lots of nostalgia for trips made in a former life (and boy did we travel), I’ve felt a great sense of isolation. We are raising our family far away from extended members, with little physical interconnection.
 
I’ve been feeling this isolation for a while. Over the holidays, I reached out to one of my uncles, who still lives in his big house. I asked him if the kids and I could plan a visit this summer and connect. I wrote, “One of my biggest sorrows is raising my kids without them really knowing Mom and Dad. I would love to have them hear your stories of Nana and Grandpa, and of my mom growing up. I would love for them to get a sense of family.” In response, I got a definite sense that while we’re family, there is his family and there is my family.
 
In fairness to him, I grew up mostly seeing him (and his family) only at holidays, then funerals, weddings and memorials. How can I be missing a connection that never really existed? 
 
My 2024 theme of surrender is the gift that keeps giving. One of my closest friends Michele sent me Michael Singer’s book The Surrender Experiment. It is eye-opening (to say the least!), and has taught me much about acceptance. Do not wish things were other than they are. Accept. Otherwise, your energy is frustrated. Accept.
 
I keep up with my friend Jack because he is a role model to me. The week before the everlasting Spring Break began, I called Jack (Tyler calls him “Jack-Jack”). For Jack, life’s glass is not just half full, but since it’s half full, let’s make a toast and drain it. Jack is one of the most joyful people I know, despite being widowed, childless and a cancer survivor.  He had a few weeks before his trip to Mexico to get dental work done (last year’s chemotherapy did a number on his teeth). He wanted to see us, could we spare a few days? Well, actually...I mean, what are the odds?
 
That is why, the day after Tyler’s teacher conference, Lillie Grace, Tyler and I jumped in the car. (Lexi looked at me like I had five heads, “I will KILL Tyler and Lillie if I’m in a car with them for 7 hours, are you kidding?”)
 
The journey itself was a destination: through stunning scenery like the Apache-Sitgreaves National forest, the El Malpais National Monument, and the Acoma Pueblo.
 
At 84 years young, Jack lives in a 55+ community. Cue Lillie giving me pointed looks. (“But it’s a dump!” Jack laughs). We swam every day in one of the two large (and clean) 85 degree pools, then jumped in one of the saunas. One day, Jack drove us out in his pickup truck (Tyler bouncing around in the back) and we all hiked Box Canyon. We did scavenger hunts in the town of Florence’s two Western museums. We played Clue, Fantastic Mr. Fox, and Spoons. We laughed. Oh, did we laugh.
 
The craziest part? Unaware of my desire to have my kids hear stories about my parents, Jack spontaneously talked at great length about them. Jack and my parents had survived the isolation of COVID by becoming each other’s “pod”. Having to seclude in their adjacent apartments, they became so bored they told each other their life stories several times over during the months of co-sequestering in their Independent Living facility.
 
Four days later, on piling into the car for the beautiful ride home, Jack looked at me and said, “This whole thing really is synchronicity, isn’t it? From my becoming so close with your parents, to you now visiting.”
 
Synchronicity.
It is, I think, closely related to acceptance, ease and joy.  
All part of Surrender’s family.

​“Ugh, your blogs are just so depressing!!” a well-meaning friend confided to me in a phone conversation earlier this month. This took me aback.
 
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I intend them to be upbeat.”
 
“Oh, come on! You’ve been hanging on by a thread for almost a year now, living in limbo, canceling vacations and other plans while hoping Jory gets a job. You’re living off the money your parents left you and this is not how they intended you spend it, you know.”
 
In fairness, while I am all too well aware of the stress I live under, I am unaware that my blogs have been downers. This is probably because I have been spending hours every morning for the past few months consumed with writing a book about a man who snuck letters out of a Nazi internment camp to his wife and children in the winter of 1942. Therefore, my frame of reference has been: no Nazis, no starvation, no hypothermia, no separation – we’re good. A low bar, but one we are crushing here in Albuquerque.
 
Except then, the woman who found and translated these letters decided she wants them buried. She thinks to publish them would be to court danger. I am stunned by her reversal. These haunting letters reveal such hope, such optimism, such love in the face of brutal hatred. I have wept over them, and feel that to silence his voice will be to enable the haters. It’s like erasing Anne Frank because her diary isn’t convenient. But this woman is the man's granddaughter, and she is genuinely afraid of the obvious growing anti-Semitism around the world, especially in France, where she lives.
 
What I know to be true is that fear is never a good motivator, ever. I try to verbalize this, but am told that I am unaware of how bad things are. To argue that you are aware to someone who says you don’t understand is to dive into a pointless rabbit hole.
 
Thankfully, the man’s other granddaughter, who is American, is incredibly wise and patient. She listens to her anxious cousin, holding back judgement. It takes a lot of courage and strength just to listen. 
 
I take a breath and focus elsewhere. Easy to do, as there are so many other situations clamoring for my attention. I decide not to worry about the broken washing machine (which costs the same to fix as buying a new one), and spotlight my middle child, who continues to struggle socially. She texted her birthday invitation to some friends. They all said they love the invitation, but not one of them said they want to attend the actual party. Having received help from her school, I now go to the library, seeking books on how to help tweens and teens make friends.
 
