236/365

when they knew she had died
the daughter crumpled to the floor
like a wrinkled dress fallen from its hanger
shapeless and spreading like a shadow.

he had seen her at the hospital
before they left for oregon:
her eyes distant and fearful,
her skin bruised from the fall
her neck fragile like her voice,
whispering jokes to the end.

how often do they come to school
carrying the weight of an expansive grief-
a hole left untended waiting to swallow
everything on its edges.

this thief leaves no clues
toward his intentions.

from the abyss the survivors
live surrounded by flowers.
her roses ripe in the sunshine
leading up the driveway
and into the world.
her body floated away in
that icy river in a foreign land.

the storm is coming
the voices remind us from behind
as we race up the stairs to escape
the soft whispers that never go quiet.

the son and the daughter
have suffered since,
but pain is just one part
of this cavalcade.

124/365

when i die
burn my body
on a beach somewhere
near a sequoia forest,
upon a giant pyre
with the sun setting
the tide high, and
acoustic music dancing
with the sound of the waves
and the lingering sea birds.

stinson beach seems a
good place as any,
but i doubt
they allow
that sort of thing,
besides— most likely;
my body will be far away,
so feel free to blaze
the corpse in whatever
manner aligns
with local customs,
just be sure to
pour my ashes
into an hourglass
and leave it
in a place
where you
examine time pass:
a window sill
the garden
your library.

i wonder what
unit of time
these ashes
might measure.

if i run too fast
mix in a dash of
bergamot and saffron dust.
if too slow,
dump me
into the
nearest river
and swim in after me—
feet out in front
to cushion the impact
on the rocks.

when you get out
mix a drink
roll a smoke
play our favorite songs
tell the stories
around a campfire
and wait
for the sun
to tell you
what to do next.

108/365

he will leave them an old
beard comb saturated
with oils that smell of
wood and bergamot,
like something out of
moby dick
made ancient
in moderns times
through shear will
and nostalgia.

he will leave them
a life time of books
diagnosed with mold
and pregnant with
highlighted passages:
hope and clues
and all the anchors
he thought could
tie him down.
or were they wings
to be used for other reasons?

he will leave them his guitars
practised and well-worn,
short of accomplishment
or mastery, but brimming
with desire and expectations.

he will leave them a
box of photos
and old journals,
useless momentos
and keepsakes
of memories he cherished:
pictures of him in childhood.
and reckless youth.
a few of their grandparents
sepia memories of iran
a universe away.

he will leave them
.docs and .jpgs
and .movs
and half baked poems
which they can use
like fungal filaments
singular hyphae branches
strung together into
a mycelial network
to make sense of the
space he left behind.

he will leave them.

things about things

a few weeks ago,
before the world broke,
i came across a young boy
crying because he had just killed a bird.

“i didn’t mean to,”
he whimpered earnestly.

but the bird was dead:
bloodied beak
snapped neck
crushed wing.

it’s tiny legs
limp and smashed
into the concrete
like damp matchsticks.

his friends circled
the scene
like giddy vultures
confused by blood
and remorse
and endings
they were never equipped
to process.

“it’ll be okay.
it was an accident.
there’s nothing you
could have done.
go play.
don't worry about it.”

i took care of the corpse
and watched the children
return to play and not worry about it.

that was a few weeks ago
before the world broke,
at a school
where we naively tried to teach kids
things about things.

miss more than you

One day in the not so distant future,

on a day that feels normal to most people,

filled with getting the kids ready for school,

and performing their menial tasks

and/or more important jobs,

like saving lives, or doing someones taxes, or educating children-

one of your friends will open Facebook

and see that another friend of yours,

someone closer to you

with more vivid memories

and shared experiences,

with maybe even something that resembles love

will have alerted the world that you have passed.

This news will pass through timezones,

and be represented by a faded grainy photo of you-

perhaps from high school graduation,

or some other distant event when you were young

and happy and alive.

Different people on Facebook

will react in different ways.

Your friend’s post,

the one announcing your death,

will garner a batch of sad emojis,

as people scroll through their feed-

The announcement of your death

with accompanying photo will be

just another news bit they will process

for a few seconds,

before they change their sadness

to joy while watching a kitten video

or to rage as they contemplate

the death of democracy

or ponder the news about the EPA

choosing not to protect children from poison.

A few people on their feed,

might work hard to remember any times they spent with you,

conjuring memories from the shrinking spaces of their minds.

Others will leave comments about how great you were.

How you were so kind and loved.

People that barely knew you might jump on

and revel in the shared grief.

Some of your real friends might remember

that these emotional interlopers

were actually pretty big assholes toward you,

but they will like the comments

because this is the time to grieve

and not to hold grudges or

lingering vendettas.

By lunch time,

most people will have forgotten about you

and the announcement of your death.

They will have to get home and make dinner,

and go over their kid’s homework.

If you’re lucky they might think of you

one last time through the fog of fatigue

and feel obliged to honour your life,

or the absurdity of our modern age,

in the form of a poem,

before they get ready to go have a drink and some dinner

with a friend who will move away soon,

who they will most likely miss more than you.

