50th High School Reunion Here We come

Hi, Boomers

I've been having a wonderful experience lately. My fiftieth high school reunion is coming up in 2011. I found this out from an email sent to me by a high school friend and the organizer of the reunion, class of 1961, Marin Catholic High School in San Rafael, CA. My friend was also the high school principal of Marin Catholic for many years. Well, the guy was always a straight shooter and one of the guys you always remember when you think of high school. Oh, yeah, the boyfriends come first, but the friends are right up there with "make out" moments at the San Rafael Harbor or under the Golden Gate Bridge.

I was encouraged to sign up on a Facebook page, an idea I have put off thinking about for as long as there was Facebook, and before the My Space age. I didn't want to have people connect with me because I suspected that I wouldn't remember many people from my past. But I did sign up; I did remember most of the people; I did have a good time doing the task. Then my friend began to post high school pictures, even grammar school pictures (most of us went to one of two Catholic elementary schools), and even the announcement of my engagement and marriage to my ex-husband. Blast from the past! Oh, my God, did I really wear that Jackie Kennedy pill box hat. Astounding!

So, I put my picture on my Facebook page and then, with all due haste, I put my book title under it - SIXTY, SEX & TANGO, Confessions of a Beatnik Boomer - with the notification that I am blogging.

One classmate, I remember him well because he was the boyfriend of my best friend in high school, read my blog the other day. I think he thought I was sad or unhappy or in too much pain. I think he might not have gotten my my self-effacing humor and thought that I was really lonely or was still struggling with some kind of past pain. It was a good email to me; it made me think again about the state of my being. My response to him is below:

Dear Frank,

How nice of you to take the time to read some of my blogs. I am a writer and writing for me is a way of staying conscious about my life. I try daily get to get in touch with myself is through yoga and meditation. I teach yoga all day, every day and am blessed with my work. I am also a drug counselor and have attended to the spiritual needs of people in recovery.

I have embraced my struggles, find humor in them and take each day with grace. I carry no regrets. My pain is my joy. As the yogis say, "It's all good." I have many gifts which I am grateful for every day. I am grateful, too, that I have used my gifts well, have had positive influences on my students, friends and family. My journey has been unique, fun, loving and welcoming. And I am not sad or lonely. I am at peace.

The direction in my writing is derived from (and this is in my book) the strangeness of waking up at 64 and finding surprises in life that I had not actually prepared for or thought of. It has been a process of re-discovering, re-thinking, and re-learning the truth of my life without the playbook or script that in other decades had been somewhat predictible. I've always used humor to cope with the many changes that life has brought me, and that humor in turn, has brought much joy to my living experience.

So, my friend, don't worry about my state of being. My place in the universe, although not static, is quite wonderful.

Namaste

Joan

To Protect and Defend

Hi, Boomers,

I'm back editing my book for the last time. I had two weeks off from engaging with the material that I've worked on for almost two years. The publisher sent my book back after an editor fixed the grammar and syntax. But now I am line editing the book after all the technical stuff has been corrected.

Writing is a lonely occupation. There is so much quiet in my apartment and in my mind that it is almost frightening. I feel like I'm in a cell when I write. Not a jail cell but a monk's cell. Isolation is good and bad. Right about now, my tush hurts, but I had to blog for a few minutes just to get the book structure out of my mind.

But I am really kind of disturbed today. I'm disturbed about the Catholic Church. I'm disturbed about the pedophile scandal, about priests and brothers molesting young people, either very young boys or adolescents. I've known for years about priests and women; especially in Latin America where there many priests who serve in remote regions take wives and raise a family. It's only natural. But the idea of covering up abuse, of sticking to the old playbook about celibacy makes me angry and very sad. The other day I read an article about priests in the Ukraine who are allowed to marry and raise a family. No child abuse in that part of the world. The Greek Orthodox priests marry; the Episcopalians marry and the Lutherans and other Protestant congregations.

In 1960, my parents hosting the wedding reception of my brother and his wife at our home. I was standing near my father as I always did and listened to a conversation between my father and my godfather and another man. This is all very vivid to me. They were talking about how ridiculous it was for priest not to be married. Now, these were Irish Catholic men and the Irish kind of make up their own rules about religion but it was a very progressive conversation. I felt the same way and I was only sixteen years old.

So this sexual abuse has been going on for decades, maybe even centuries and it began to surface i the 1950's. It is a horrific circumstance and I feel dead inside my soul. I listened to "This American Life" this morning about a former priest (a brother) who was recruited by the church to cover up abuse cases. After four years of lying to parishioners, the young priest of thirty-three left the church and ended up working for a law firm that represented men who have been abused by priests. He knew the inside of cannon law better than anyone in the firm because he had to implement the church law over and over again. He still went to church, however, until after about the one thousandth case of abuse crossed his desk. He reasoned that the Catholic Church was immovable, absolutely resistant to change, and he could no longer attend mass with his family. His daughter no longer goes to Catholic school.

This is what is on my mind today because I was raised a Catholic and believed like others in the institution until I grew into adulthood and realized that the church's mission was to intimidate and to frighten and to do anything, even lie and cover up, to avoid facing the horrendous truth that there are pedophiles among the priestly flock and the seminaries are rampant with men who use the institution to hide their addiction from society. I'm ashamed.

And I'm 60 and do not think I will every get over this betrayal. I know the other side of this argument is not to condemn the entire church for the sins of some, but the other side to this argument is that the Catholic Church is there to protect its flock and they passed the buck, didn't do it and they should be jailed or at least fired. Shame on them.