I check out the first book I find, written for teens. I expect it to be full of social etiquette, stuff like: ask others questions. Smile! Give compliments. Instead, what I find blows my mind. (I love the book; my daughter feels it's weird.) The first chapter says the best way to make friends is to live mindfully: in the present moment, and without judgement. Living with one foot regretting past scenarios and another anxiously awaiting the future doesn’t allow us to see the people in front of us. Furthermore, the judge and jury that play in our heads certainly doesn’t allow us to listen to what the people in front of us are communicating, both verbally and non-verbally.
 
Is this why it’s so challenging for us to make new friends? 
 
Living mindlessly, on autopilot, has become both a default and a defense for us, even at a national level. To bring it to the family level: it’s my 7-year-old, so afraid of boredom that he craves constant food and screens to escape the present moment. It’s me walking the dogs, feeling great that my son will be at school on time with his backpack AND jacket, only to realize that I forgot poop bags (I go back and pick up the poop in penance). It’s my oldest getting out of the car at school and giving herself a concussion by hitting her head as she closed the car door. It’s my husband not noticing this happened. (Yes, she got a real concussion. She had to miss days of school, and still is needing lots and lots of rest. But I digress.)
 
To live mindlessly is to go to the movies for the popcorn and miss the show. Franciscan priest and author Richard Rohr puts it better: we must not confuse our life situation with our actual lives, our essence, our souls.
 
So, to answer my friend, yes, the situation my family has been in for the last year has truly been  discouraging, frustrating and scary. However, my actual life, from which my writing comes, has been one of discovery and connection.
 
Our actual lives thrive on gratitude, intention, and love, because these things feed our soul. This is the reason those letters from the Nazi internment camp resonate so deeply with me. This man was in the absolute worst of life’s situations, and yet, he didn’t let it define him.
 
In case you never get to read his letters, I will share that in the first one, he asked his wife to send him yellow shoe laces. This is because the Nazis confiscated shoelaces and belts, to keep French inmates from using them to kill themselves. But why yellow? The answer appears two lines down, when he asks her to send yellow shoe polish. He was wearing bright dapper yellow shoes in a Nazi internment camp, and he intended to keep them looking their best. This to me is a symbol of joie de vivre, of resistance, of hope.
 
So now matter what daunting circumstances life may be throwing our way, let us not confuse our current situations with our lives. (Take that, mountains of laundry and broken washing machine!) Let’s find our equivalent of yellow shoes, walk tall, and even dance when we are mindful enough to hear life’s rhythm.

Let's call January Lillie Grace month....the rest of us just showed up

 
​If you don’t become the ocean, you will get seasick every day. - Leonard Cohen
 
As the first month of 2024 comes to a close, I hope that we’re each finding our own ways to keep hope alive.  When I was younger, I used to make “resolutions” that lasted maybe until Valentine’s Day if I were lucky. Now, I carefully select a word that represents a concept I want to grow in, one that will hopefully enhance my life from this point on.
 
After much consideration, I chose “surrender”. Bono used it to title the autobiography of his fantastic life. Oprah swears by “surrender” as much as she does “intention” and “gratitude”. Contrary to pop culture, surrender is not a dirty word. It doesn’t mean giving up, or waving the white flag. It seems that successful people know the secret to surrender. They put forth 100% effort, until there remains nothing else to add, no one else to contact, no other angle to try, and then let go. It takes understanding that if it is meant to be, it will come back to you. If it does not come back, the Universe/God will give you something better. It’s a belief I’m willing to test.  
 
Because of course, the minute I chose this word, I knew I would be tested. Oh Lordy, yes. But tired of hanging on to things I want that never materialized, I was ready to surrender. 
 
So far, who knows? All I can see is what I've let go of. However, in believing something better will come, surrender takes away a lot of the suffering from what would otherwise continue to be an anguishing thorn in my side.
 
Oh, the examples? I was perfect for a remote job coaching college essays this summer. The person hiring agreed, and I was a finalist. Poof. Inexplicably went to someone else. (“Now you know how I feel,” my grumpy husband groused.) I asked for feedback, but all I got was, “we so enjoyed talking with you too.” So, I must be on to something better this summer…
 
And it won’t be going back to the summer camp at which I taught six classes a day last year. My students are always my North Star. Always. When my teen counselors had their lunch periods routinely taken away, were yelled at, and tasked with teaching classes (with no pay bump) after other teachers quit, I spoke up. My counselors asked me to. Result: mysteriously, not only was I not offered a position this summer, but most of my classes are not even offered. I applied anyway, but was told I was not needed. So, I must be on to something better this summer…
 
I’m throwing down the gauntlet: Does surrendering things you wanted open you up to better opportunities? Stay tuned as the experiment unfolds!
 
In the meantime, I continue to write this amazing book in the mornings and am a search consultant in the afternoons, filling three teaching positions for a phenomenal elementary school in LA. I love my days.
 
Finally in my “spare time”, I’ve been treading the bipolar path of having one family soaring to new heights, with the other in the depths of despair.
 