Fractured And Scattered

“An empty shell seems so easy to crack
Got all these questions don't know who I could even ask
So I'll just lie alone and wait for the dream
Where I'm not ugly and you're looking at me.” Pearl Jam


It’s easy to feel sorry for yourself. Especially when you are not at your best. Broken bones. Dampened spirit. Heavy funk. The fixes are not easy and they are seldom quick. It can take weeks, sometimes months to get your priorities back in order.


I think I am finally on the edge of moving some things around inside and coming up for air.


It’s hard to tell when this latest tailspin started for me. It is definitely been around for longer that last week’s broken bone. I was talking to my mom today. Telling her about how anxious I am to get back to work, back to my life, back to normal and she asked me if I thought that maybe this broken ankle was the universe’s way of telling me to slow down.


Stop. Think. Reevaluate. I shrugged my shoulders and let her words linger, afraid to think too deeply on them.


I thought back to when I stopped feeling so fantastic. Because at the end of the summer, I was at a peak. I was rested. Excited. Pumping on all cylinders. I had a great time with my family. Saw old friends. Spent time in the trees and great cities and towns. I was on fire. Life was great. So what happened?


My new role started off great and I am still loving it. School has been good. I am not super excited with how I am teaching, but the new responsibilities make up for my early curricular confusion. Work life is solid. Kids give me energy and my peers are as always top notch.


But early on with Karen’s passing, things went a bit off the tracks. That was emotionally taxing. My first real close death and the travel and the stress and the falling behind was a lot. I am not sure I really processed it all as soon as I hit the ground running back in Singapore. I would say that is when it started. All the death this year- Ali, Bowie, Prince. Twinkle.


Then off to Vietnam. A good conference, but I didn’t feel I was great. I was there. I did my thing, but it didn’t feel fresh or new or exciting to me. I felt stale and like I was faking it.


Then I started cheating a lot on my vegan choices and felt terrible about that, and then I think it all came to a boil on November 8th.


Three-way conferences and the election.


I became obsessed with the news and the plight of everyone affected. It felt like the world was going to end. I literally could not look at Trump’s face. I am not sure why this election hit me so hard, but it feels like the forces of darkness and evil are alive in the world. This is beyond politics. This is some cosmic shit. Like we are being swallowed by doom. Like something out of Lord of the Rings. Like everything we cherish and value and love is on trial and the courts are stacked against us. I internalized it all. Add that on to my existing issues that I already mentioned and I was spiraling downward without a way out.


For those of you who have been reading for a while, you know that I was allowing myself to slowly wallow in the downward spiral, toward the end of the year. That was plan. To let myself be gross and sad and just wait out 2016. Not healthy I know, but it felt easy and good and like I somehow deserved it. My second mom died and everything I find vile and repugnant was the president of my country. So I cold eat some McDonalds and feel sorry for myself.


Then I broke my ankle. After the first good day I had had in a while- there I was- skating along feeling the breeze, enjoying the sunset, feeling the concrete below my feet- I was contemplating the change, the rebirth and then I did something stupid: I tried to do more than I knew how to do and I was forced to stop it all.


A week in bed, no work but more anxiety, time to be alone and think, choking on the politics and I was getting worse. January 1st couldn’t come fast enough, but today something changed.


I watched a movie called Gleason about NFL star and ALS survivor and hero Steve Gleason. I cried almost non-stop from start to finish. I can’t say it plainly enough.


This movie will change your life.


There was so much I wanted to say as I watching it, but I am left a little in the blank right now. I still have a few big life changes coming up in January, that I am more and more excited about. I am still working out the details, but I am hoping that these new changes will allow me to refocus my goals on my priorities. To really spend my energy and life force on the things that truly matter to me, instead of scattering myself around too thin. That is a great image- The latter part of 2016 has left me scattered.


And thanks to this movie I feel I am raking up the leaves and ready to start putting some plans into action.


The next couple of weeks will still be about healing. Physically but also mentally. I am a literal metaphor right now of a fracture. School will come to an end and those anxieties will pass. I hope to reconnect with my family and try to celebrate Christmas joy. I am looking forward to seeing my in-laws and spending time with friends. We may or may not go to Thailand, but we will rest and heal and be well again. The future is looking bright.


This shittorm of a year is almost done and for that I am hopeful, but more importantly a new year is on the horizon. I am healthy (ish). I am loved. I am filled with the fire of life and I am tired of being burdened by sadness.


Do yourself a favor and watch Gleason right now! You will not regret it.

Life is Filled

We were walking home from dinner. It was getting dark and Kaia was holding my had as we strolled down the sidewalk. She had burned her hand earlier while making cupcakes all by herself, so she had warned me to be careful.


I wondered how many other times and in which cities in the future, I would hold her hand as we strolled the streets on the way home from dinner. I imagined her in her twenties and we would be somewhere in NYC or Paris or Bangkok.