Jory started January as a finalist for three marketing jobs. Job #1 finally said he was overqualified. Job #2 (a company run by 5 women) eventually went to a woman. Job #3 at last enthused that he is their #1 contestant, and they’ve…decided not to fill the position at this time. Cut to: Jory in the ER with blood pressure at 220/110. His heartbeat often races. He’s on medication. Really, could he just get a friggin’ job? Some kind of break? It’s been 9 months…
 
Thankfully, Lillie Grace is living her best life. Today she is the lead prosecutor in the grade’s mock trial. She is proving that Billy the Kid deserved to die, despite the fact that both sides in the Lincoln County War were corrupt. This past weekend, she was an alto in the New Mexico State Choir. Kids from all over the state auditioned through their schools (over 100 kids auditioned at her school alone; 19 were selected). Man, did they sound phenomenal!!! To top it off, she is rocking some beautiful studs after she went to a tat parlor and got her ears pierced . In her spare time, she’s deciding between committing to francais or espagnole for the rest of her school career. Let’s just call January Lillie Grace's month.
 
Let's see who gets the February award...

Happy Holidays....why does Tyler look like he's posing for a mug shot with Santa?

Courage is not having the strength to go on; it is going on when you don't have the strength. Teddy Roosevelt
 
2023 taught us a lot about courage (code for buckle your seatbelt).
 
Jory gets the gold medal here. His dream job with the XFL vanished in May with the XFL, thanks to its merger. Since then, it’s been a daily adventure of applying for jobs, interviewing, and facing a sheer wall of rejection. Add to that the violent death of his father the week before Thanksgiving, followed by the discovery that his stepmother (with his father’s prior blessing) cut him out of their will, since the fortune technically belonged to her. It’s been a year of having to cancel trips, vacations, shows, and outings. It’s been a year of Plan B, sometimes Plan C, and sometimes all plans have come to naught. A year of courageously showing up.
 
Lillie Grace’s dreams of a future in dance were shattered in February, when she snapped the articular cartilage of her right knee in half. At first, we were all in disbelief, but two surgeries later, with most of the year on crutches, she courageously accepted that her dancing days were over. She had begun dance seriously at 3 years old, and now was retiring at the ripe old age of 12. Showing tremendous resilience, she picked up a guitar, taught herself basics, then took lessons and placed into her school’s highest class of guitar performance. Seventh grade has been a much better year for her, with her finding her tribe of “ride or die” besties, quality girls whom we love, and often have over the house. She has thrived this year, being selected for the NM state choir, lead prosecutor for the Mock Trial down in Las Cruces, and the sole singer with the school’s jazz band. On top of this, she is a full-fledge Swiftie teenager, perfecting the eye roll, door slam, and the snark.
 
In continuing with the courage motif, Lexi changed her name from Ali, graduated from our public elementary school, turned down admission to her sister’s elite academy and chose to attend a small prestigious prep school. It’s time to ask the question: Have things changed much since we were in middle school? As far as micro-aggression from the “it” girls, sadly, we may as well be back in the 1980s. Brutal exclusion, ignoring, and subtle put downs are quietly rampant, even augmented by texting - and this is everywhere. (My visions of Jane Aliband in 7th grade still make me shudder.) What has changed is the way this school has responded. Thankfully, the administration has formed a team with us to help Lexi develop what she is lacking: self-confidence, skills, and hope. It will not be an overnight fix (say, like Jory suddenly getting a job) but it will ultimately result in a self-assured fun-loving child. We love her school and are so grateful for their partnership and concern. We also added a sweet new puppy named Windsor to the family (never dreaming Jory would lose his job, oops). Despite now having holes in every blanket we own (dogs chew blankets – who knew?) Windsor has joined Otis in giving daily comfort and companionship to Lexi when she has needed it most.
 
In the “I believe in miracles” department, Tyler Shea has made it to first grade!  While academics still challenge him, he adores his teacher Ms. Camera, and has lots of friends, thanks to his high Emotional Intelligence and easy-going nature. He loves to help his sisters by sharing gems such as “how to handle ‘bollies when they bolly you’“ and "you should be nicer to Mom, Lillie Grace.” Because his unsolicited free advice is quietly dismissed on a good day (and met with worse other times), Ty goes to jiu jitsu three times a week, in the hopes that someday it will make others take him more seriously. His favorite room in the house is the kitchen pantry, not a room, but to him a whole world of fabulous food. He also does soccer and chess once a week, which is our effort to fight the losing battle of getting him away from screens. He is a staunch believer in Santa, except when it comes to picking up his dirty clothes from the floor or making his bed. This may account for his terrified expression in the above photo.
 
As for me, I have found sanity and humor with all the above by keeping in touch with close friends (many of whom are reading this: thank you!), meditating, working out, and writing, writing, writing. My alcohol consumption has gone way down (because it turns out wine and stress are not friends) though my chocolate consumption remains robust (I need at least one vice). Mercifully, I stopped teaching because coming home depleted from class was not good for the family, or for me. One of my best friends hired me to write a book based on her family, and it is one of the most compelling projects I’ve written in my life. I believe it will be published next year (if you have connections to a publisher LMK), and it has given me such joy in which to immerse myself.
 
2023 has challenged us to the hilt, but, as I keep reminding myself, it’s not 2021. That was a year of bone-crushing loss. Not only were both Jory and I in a post-pandemic complete state of unemployment, but I lost my beloved Mom and Dad, my cousin Gary, and Homie, my dog of 15 years. In comparison, 2023 has been a year of building courage, and at least I showed up to get a Christmas letter out – first one since 2020.
 
The silver lining of flexing courage, of course, is growth and expansiveness. One of my tutoring clients recently wrote me, “The way you see people reminds of what Blake wrote, ‘To see a world in a grain of sand, And a heaven in a wild flower....’. It is what I strive for (key word here being strive), to approach the world and each person I greet with openness and wonder.
 
I wish that for all of us.

At my husband’s recommendation, I’m reading the best-seller The Untethered Soul by Michael Singer.  It’s a book about establishing inner peace. Since the Universe has a great sense of humor, yes, that means all sort of s##t is has come flying at me from all directions since I started reading about inner peace.
 
The book urges us to stop resisting what is. Accept. I like that idea. The gist is that to feel peace, we need to relax and let energy pass through us. Do not push events away/deny or cling to them, but just simply be present, witnessing and experiencing things as life taking place. It is our need to fix and control that stresses us out, because, he says, it’s impossible to do either. Singer emphasizes that events belong to the moment, not to us.
 
On further reflection, it sounds a tad hippie utopian, like we should just check out and sing the Beatles “Let it Be”. Sure, there’s wisdom in that song, but aren’t we here to make a difference, to act against so much evil in the world? Didn’t the Holocaust happen precisely because people “let it be”? Singer says we can deal with events first by taking away our fear and desire because they block our energy. We need to see things not as problems, but simply as stepping stones on our spiritual journey. This is where I am reminded that those monks who achieve such enlightenment have no children.
 
Realistically, fear and desire are pretty much the meat in a job search sandwich, not that monks search for jobs either. During my husband’s five-month stint of ongoing unemployment, he has come super super super close to three more jobs since I last blogged.
 
So if I am to observe our unemployment from a place of no desire or fear, instead of feeling peace, I feel anger. For there is a new trend: ghosting. Apparently, ghosting is the new black. Remember how 20 years ago, all the kids got trophies just for showing up? Well, these kids are now in the work force. “Rejection” is not a concept they remotely recognize. So should they want to “go in a different direction” (even after multiple rounds and hours of interviews) they actually tell you, “We’ll be in touch!” You believe them, send the heartfelt thank you email and believe they’ll “be in touch”. Then they NEVER contact you again. Not a reply (or God forbid, feedback!), or even a polite email acknowledging your connection, or a thank you for your time. This has happened with jobs in Arizona, in California, even from the Governor’s office in New Mexico after three hours of meetings. It’s the rage.
 
I even got ghosted by one of my oldest friend’s cousins, a recruiter in Boston whose marketing person told Jory he was “perfect for a job” and then asked for $350 to submit his resume. The cousin had been responsive until I told her I genuinely wanted to understand what the charge was for….and…..then (wait for it) she ghosted me.
 
Ghosting is flat out inconsiderate, entitled, rude. It implies that you do not even merit the dignity of a reply. It leaves you checking your phone and email for days hoping for some reply, some explanation, some closure. After all, the hardest part when someone goes missing is the uncertainty. You have hope, and this hope keeps you on pins and needles. When you learn the missing person is dead, at least you can begin closure, and ultimately move on. Not that death is easy, as I keep getting reminded….
 
So yeah, remember how I’m reading this book on inner peace, trying to not get sucked in to life’s drama? Mmm hmmm.  Three days ago, the American Embassy in Rome calls Jory. They ask him if he has a minute for an urgent matter. Is it a scam? No, they need to speak with him as the emergency contact on his father Gary’s passport. It is “The Call”.  Gary was just killed a few hours ago in a freeway accident. Jory’s stepmother (who has no kids) was in a hospital. They had no other information at this time, but will call him “the moment they do”.
 
Shock.
 
Gary was in Italy? Gary was dead?
 
From online Italian news reports, we learned that an American tourist (later identified as Gary Rosen) had been a passenger in a van of ten people and had been hit by a truck that transports cars. Kind of like a mac truck - wait - what? People can actually get hit by a mac truck? The shock keeps coming. The crash was so bad that 118 emergency personnel responded. Gary had been killed instantly, and four people (Jory’s stepmother among them) were airlifted to a hospital in Rome. An investigation is ongoing.
 
Horrific.
 
Yesterday, crickets from the Embassy. Were they ghosting us? Jory called them to find out how and where his stepmother is. We got bureaucracy at its finest: because Jory was his father’s emergency contact, but NOT his stepmother’s, the Embassy won’t share information about her. Not even what hospital she’s in. The argument that she is a shell-shocked widow alone in a hospital in a foreign country who would probably like to hear from her dead husband’s only child made no sense to them.
 
The violent departure of a soul, intentional or not, is seismic. It’s traumatic. If someone in your family has died violently, the trauma singes your soul. It’s different from other deaths - some of which can actually transform you even more. But the shock from a violent death is scalding.
 
Here we are, a continent away, and processing. In the days since learning the news, I’ve been late to work meetings, forgetful of emails, neglectful of work, missed my street turns – and it’s not even my father! How my husband is managing to put one foot in front of the other, let alone continue to send out resumes and take interviews, I have no idea. None. It's surreal. Life in Albuquerque looks the same, but his family has forever changed.
 
Again, you can chant along with the Beatles “Jai guru deva om, nothing’s gonna change my world”, but things change. All the time. And the more you don’t change with them, the harder life gets.
 
Instead, my mind goes to the vibrant frenetic sounds of Bono: “I’m ready. I’m ready for the laughing gas. I’m ready, I’m ready for what’s next.” It’s the sound of acceptance, of showing up.
 