“I am sad about Twinkle,” she said out of the blue.
“Me too.” Where was this going to go. I wasn’t sure I was ready for this talk. I gripped her hand harder. Squeezing it a little. She pulled away slightly. The blister from the burn.
“I still don’t understand why she needed to let go.”
“I think she was just tired sweetie. And scared and in a lot of pain.” I could feel the tears welling up.
Silence.
“I just wish there wasn’t such a thing as death.” I didn’t have the heart to go into any kind of explanation.
“Me too. I’m just glad you go tot meet her and have memories of her. She loved you and Skyelar very much. She told me every time I talked to her, what amazing, beautiful girls you two are.”
Silence.
“I’m gonna miss her. Even thought I didn’t know her very well.”
“Me too. Me too.”
"Be sure to hug Thomas for me when you go back home."
"I will sweetie. I will hug them all."


We walked the rest of the way home in silence. I thought about future nights and future meals and future walks in future cities. I thought about the future, because the past was just too heavy to carry home between the two of us.


…


We saw Captain Fantastic tonight and what a beautiful tender film. Well written, shot and directed. Great music and cast. It was really thought provoking. Some things it made me think about in no particular order of importance:


We should swear around our kids more and allow the use of “inappropriate language” when it is appropriate. Never liked the idea of “bad words.”
Never lie to kids and answer them as best you can- accurately and factually when they ask questions.
I miss my beard and not combing my hair all summer.
We should have some time to sit and read as a family. Time when every member is reading their own book, but it is a collective family act like watching TV.
Death is the best time to celebrate some one’s life.
Life is filled with joy and boredom and struggle and confusion and wonder and music and compromise and confusion and and and ….life is filled.


Anyway, the movie tugs at your hearts strings, make you laugh and cry and all the things that film should do. If you have a chance check it out.

carry on

carry on

there’s an emptiness that I can’t seem to fill,

these days, I’ve tried everything-

no amount of to-do lists seem to do the trick.

set up a task, accomplish it and move onto the next one.

the songs feel shallow and tepid,

the wine comes close, but that is a cul de sac

i’ve gotten lost in before.

an entire bar of chocolate,

a run.

the guitar chords don’t tingle

and my voice is timid and confused.

the books have lost their magnetic power,

the internet a vapid mirror.

the kids, the wife, can’t seem help pushing them away,

for fear they might fall into the void.

the conversations at work, the students, the plans, the meetings:

i was talking to scott after school today about the injustice of life

especially in its smallest pieces.

it’s easy to see it through rape and genocide,

but we forget to name the evil in the world when it kills

an old lady down a flight of stairs at the end of her

beautiful hard-earned life.

lying in a bed scared and in pain.

waiting for her liquids to evaporate.

we talk of god- a higher power,

i used to believe in Karma, but never again.

i hope that there is not some force that does this to people.

a force that punishes light with pain.

love with fear.

a force that tests our faith through vile acts of violence

on the most vulnerable amongst us

is nothing i want to be near.

if there is a god that behaves in this way

i hope to never encounter him.

There is nothing that can fill this emptiness.

no rhyme or reason.

no faith or evolution.

no meditation or awareness.

each death reminds us that an entire life

can disappear into the darkness without

even a whisper.

leaving behind nothing but the tiniest twinkle.

we pray that this is enough for us to carry on.

Normalising Grief

One of our six graders was lost today; he couldn’t find his Science classroom and it was well past the start of class. He was sort of spinning in circles with his crumpled time-table in his paws and tears welling up in his eyes, when I walked over and offered to help. I walked him to the right place, while chatting him up about being new to the school and how scary and big it can feel, but also pointing out how there is a logic to the place. I explained the blocks and the floors and pointed out the signage that can help him in the future.


I dropped him off at class with hi-fives and big smiles all around- sent off a quick note to his mentor so he knows that this boy is a bit fragile at the moment. On my way back downstairs another sixth grader couldn’t get his locker open. After some quick research, I found out that he had the numbers switched around, to his delight we got it open with the correct combination.


Later in class I talked to a few kids about slowing down as they read, while a few need to speed up. We talked about deep thinking and stamina. We shared some ideas how we find Comfort, Just Right and Stretch books.


Cindy has mentioned that we should try and normalise human emotions, so I told my students that I am in the process of grieving Karen’s death. I explained how I might be distracted and sad, but I will try my best to be there for them.


Today was a day of vague distraction and dedicated focus to work. I tried my best to smile and be there for the kids who needed directions or help opening a locker. Occasionally I would forget. Other times I would remember.


The next few weeks are a mess of commotion. I need to start preparing for a conference in which I am presenting in Vietnam. I need to book tickets and prepare a talk and a workshop. There is a good chance I will be flying home to celebrate Karen’s life with her friends and family. I want to be with them in that house. Crying and laughing and eating. Forgetting and remembering.


So for now, I will take it one day at time. Spent way too much time working tonight. Blasting through my to-do list. It is a welcome distraction, but one I know I cannot maintain.


Tomorrow, there will be other kids feeling lonely or scared or nervous. Some might be grieving or dealing with divorce or shame or joy and happiness. It is my job to be there. To watch. To listen. To help. To guide. To teach.

Chapter One for Twinkle

I was never an orphan, but when I was fifteen year’s old I clearly needed to be adopted. I was a shy awkward kid who wanted to be accepted, loved and noticed. I had spent most of middle school on the periphery of a Marin world I didn’t really understand, and to tell the truth I didn’t really understand what it meant to be an American. I was an only child in an household filled with love, but also many silences and empty spaces. I needed more family than our three-member unit was providing.