I carry this exuberant song in my mind partly because my cousin Jenny took me to the brilliant Achtung Baby at the Sphere right before Halloween. This song of acceptance now carries terrific memories. Jenny and I had last seen each other at my parents’ memorial, and the time before that at her father’s funeral. So, it was overdue that we meet in a place like Vegas to have FUN. We were on the Floor, right next to the stage, dancing and singing and laughing, drinking in a feast for the senses. The band sounds amazing, partially because they accept where they are. Since all members are in their 60s, the running, falling to the knees, and backbends of the last Achtung Baby tour are gone. Now, they simply stand and sing, and let the Sphere do the work. And it works.
 
As for the inner peace…well, it’s certainly a journey, and a long one at that.

I think the best we can do is find serenity in acceptance, in gratitude, in joy, in friendships, in writing and, let's face it, in good chocolate and wine. For, as I was reminded this week, tomorrow is not guaranteed.
 
Happy Thanksgiving.

​​Earlier this month, Tyler fell. And fell. And fell.
 
“I’ll never learn to ride a bike,” he said dejectedly.  We have been trying to teach him to ride a bike periodically over the last TWO YEARS. He was actually getting worse. It was clear that his fear of falling made him more cautious, more discouraged (and frankly, more jaded, like an adult).
 
“You can do this!” I kept telling him, to which he’d roll his eyes and scoff.
 
Jory thought Ty needed training wheels. I decided Ty needed peer pressure. Nothing like a friend to help you through a challenge.
 
His bike-riding 6-year old friend Johannes brought over his little bike, one that was actually too small for both of them. Johannes showed Tyler how to go down hills by balancing his body weight and not pedaling. By the end of the week, Tyler’s confidence had soared stratospherically.
 
Tyler fell until he didn’t need to anymore. He could ride the bike, pedals and all.
 
It was a huge victory of expansion: both for his body and for his mind.
 
“The mystery, strangely enough” Deepak Chopra writes, “is how we manage to restrict the unbounded potential of our own minds.”
 
I am reading Chopra’s Life After Death which I found in my mother’s library. (Amherst friends: Professor Thurman liked it so much he wrote one of the endorsements for it on the back).
 
In this mélange of physics, metaphysics, Indian, Buddhist, Christian spirituality, and documented experiences, Chopra at one point makes a list of qualities of the mind that come either under “expansion” or “contraction” with the belief that we are either expanding or contracting.
 
With the universe uniformly expanding in all directions, it would seem that we are made to ever-expand (and that does seem to be the case with our midsections in middle age).
 
However, as we all know, one huge force makes us need and want to contract: LOSS. Loss of memory, mobility, balance, agility. Loss of loved ones and friends. Loss of finances, employment, security. And with all of that, comes loss of confidence, hope, dreams. In addition, mental illness: anxiety and depression wreak absolute havoc on our best intentions.
 
According to Chopra, “Crave security” is contraction, while “Comfortable with Uncertainty” is expansion. Easier said than done. We’re going into our sixth month of unemployment for Jory. Hard to breath into expansion when circumstances feel so stifling it’s hard to breathe at all sometimes.
 
And yet.

As with Tyler, we must train the qualities of our overworked, fearful, anxious minds. What’s the alternative? I mean: what else can we do?
 
Lillie Grace modeled a perfect way to expand despite her fears. She was rattled last week because she wanted to be part of her school’s Mock Trial. It’s a state-wide conference down in Las Cruces this year, wherein 7th graders have a court case to crack. But the catch was that only four of the six students vying for the prosecution would be selected for the team. She had to audition for the team on a zoom call that day.
 
She had just had surgery the day before: the six titanium screws had come out of her knee.  While this is a huge (literal) step forward in the long term, in the short term, she was back on crutches, pain meds, and restricted movement. She therefore was feeling constricted and inadequate, like she could never be chosen on a prosecution team.
 
After moaning and procrastinating, she came to me for help. She understands that we need to find pillars of expansion when we can’t support ourselves. Life is crushing, and sometimes we need someone else to hold our hand and guide us.
 
I first reminded Lil the odds were over 50% that she would get a spot on the team, so she had a realistic chance. We sat together and she read me the case line by line. She honed her questions as we discussed the case. She would have to think of the follow ups on the spot. So, we agreed that if she didn’t make the team, we’d find another opportunity for her.
 
She came back after the hour-zoom call elated. She had just been appointed Lead Prosecutor, and will be going down to Las Cruces for an overnight in early November. With this expansion, the discouragement and pain of her knee seemed to lesson.
 
Not that it always works like this. Lexi joined her volleyball team, practiced daily on and off the court, with a coach, with her parents, with her friends, and still never made a serve over the net. Yet with the end of volleyball season, rather than join her basketball team, she is going to join a club volleyball team to get extra support. Next year, when her serve sizzles, it will mean all the more to her.
 
The question I ask myself every morning now is: how can I cultivate a mindset of expansion today? And if I’m stuck, whom can I call?
 
According to Chopra, choosing expansion paradoxically means less focus on material things, more focus on experiences (physically bigger does not mean emotionally healthier)!! Choosing expanion means choosing less conformity, more individualism. Expansion is less ego-driven, more altruistic. It means less denial, more self-knowledge.
 
Despite all the losses we encounter, we are meant to keep expanding. All of us. None of us learned to ride a bike alone. So when did we stop asking for help? The way is not always easy. The how is seldom obvious. But the alternative is simply contracting.

​​Last month, tragically, an Amherst classmate of mine lost his 15 year-old son. It has haunted me, especially with a 13-year old under my roof. I can’t imagine anything more painful than burying a child. As a writer, I imagine a lot – and nothing trumps this.
 
On his facebook page, this friend wrote, “I’m a dad. That’s all I ever wanted to be. The rest is just gravy.”
 
Of course, when we were in college, I never guessed all he ever wanted to be was a dad, and he probably didn’t either. He was incredibly goofy (he still is), but I get it. When you grasp who your child is for the first time, you experience a paradigm shift. You realize that “parent” is the most fulfilling identity you’ll have, second only to “self”.
 
His comment has stayed with me: “The rest is just gravy.”
 
Do we spend too much time focusing on the gravy, at the expense of what’s really important?
 
This drove me down a rabbit hole to write down what is really important.
1) Health (physical, mental, spiritual, because without it….)
2) Close knit loving Family and Friends, a circle that expands over time
3) Money (because, as I’m still discovering, without it…the stress, the stress!!).
4) Meaningful Pursuit – one that uses your talent, that makes a difference, that adds to others’ lives
 
All the rest – while some of it is very important – I think could really just be gravy.
Did I miss anything?
 
And I hear you, gravy is important – who wants a life of plain vanilla ice cream with no sauce?
 
It just seems that in this age of social media with the excessive need to post everything you do online, the gravy can drown out the fundamentals.
 
With a teen and tween under my roof, I am aware of how heavy the Kurse of the Kardashians lies on this generation.  The urge to be famous and therefore validated, to be (literally) “liked” is a tsunami of gravy that drowns out real connection and vulnerability. We are told we don’t matter unless we’re “somebody”. We have “failed” unless we “make it”. It's hard to cultivate self-love in an over-processed culture.
We bury our very selves in the pursuit of gravy.
 
In researching my friend Janine’s family history for her book, one of her cousins nailed the essentials, and early in his life.
 
For starters, Janine’s mother is actually first cousins with these three brothers. Yet this is the kind of family whereby Janine herself became like a first-cousin to them, and their families have stayed close, for generations! Jean Claude created a publishing company, on which he made a tremendous profit, when he sold it at the age of 40. With some of that money, he bought a vineyard in Provence (right?!?!). Because family meant everything to him, Jean Claude began an annual tradition wherein his brothers and their families, and “cousine” Janine and her family would make an annual pilgrimage to the vineyard for Bastille Day, celebrating the week together. Every year they would roast a lamb on their last day together, bask in the Provencal sun, and of course, drink Jean Claude’s wine. They would laugh, and celebrate whatever kind of year they had lived, and toast to family in the warmth of the beautiful French countryside. After selling his publishing company, Jean Claude also became a writer himself, upon discovering his Jewish ancestors were the money stewards for the popes in Avignon. When he passed, the family was devastated.
 
A pretty solid life.
 
Another solid life is that of my favorite English teacher, whom I was lucky to have for three years. Yesterday I learned he died on my daughter’s 13th birthday. Thanks to Dr. Jon Kite, I am a writer. (Though he was too humble to go by “Dr”, despite the fact that his Ph.D. was from Stanford). Mr. Kite’s passing has deeply affected me, as I realize that the grownups who knew me when I was a kid are vanishing. Sans Kite, Paris is forever emptier. The last time I saw him was the last time I was in Paris. I took a bunch of high school kids to France in 2006, and Kite joined me in a Brasserie. We reminisced late into the night. Mr. Kite’s love of humor and literature and teaching and drinking and smoking made him a joyful curmudgeon, a paradox he fully embraced. The myriad of tributes that are pouring out on our high school FB page show what a legend he was, how many lives he affected by showing up and sharing his passion, in his case, for great writing.
 
The rest
 
I do believe

​is all
 
Gravy

​Jory and I now hide the remote. And police our kitchen.
 
According to his pediatrician, our 7-year old son has joined the 42.4% of Americans who are considered obese.
 
My friend Mary made the connection: Like many in his generation, Tyler is on an unending quest for a hit of dopamine. If he’s not cruising for sugar, he wants to be on a screen. When not on a screen, he is HUNGRY!! (I have banned the word starving from our home…I’m working on a Holocaust project and it’s all relative!). He lacks the ability to entertain himself, finding most things that are not food or screens BORING. This unending pleasure/dopamine quest is quite common in his age group. Regular activities can't compare. 
Therefore, I have reworked my schedule: when he is home, I engage him. Sometimes we play that we are a cleaning company, hired to do xx (wash dishes, clean the walls – pretty clever, huh?). When that is “boring”, we play games, or read. It is a tremendous time commitment, but in the long run, more enjoyable than fighting over addictive screens and food.
 
Oh, but this morning was a trip of another kind. On the way to school, while racing back home to pick up math homework that she said she doesn’t care about, my middle daughter told me she hates me. Having already lost my mother, I told her to save it for my funeral. This paradoxically made our neighbor’s day, as from her place in the back seat, she was ever so slightly smiling, musing over how our family makes hers look really really good. At least I could make someone’s day.
 