It was summer before sophomore year and I had started hanging out with a little freckled kid named Anthony. Even now thirty years later, I can’t recall what brought us together, but we used to ride our bikes to Derek Thornhill's house to play football. This was a new world of mansions and country clubs for me. After several visits to the Thornhill place, we started going up to Margarita Drive to Jason’s house. We played hoops. Swam in the pool. Built friendships that would last for decades.


But this is not a post about friendship, it is a story about family. As soon as it became apparent that our visits were becoming more and more regular, often turning into weekend long sleep-overs, I was adopted by the Dohertys, and no one was more accepting, generous, hospitable and loving that Jason’s mom Karen “Twinkle” Doherty.


Twinkle passed away this weekend, and many of you have been so kind as to ask about the allusions I have been making to a special person in my life who has been suffering. Karen was like a mother to me. I often said that she was my second mom. From those early days of making us breakfast, making sure we were safe and making us laugh with her infectious and highly inappropriate sense of humour, to the last time I saw her looking weak and frail in the hospital, Karen has been a constant source of light in my life.


In life Karen was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Her kindness and ability to transmit joy to everyone around her, were only surpassed by her unflagging strength and selflessness. She was a mother to all, not just me. She was a true matriarch. I have countless stories to share about her love of life and her ability to overcome obstacles, each one bringing me to tears at odd parts of my day, so I cannot write them all tonight.


I just needed this first post to announce her passing and make it real. To open the first chapter, so as to let the healing, grieving, honouring and celebrating to begin. At first I was nervous to write these words or even mentioned her name at all, because this is not my story alone to tell, but as I mentioned above, she adopted me and made me feel part of her beautiful and complex family. She gave me Christmas and Thanksgiving. Sunday night football. Nieces and Nephews. She gave me full access to her son and her family and their home and her heart. And for all of this I will be eternally grateful.


By being my mother and mentor and guide and role model, she has shaped who I am more than any other person in my life. I will miss her so much and it is simply too soon to understand what her loss will mean to my life, our family and the hundreds of lives she touched throughout her life. There is so much more to say, but tonight is not the time.


All I needed to say tonight was, "We miss you already Twink. I love you so much and thank you. I hope you are free of pain and resting. I will always carry you in my heart. I like you there to keep me balanced.

Piles of Ash

I don’t know how extroverts do it. I have been “on” since 7:30 am. Running meetings, teaching kids, socializing at various events and now I am depleted and spent. The house is dark expect for a few dim lights, and the red wine is perfectly tepid; Elliott Smith songs fit snug like a beloved blanket.

I cry for her at the weirdest parts of the day. In the staff bathroom. On the drive to work. Alone in my classroom. Some tears of joy, the others a bit more painful. I have so much to unload, but I will hold on while she is holding on. Waiting with baited breath for her to let go.

Every time I think of her my heart fills with more love and joy that I can handle. A small part of me hopes that I will cry every time I think of her. Like our own private cleansing. I see her smile and feel her humor, and the sobbing begins. Her leaving forcing me to unload. She empties me and fills me back up with whatever it is that I need to carry on.

It’s scary the masks we wear to pretend like we aren’t constantly falling apart. We are just piles of ash held together in the urns of our skin. Stardust waiting to be returned to forgotten infernos. “With hidden cracks that don’t show, but just constantly just grow.”

The are no words to name these things. There are songs that come close. The darkness. The night and a new tomorrow. 

Terror and Wonder

A Day In Four Acts


Act I


Swallowed my doubt and anxiety and took Tricia's advice to just think of my meetings like the many workshops I have led, and to see my team like the many teachers I have taught throughout the years in various roles.


I headed into school and got to thinking and planning and building a meeting. Not sure if I will get to everything or if I am making too big a deal about this, but I want to try and make at least a few of my meetings like workshops and experiences. There is nothing more precious to a teacher than time, so if we are going to decide to meet then that time should be spent feeling something, learning something or making some sound and necessary decisions.


I have sat through my share of uninspired meetings, and while I know that you cannot please everyone, or that not every meeting should be life-changing, it is important to try different things that will make the participants feel valued and appreciated. You want people to look forward to your meetings, so that even when they are feeling frantic or tired, they still come energized and ready to work and move toward whatever goal you had set at the start.


I’m still not sure how this will all go, but I am pretty excited to be trying it and learning from my mistakes. After four years at UWCSEA it is time for me to shake things up and I am feeling pretty great about the next few days, weeks, and the year as a whole.


Act II


I got some terrible news about someone I love who is in a lot of pain and suffering greatly. This is not my story to tell, so I will not share many details. But it was hard to hear the news, because it reminded me how powerless we are to help the people we love when they are in pain. The next few days will be touch and go and this news will weigh heavy on everything I do, but it has reminded me how important it is not to sweat the small stuff.


When all is said and done, so many of our trivial worries and issues are meaningless. When you look at life as a whole, and really ponder things like our purpose here, the meaning of our lives, the relationships that we build and the love that we share, nothing else should matter.


Today was a dark one as my mind flickered back and forth from the reality of my job and the work I love to do and the thoughts of this person.


I don't know how to feel.


Act III


After I got home from work and settled in a bit, Mairin asked if I could go to the store and grab a few things we had forgotten. Seeing that I am sick of driving and have done little exercise all summer, I decided to take my skateboard. I strapped on the headphones and made my way along the sidewalks.


Seeing that I was feeling a bit down all day, I thought about the music that makes me feel young and alive and the first band that came to mind was Jane’s Addiction. I hit play on Three Days and cruised to the store. Careful not to crash or hit a curb, I am still not a competent skater, I am feeling more comfortable on the board. Bend your knees. Lean forward. That’s it. Relax.


Act IV


Nothing. Numb. Watched some TV with the girls while Mairin unpacked and made dinner. I felt guilty again for not helping out, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything. I must make an effort to insist on doing more of my share around the house.


I am in Skye’s room waiting for her to sleep and the night is quiet and young. I have little imagination for its possibilities. Perhaps some reading, a beer, TV and a yearning back to the dream I had last night- a bizarre Fellini inspired wonderland that had me terrified and laughing at every turn.


It’s hard to believe that we are all filled with such terror and wonder. We put on the cloths, brush the teeth, comb the hair, become the professionals, do the jobs, maintain society, but inside? Inside, there is so much more.


All of us with wings.
All of us with wings.
All of us with wings…

Wolfie Of The Sea

We named him Wolfie after Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. My dad had become a bit obsessed with the man and his music. A few years earlier, at the age of ten, I was forced kicking-and-screaming to watch the film with him at the Corte Madera theatre. Afterwards, he played the I-told-you, you-would-love-it card, to which I refused to give in. But oh man, was he right! From that opening scene in the snow when Salieri is rushed to the sanitarium while Symphony No. 25 in G minor is playing, to the end when the requiem buries him in his own madness, even at ten, I knew that the world was built on the dreams of madmen.

But how did I get to talking about the film? I was talking about the cat we had when we lived on North San Pedro Road. Our tiny house was across the street from San Rafael High School and right on the water. We had a beautiful bay window that looked on a small pier which housed a few boats. I used to spend weekend days, fishing for mudsuckers, that Gonzalo and I would sell to the bait shop for a quarter a piece until we had a ten dollar roll, which we would blow on a few hours of Gauntlet at Pinky's Pizza down the road.

But how did I get to talking about pizza joints? I was talking about the cat we named Wolfie. We had argued and debated the name for a few days, but my dad finally won out because he had let me name our previous cat a few years earlier- Rocky. Yes, I named my first pet after Rocky Balboa. Don’t ask. I guess I got caught up in the emotional come from behind victory, although even as an eight year old I was secretly hoping that Mr. T would win. It would have been strange for me to name the cat Clubbler Lang. Rocky just made more sense.

But how did I get to talking about Mr. T? I was talking about Wolfie. Wolfie was a strange cat, more like a dog really. He would fetch. He would run up to me when I came home. He slept in my bed, on my pillow every night and followed me around the house from the second I got home. They say a dog is a boy’s best friend, well I had Wolfie. On a few occasions, yes more than once, when he had crawled through the window at night, and was playing down at the pier when he had fallen into the water He must have somehow managed to get himself on dry land and back into my bed soaking wet. I remember a few nights, wrapping him in a towel and blow drying him as my parents slept soundly in their room.

Wolfe was a bit batty. He really was like his namesake. I am sure that if he could laugh, it would have sounded like Mozart’s hysterical cackle. He was curious, brave and playful. He didn’t walk, he pranced.

Until the one night when I came home and he didn’t run up to me at the door. We called his name, but he didn’t come. We searched the house, but couldn’t find him.

North San Pedro Road is a two-lane street where people tend to pick up speed right after the school zone, which was right where our house was placed.

After searching the entire house, I went down to the water and searched the pier. Wolfie was gone. After searching every possible place he could be, I headed up stairs and on a whim thought I would look at the front of the house and the sidewalk that ran passed our house. That’s when I saw him.

Across the street near the curb.

I screamed for my mom and dad to come out. The cars were moving so fast, I didn’t know how we could stop their flow to retrieve him. My dad waited for a lull in the traffic and ran out and grabbed him. I remember being so proud of him at that moment. There was an emergency and he was brave enough to bring Wolfie back to us.

Wolfe was not dead, but he was far from alive. He had been hit, but not run over. His eyes were rolled back into his head, and I could only see the whites of his eyes. A small trickle of blood dripped from his mouth and his body was tight and rigid. I grabbed him from my dad, once we were safely at our doorstep. I could tell he was breathing, but just barely.

I started to cry. Nothing hysterical, but a gentle low moaning. I could feel the muscles from my toes to my neck tighten and release with every breath. Tears were welling up and a soft sob was building in me like a flickering flame.

My parents stood by and tried to comfort me, but I am pretty sure that they were crying too. A few minutes later, as we all stood on the front door step holding our dying cat, he let out his last breath, and I swear I could feel his body tightened. The white’s of his eyes shone like an eerie mirror, but I couldn’t see anymore as the flood gates were final opened, and I was weeping uncontrollably.