The above daughter, the child formerly known as Ali, is now Lexi.
 
Last year, when we filled out applications for new Middle Schools, Alexandra told me to write Lexi. Then she spent the whole summer correcting us, “I’m NOT ALI!! I’M LEXI!!!” In light of the many kids in her generation who change genders, I figure we’re getting off easy.  Still, it’s an adjustment. (If anyone wants “A” wall hangings/jewelry, LMK).
 
Unfortunately, Lexi’s Executive Functioning Skills aren’t any better than Ali’s were. In the month she’s been at school, Lexi has lost two water bottles, two lunch boxes, a French binder and a script. Not to mention forgotten homework (most recently, this morning). I actually went to the Lost and Found a few hours ago and recovered 1/3 of the loot…I now write “ROSEN” in black sharpie on everything - which she hates because it’s so uncool - but at this point, we’re hemorrhaging cash we don’t have on items she no longer has.  
 
Surprisingly, for someone who has the guts to rebrand themselves, she is desperate to fit in. She was cast as a random “friend of Jasmine’s” in the play Aladdin at summer camp, only to audition six weeks later – same play – same director – and yes! - be cast as a random “friend of Jasmine’s”. The director claims that being in this play will improve literacy, strengthen vocal skills, gain problem-solving skills, but since he cast her in exactly the same silent background position only weeks later, it is clear that the improvement/strengthening/gain she was supposed to achieve got lost in the dark recesses of Aladdin’s Cave of Wonders, or maybe it’s with her water bottles. So we are pulling the plug on hours and hours and hours of her rehearsing the forgettable background role that she just performed, and from which she clearly didn’t improve/gain/strengthen. This, too, was lost on Lexi. “But I want to fit in!!” Lexi sobs. Be careful what you wish for, kid.  
 
Meanwhile, in only four days of being an actual teenager, Lillie Grace, 13, has already perfected the eye roll and the snark reply. Unfortunately, she tends to be a type A perfectionist, so when I mean perfected, it’s actually an understatement. She is also having 8 friends to our home for a party this weekend, 7 of whom are sleeping over. If this is my last blog for awhile, send chocolate.
 
On the nonverbal front, our two dogs are sweet, until they are not. In the last few days, they peed on our bedroom carpet, ate Prince Harry’s book from the library (apparently, THEY loved it) and chewed holes in our new duvet. We exercise them religiously and yet…
 
Jory continues the job search. In June, a local law firm in town conducted four interviews with him – two in person, one with the head of firm. He thought everything went really well. He was excited. Then, they asked for his college transcript (?), which he ordered from NYU. Then, they asked for his high school transcript (??). His high school, like said law firm, is here in town. However, the high school don’t have any transcripts before 1996. And so the law firm GHOSTED him. Like, he’s never heard from them again. Ever. Not even a rejection.
 
Then in July, a firm in LA that sells gold and silver *contacted HIM* on our cruise to let him know they were hiring him to work full time, remotely. Excited, he purchased the $$$ $hip internet package, and they said they would discuss details when he was home.  After which, yes, they GHOSTED him. WTF? He’s back job hunting.
 
As for me, I am trying to keep it all together – the dopamine-addled obese child, the financial worries, the preteen angst, the teen attitude, the destructive dogs - with as much humor and grace as I can muster. It’s like herding cats on an ice rink in the rain in tap shoes. I blast songs from the  Pumpkins and Jane's Addiction alone in the car. One of my best friends Michele just came out with her mom over Lillie’s 13th birthday. Having her here was a blast of sunshine. Their departure showcased some lonely valleys.
 
As mentioned above, I’m writing a fascinating Jewish family’s story set in Paris in World War II. That’s about as dark as it can get, but paradoxically it gives me tremendous perspective and strength to keep juggling the above. Before Tyler gets home, I spend hours every day reading primary documents, getting lost in suffering and the will to overcome it. It truly is a gift to get to do research and write something so meaningful. 
 
I close, with a revelation I ready yesterday from Victor Frankl, which he had in the darkest time of his life: “The salvation of man is through love and in love.”
 
I’ve seen how short life is. Every day is a quest: we must rediscover love.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime bucket-list adventure: cruising through Alaska.
Paradoxically, the 13-day vacation accomplished its high expectations because we all left feeling depressed it was over.
 
We had never been on a cruise. Turns out, cruising is actually the best way to see Alaska, because many places (like its capital Juneau) are only accessible via water or air. So, we decided to fully embrace Americana and see our 50th state not just on any cruise, but via a Disney cruise. Based on reviews of cleanliness (Covid seems to be making a comeback), food quality (more on that later), and kids’ activities (tween and kids clubs), it best met our needs.

We loved the surprise guests, and we had the same waiters every night, who remembered our favorite drinks and foods, and did magic tricks.

and lounging seals are good medicine too

​And there is something about the ocean that always makes me think of our dad, and this cruise was no exception. In fact, it was the first vacation we had taken since he and Mom passed away, and I realized that I’m still learning to navigate life without them, and I probably always will be.  It’s just a different season of life.
​

It’s not like “If you are diabetic and need a sharps container, please call…” Rather, it is assumed that you have type two diabetes, or, that if you keep cruising, you’ll soon have it. So yes, with a 13-pound gain weight (in 13 days), I would be qualifying for a sharps container with this lifestyle.
 