I don’t remember how old I was exactly, but I know I was passed the age where young boys cry openly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had cried like the night Wolfie died.

It was late and I had no idea what to do next. I’m pretty sure my dad didn’t either, and now years later his solution feels bizarre, but necessary. He went into the house and grabbed a garbage bag and one of the cinder blocks that held up our homemade shelf- the one that stored his records.

“Come on. Get in the car.” He seemed determined in his single-minded pursuit, but he gently pried Wolfie from my arms and placed him on the garbage bag in the trunk of the car. I am not sure why my mom was not invited to come, and at the time I had no idea where we were headed.

We drove in silence toward China Camp, which is a small state park about fifteen minutes down the road from our house.

We arrived in the darkness and parked near a jetty. From out of nowhere, my dad pulled out a rope and tied the cat to the cinder block. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but my dad had earned my trust and I watched him in silence. There were no comforting words or explanation, just a man tying a dead cat to a cinder block in front of his crying son, placing it in the garage bag and walking down the pier toward the blackness and the sea.

We stood there waiting for a few minutes, a lazy crescent moon the only witness. I thought about how Amadeus had died poor and alone. Then we tossed him in.

Cat. Bag. Rope. Block.

It took a while for the bag to fill with water and sink. Once it did, we stared at the gentle ripples transform into waves and disappear into the darkness.

We drove home in silence and never spoke of that night again. I remember staying awake for most of the night, wondering how I would fall asleep without Wolfie next to me on the pillow. 

You Could Be

It was hard to get up this morning. No doubt. It is hard to write this now. No doubt. I am tired. The body and the mind need time to adjust from freedom to responsibility. And as teachers we jolt our bodies to extremes. One minute you are drinking a pitcher of Bloody Marys on a weekday morning, followed by some light reading and a nap, and the next thing you know, you are teaching three classes and creating a student facing checklist about reading non-fiction texts with your team after school.

Perhaps this is what so any teacher complain about- the shifting between extremes, because if you really think about, it is difficult to understand why any of us complain about doing a job, I am pretty sure, we love. Things could be so much worse. You could be working in some corporate office dealing with stuffy business types all day. You could be unemployed and trying to get your family into Europe. You could be working in a factory or a mine. You could be doing so many things, but really you get to hang out with kids all day and get them excited about the things that you are excited about.

So yeah, we had a nice break, yeah we are tried, yeah it was hard to get into the groove, but I for one am excited to get a group of 14 year olds excited about reading challenging texts.

                                                  ...

I’ve never been to a funeral. I am 41 years old and I have never been to a ceremony to commemorate someone’s life who has recently passed. Your gut instinct is probably like mine, wow, so lucky, but underneath the surface I am nervous that I might not know how to deal with the death of someone who I love when I need to. I wait patiently, and yes I know this is morbid, for my first funeral.

A teacher from Canada who I never met, but knew through my network died of a heart attack this week. He was 37 years old. Many people in the Edtech world are mourning his loss. I remember him and am sure had exchanges with him.

But in the end, he was another avatar in a list of avatars that I scroll through everyday. Made me think, if that is who I am to  people- Another face. Another river of random thoughts and ideas and one day I will not be there either.

People will be sad and they will say a few nice things about me, but soon after they will get on with their lives and I, along with all my thoughts and ideas, hopes and dreams, my tweets and photos will disappear into the ether.

Another flickering pixel.

This might depress some of you, but I find it liberating. None of this really matters at all. All the words, the angst, the ennui, the joy, the grief, the anger….all of it. Poof. One day gone. I find that very peaceful actual.

                                            ...

When I brush my teeth in the morning, I have this weird gag reflex. I almost throw up every time I brush my teeth for more than 30 seconds. It’s a chore and I hate it. But when I brush my teeth at night, it is gone and I love brushing my teeth.

                                              ...

Running today helped get rid of this weird lingering pain I had in my chest cavity from my scooter fall. I think I am going  to be okay. I ran 8km. I like the way my body feels after a run. Taught and sweaty. I have rarely in my life felt comfortable in my body. It has always been too skinny, too….just not right. Who knew that at 41 it would start to fit.

Lesson Learned:

• You are not that important and you are going to die. People will get over it.
• You can whine about petty shit, but don’t over-do the complaining, you are probably pretty lucky.
• If you take care of your body, it will feel better.
• Freedom from responsibility makes people happy. 

What jobs would you hate to have?
Thoughts on death?
What act of personal hygiene do you dislike doing?

MCA

The first thing Mairin said to me this morning when I woke up was,

"MCA is dead. It's all over Facebook."

I thought what I always think when someone dies--My Kitty is a Flower post. I rolled over in bed and stared at the sunshine as it crept into the room and smiled. I pretended I was above death and grief and sadness, because I claim not to believe in attachment, birth, death--you know the drill. Zen 101. I mean why would anyone mourn the death of a true Bodhisattva?

Later, after we all woke up, she took Kaia shopping and left Skye and I alone at home. We blasted Beastie Boy songs, while I swore that his death should not be a reason to mourn, but a reason to celebrate. I tweeted one great MCA line and after another and even made this:


Somewhere in the middle of that video, I started to get choked up. I felt a staggering sense of loss; one that I could barely handle. I need something else. Something more. I sat down and made this:

I will miss you MCA. Thank you for being such an amazing teacher and inspiration. I would not be who I am without you.

Inside Out

I spent my lunch period today working with a small group of Global Issues Club kids to create a quick presentation to inform our student body of a campaign we are running next week to help raise awareness and funds for the Jakarta Animal Action Network. This organization is working to help all the injured and abandoned animals in the volcano region here on Java.

We were in the theater, and I was joking with the girls as they were nervous, “Just don’t pee your pants and you will be fine,” when I heard my phone ringing. I was calm and loose, it was Friday and I was carrying a light laughter in my throat.

The caller ID said Mia. She is our nanny who was at home with our one year old. She never calls school, unless it is an emergency. The laughter vanished, taking the calm and looseness with it. I was frozen.

“Hello?” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
“Hello, Mia? Calm down.” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
“Mia, you have to calm down. What is going on?”
“Skyelar! Mister. Come home now.” Screaming. Sobbing. Hysteria.
I hung up and grabbed Mairin.
“We have to go home now. Mia called and is freaking out. I don’t know what is going on, but we have to go right now.” We both ran to the car and made our way home.

In the car, I am numb. Worse than numb I am folding myself inside out. The first and most obvious thought is that she is dead. Gone vanished. The very little girl who I wondered how I could love as much as Kaia, who I have ended up loving in the most gentle way, the little angel who is makes my life complete, the very being who is my reason for living is gone. Poof. Just like that. I enter a world without her for just one second and nearly vomit. It makes no sense, this place devoid of Skyelar. I try to comfort myself with the dead kitten tale I buried earlier this week, but find the idea ludicrous. She cannot be a part of the greater world. She is mine to hold and nurture and tend. She is mine to love and lose myself in. She is mine. There is attachment, her life is permanent, no way will I allow her to be taken from me. I see our life without her. The unraveling. The trying to be strong for Kaia. The horror of it is too much.

Next, I go to mass injury. She has fallen down the stairs and will be paralyzed. Gone will be the family Scuba diving trip and the climbing of Kilamanjaro when the girls are adults, but at least I can hold her and kiss her and sing her to sleep. At least her eyes will stay ignited and her skin will feel warm. At least her breath will touch my face and her smile will keep me warm. She may be disfigured, but she is alive.

The drive is taking so long. I look back at Mairin and know that her mind is looking for its own place to land. I try to hold her hand, but dealing with both our dread makes me nauseous and I jump to a more positive explanation. Mia just panicked. It can’t be a big deal. We will get home and realize that she over reacted, and while we may be a bit disgruntled by the fear she instilled in us, the gratitude that it was nothing serious will be enough to make us all smile and hug.

The car pulls up to the front of the house. I am out the door before it has stopped. The house is empty. What the fuck? Outside, I learn she has taken Skye next door, where she is handing her to Mairin. Skyelar is alive. There is no blood. She is yellow and covered in vomit, and moaning a bit, but looks intact. Her eyes are distant and tired, but filled with light. We race to the hospital. I take my first breath since we first heard the news and know it will be alright.

Long story short at this point. She has a bacterial infection, which gave her a fever of 104, out of nowhere. She was fine this morning. The fever gave her a febrile seizure. The doctor says it happens and is not dangerous. Mia didn't know what was happening and panicked and called us. Which, while I wish she would have been a bit more calm was a fine reaction. We are now monitoring her temps and keeping her fever down. She has antibiotics to get rid of the infection, and we go back to the hospital if her temperature goes over 102.

Once home, she smiled, ate a whole bowl of pears, took a bath, and is quietly sleeping. We both keep checking on her heavy with worry.

I did not write this post to scare anyone, but rather to remind you to keep the important things in your life in your heart. Let the bullshit go. Life is much more fragile than we think. At any moment, anything can happen. I am not saying that we should love our lives in fear of what may or may not happen to us, just the opposite actually. We need to live life like it could end at any minute and treat everyone who enters our lives with the passion and love they deserve. Of course we all love our children and show them in many ways, but we also sometimes lose sight of what really matters. I hope this little scare for us can be a reminder to you. Life is a gorgeous and perfect gift. I have had my share of near death experiences and somehow keep on going. I guess I need constant reminders to cherish this wonderful blessing that is my every breath and the breaths of my family and friends.

The world looks differently when you even consider the death of your children. I don't know how people can lose a child, because even the thought of it was enough to nearly destroy me.

Man, what a day! Can't wait to wake up tomorrow and snuggle with her all day, because really nothing else matters.



Note for Grandmas: I know you must be worried, but everything is under control. Perhaps I am still writing charged with the fear of the day, but we are keeping a close eye on her and her temperature is down and we are checking it every three hours and giving her fever reducer. It was just a scary episode for everyone, but she is fine. Are you listening mom? Don't panic, we have done enough of that today. I just wanted to share this story so that people see today differently and really enjoy themselves, not to worry you.