On the cruise, we dined with lavish 3-course meals (bread! dessert! alcohol!) every night starting at 8:15 PM (10:15 our time).  Disney cruises get raves for food quality, and I concur. Then, of course, there's free room service, sit down breakfasts and lunches, and 24-hour soft serve ice cream.
 
On the bright side, it shows how surprisingly effective the discipline in my normal diet actually is. A month later, I’m down seven pounds and counting….

Coming home has been a readjustment. Jory continues his job search. I am writing a fascinating project that pays tuition for August...

​Welcome September!

​
​There’s a Jewish saying, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”
 
Nonetheless, we had planned our summer pretty carefully. Although she still has six titanium screws in her knee, Lillie Grace is mobile, and frankly, we were ready for some sort of normalcy.
Jory, after working overtime in his first season with the XFL, was going to coast: work for the XFL a few hours a day, and then get stuff done around the house.
I, on the other hand, had committed to an all-consuming six-week sprint: teaching six different classes a day at a private school's summer camp, which the kids would attend. I’m the type of teacher who gives her all in the classroom, so I get home and need to recover. At the end of camp, we planned a much-needed vacation.
 
So Day One after year round school is out: I'm working on curriculum for my classes.  The first morning of orientation, I’m in my new beautiful summer classroom, when I get a text, “Please come home now.” While unpacking materials, and working with the fabulous tech team to synch daily video clips from the computer to the white screen, I can’t just come home.
 
I call, thinking one of the girls needs my help, and to my surprise, find that Jory had sent the text. Jory wants me home. “What’s up?” I ask.
 
“I just lost my job,” he responds.
 
I sit, shocked, fear coursing through my body. Jory’s job at the XFL had been his dream job. He enjoyed his team, loved his marketing work, and had thrived. We are completely blindsided. I sit there dumbly, as he goes on to tell me that the entire marketing team has been cut, his boss and the CMO included. It made the news. No one saw it coming, and everyone is reeling. It seems that in looking for investors, the XFL brass decided to trim their expenses, so axed the entire marketing department, giving everyone one month’s pay for severance. 
 
This punch to the gut opens old festering wounds.
 
You may remember that we suffered severe financial hardship for two years during the Covid pandemic. This latest blow surges up all kinds of dread and PTSD. Suddenly, my schedule for the next six weeks goes from overload to just-right. I continue tutoring on the weekends, working seven days a week. Jory’s summer, meant to recover from the intense work schedule he kept during the XFL season, has become once again insanely stressful, applying daily for jobs. In addition, he misses his XFL colleagues and their work.
 
It's surreal how quickly everything can change. One minute, life is sailing forward, caressing you with a gentle breeze. The next minute, a tempest comes out of nowhere, upends the boat, and you’re holding on for dear life, cracked open once again.
 
I want to ask why. Haven’t we (literally) paid our dues?
 
A more tangible question: do we cancel our cruise to Alaska at the end of July? This was to be our first vacation in four years. Last year’s trip to Boston to bury my parents conjures many wonderful descriptions, but “vacation” is not one of them.
 
We all want to see Alaska, and despite all my travels, I have never been on a cruise.  But is it a responsible use of the money my parents left me when the future is so uncertain? I meditate on what my parents would say, and childhood memories of us hiking Machu Picchu, scaling the highlands of Scotland, and exploring the catacombs of Paris fill my mind. I hear my parents saying that we must say yes, for what is life, in the end, but a balance between time and money?
We will get more money (we must believe!)  – but time?
 
We commit to go. Two of our kids are already in middle school, and if we don’t have these adventures now, then when?
 
I search for silver linings. Maybe unemployment is keeping the kids from becoming entitled? They want spending money? They have to earn it, because they know that we simply don’t have it. They open their café every weekend, and despite their shyness, force themselves to talk and sell drinks and snacks to the golfers on the other side of the fence. We are united in supporting each other to earn money.
 
At an estate sale down the road, I find a gift: paperbacks by Mary Pipher for 50 cents. Pipher is deep. She writes that we all suffer, but cautions us not to waste our suffering. We must allow our suffering to help us grow.
 
My first thought: “Haven’t I had enough effing growth for awhile?”
 
Apparently not, so I lean in. “How can this latest financial setback further my growth?” The obvious answer is to stop resenting it, wishing it away, lamenting its injustice. How to sit with it, and have the courage to keep being generous when income has stopped?
 
Pipher further explains that it is only through suffering that our capacity for gratitude grows. Gratitude she believes, is not a virtue; it’s a survival skill.
 
This is a paradigm shift: gratitude – not just an attitude, but an actual survival skill?
 
We want to get through life without becoming bitter, disappointed, shut down, depressed? Then we must daily cultivate that gratitude, the kind that is forged from sitting with our darkness, be it fear of lack, disappointment, or heart ache.
 
Since I started teaching at Georgia O’Keeffe, I’ve been rising at 5:30 every morning to journal, read, meditate and set an intention for my day. Today I read a quote from Helen Keller, dumb, deaf and blind:
 “So much has been given to me, I have not time to ponder over that which has been denied.”
 `
Boom. That's how it's done.
Somehow, Keller was able to see, hear and speak that which is most essential:
Gratitude as a survival skill.