The Kitty is a Flower

It’s a little after six am and the air is already weighed down by moisture. The sky hangs heavy; gray clouds tying to decided whether to launch a storm or disperse. I am standing in the garden wearing only shorts, short of breath. I have just hurriedly dug a shallow hole into the red soil, clumps of clay are stuck to the shovel, my shoes, and calves. I feel the tension in my shoulders and think about how I really need to start exercising this year. I like the way my thin muscles pulsate and throb. I look beside me and see it.

A underdeveloped pouch of skin and bones, made stiff, emptied, extinguished before any muscles could form. His mouth is snarled open revealing a set of tiny useless teeth. The two eyes encrusted with infection and sealed shut, seem to be miraculously staring straight into the newly dug hole. A mob of ants crawl, uncharacteristically about the hole, out of formation, as if they are expecting the body. I quietly monitor their sinister motives, until I remember their role. I go inside to get Kaia.
I want her to see this. I want her to be a part of this. I want her to understand that death is a part of life. I want her to understand. I will not hide the dead kitten and make up some clap trap about heaven and lie to her about the need of some mythical creator  to have his kitty back. I respect her too much for that. There is nothing scary or sad about death when seen through the eyes and heart of mother nature.

Inside she is still asleep in bed. She is so precious lying amongst the sheets, her porcelain skin flush with life. I rethink my thoughts on the gravity and sadness of death as I see her lying there so full of life even when asleep. I don’t want to wake her. I don’t want to take her into the yard and show her the tiny kitten we rescued just yesterday. I don’t want her to see the lifeless body and process what that means in her tiny brain, but I know I must.

“Kaia? Sweety, it’s time to get up.” Nothing she is motionless.
“I have something important to tell you. Can you hear me? You really need to wake up. Okay?” She begins to rustle. A tight stretch. Rubbing of the eyes. Consciousness.
“Open your eyes and sit up okay? This is serious.” She springs up and releases a massive yawn. Her cheeks are stained red and scarred with pillow marks. Her hair a tangled wildness.
“Good morning Sweetheart! Are you awake? I have to tell you something that might make you sad.” She is instantly awake. Somehow exited by the possibility of sadness or an emotion that may overwhelm her. I am wondering if this is the best idea.
“Remember the kitty we found in the yard yesterday?”
“The one with the hurt eyes that the mommy left behind?” Her voice is pure and uncontaminated by anything that is not innocence.
“Yeah, that’s one. The one we brought inside, fed, and put in the box upstairs.” I try to hold her hand, but she pulls it away and looks to move upstairs. As if her running up stairs will assuage any anxiety that I may be creating. But she turns back, knowing that my explanation will be easier to understand than anything she may see up stairs in the box. I find this strange, because death is still a very foreign notion to her, so what could she possible think could have happened to the kitten.
“He didn’t make it through the night pumpkin.” Silence. I let the idea sink in. She is motionless. More needs to be said.
“Did he died?” She is looking straight at my eyes not for confirmation, but understanding.
“Yes he did. Do you know what that means?” She is motionless. More needs to be said. She shakes her head.
“It means that he will not wake up anymore. He is done with his body.”
“Where did he go?”
“Well that is the most amazing part. Do you want me to show you?” The excitement is building. Death need not be an ending.

We are  standing outside near the hole and the stiff kitten. The shovel leaning against the tree. Her fuzzy white pajamas appear so foreign against the mud, the grave, and the dead animal at which she gazes. There is so much I want to tell her. I want to explain to her the notion of existence beyond birth and death. The power ot letting go of attachments, the beauty of impermanence.

“You see Kaia, nothing ever really dies.” She doesn’t seem to believe me. She looks at the corpse and back at me, as if to say that orange ball of fur looks pretty dead to me.
“Remember yesterday when we were talking about how some animals eat dead thing and poop.” Yesterday in the car we were talking about maggots and insects. Don’t ask.
“You mean the baby flies like caterpillars, but for flies not butterflies.” She is an excellent listener.
“Exactly! Remember we said that they are very important because they help move things through nature.” She is staring at the cat. I need a new approach.
“Let’s look at these roots.” I hunch down and grab a set of exposed roots from the mango tree at the base of which we have dug our hole. She gets down near the mud as well.
“Do you see these roots and these ants? “ She nods her head. Affirmative.
“They are all part of nature. Those flowers, the grass, the clouds, even the sun is all part of nature. Can you show me anything else that is a part of nature?”
“The mud?”
“Exactly, that is a very important part,”
“Are we part of nature?” She interrupts.
“Of course we are. Good one. What about the kitty?”
“But the kitty is died.”
“That is okay.  Things that have died are still a part of nature. They are actually very important parts as well. You see, they help feed everything else. We are going to put that kitty into this hole so he can help feed our garden. His body will slowly become part of these ants and this tree. It will become part of the soil and some of those flowers.”
“The kitty will turn into a flower?”
“Exactly!” She is motionless. Nothing more needs to be said.

I place the kitten into the hole and quickly bury him beneath the dirt. We stare in silence as I pat down the mound with my foot.
“See, the kitty is not gone, he has just entered nature.”
“What does entered mean, daddy?”
“He is now part of our garden.” Silence.
“But I really wanted to keep him Daddy.” Her lip is quivering and her eyes tear up. The lesson on attachment and impermanence will have to wait.
“I know you did, sweetheart. I know you did.”