As I say in my book, SIXTY. SEX & TANGO, there is no curriculum, syllabus, cheat sheet or playbook to live in our sixties. We are pretty much surprised by life's circumstances and we try to roll with the punches. Did anything ever turn out the way we expected it to? And what did we really expect from our lives? I'll take my corner of happiness and relish it, have gratitutde for my joy, and try to get a good night's sleep.

Namaste

Joan

Yoga And The Art of Body/Mind Maintenance

Hi, Boomers,

Every day I give gratitude for yoga, especially today when I gave my son on the morning of his 38th birthday a yoga class. This is the second time he asked me to give him a class since I have been spending the week with my family. Yesterday, my daughter in law also asked me for a class. They are both awesome yogis.

Years ago, when my life seemed to be in a downward tumble, my son and to-be daughter-in-law asked me one Sunday to go to their favorite yoga studio to practice with them. I was beside myself with glee. Because I was living in Venice at the time behind Muscle Beach, I had been practicing at my gym down at the Marina. It was a small class and not very inspiring but it was yoga nonetheless. But to practice with my family made me really happy.

Thus began a ritual of Sunday practices either at Maha Yoga in Brentwood (where I now live - really west LA next door to Westwood and UCLA campus) or in Venice at Yoga Works where our favorite yoga teacher gave a class that could kill a decathlon athlete. We would come out of the studio, sweating and exhilarated, and go to a favorite breakfast place on Main Street and talk about the what was on our minds at the time. It was a simple moment in our lives and we don't have that kind of simplicity much any more.

My second son and his wife are also yogis. Although they don't practice much anymore, their hearts are opened and they spread the positive joy. My intention is to give all of them together a yoga class in the not too distant future.

The lives of my adult children and their wives are so much more complicated and stressful at this moment than I could have possibly imagined. I thought I'd be sailing over smooth waters at 66, but I am still that parent that my sons rely on to give emotional and psychological support. I am hitched mentally to their well being and their happiness as they try to put one foot in front of another and live their lives to the best of their ability. Both the men and the women in my family are terrific parents, devoted, loving, embracing and understanding and I am extremely proud of them as divine beings and professionals.

But what yoga adds to their lives is extraordinary and they are well aware of yoga's benefits. The birthday boy just left the house this morning telling me how fantastic he feels, how clear and joyful is the beginning of his day. He went out the door playing "Tool" feeling positive and hopeful. The success of my family rests on his shoulders.

Yoga is a mind/body experience that is connected by breath. In Sanskrit, the word breath is prana or life force and it is considered sacred. Yoga is a practice that creates joy and a positive attitude; it centers the self by emptying the mind, for it is truly a meditation whether the yogi is moving or siting in silence. Yoga/meditation has an impact on the way we think (more positive) and the way we feel (more joyous). It gives the body more energy as it speaks to the spiritual center of our being. If this is the gift I can give to my children, I am content and fulfilled. Nothing else matters.

Namaste

(The divine in me recognized the divine in you)

Joan

Happy Birthday, Jonathan

How Old Are You, Gran?

Hi, Boomers,

This morning at breakfast my 5 year old grandson asked me how old I was. I thought that was a pretty curious question coming from Jordan; however, this young boy has an unusually potent intellect. So his father, my son, asked him to do a little math.

"Before you answer this questions, Jordan, let's first find out how old I am," my son asked his son.

"How old are you, Daddy?" Jordan asked.

"I'm going to be 38 on Wednesday," Jonathan said. "So if I am 38, how old is Gran?"

Jordan gave it not more than a few seconds of thought.

"You're 60, Gran."

"Good guess," he father replied.

I told Jordan I was more than 60, so he began to guess moving up the 60's ladder. He hit 65 and I said, "One more, genius."

"Sixty-six," he giggled. Then he asked, "Do people who are 80 years old still have birthday parties?"

"Of course we do," I responded.

No matter the age we celebrate the years of living. It's an important ritual because it marks a another year in the journey of our lives. And we celebrate our children's birthdays and our grandchildren's birthdays to stay connected to family no matter what is going on in our personal lives.

Jonathan will turn 38 on Wednesday and it is another milestone for me. He still possesses that innate and quick intelligence that makes him so engaging. By a long shot, he is not perfect, never was and never will be. He has flaws like the rest of us, but his heart is good and his loyalty to family and friends is huge. He still parents me like crazy and monitors my thoughts and feelings when I am in his presence, teases me endlessly, and he still drives me nuts. But I love him unconditionally and cherish the fact that he is and forever will be my oldest child.

Which brings me back to Jordan Mac, my first grandson. I never imagined being a grandmother. It was the most distant of thoughts until 5 years ago. I didn't know how I could love more children, and I find myself loving my grandsons as much as I loved my two sons. Love is simply magic. Holding my newest grandson, Jude Love, is the most delicious experience, even at 5 in the morning as I am walking the floor with him and trying to make his gas pains go away. We fell asleep on the bed together about 6 am, Jude on my stomach, my head flopping on a pillow and I knew I was in a magic kingdom where pure love exits.

I made a commitment to be with my family for this spring break week, to be living in their homes, watching their children, my grandchildren, because family is the single most important value in my life. Sure, I could have been in Buenos Aires dancing tango as I have done in the past; or I could have gone back to Costa Rica to my yoga retreat center; or I could have worked some more to keep my students happy. Yet, none of the travel or work means anything to me at this moment. Jude Love in my life right now and I want to hold him and watch him smile endlessly and grab on to his first few months with every bit of energy I have.

Namaste

Joan

I'm Too Old For This Life

Hi Boomers,

I've been thinking that my blogs go into cyberspace and no one is going to read them.  I'm right about that, I know, because I should have a website and blog on my website and I'm not there yet.  I'm waiting until I publish my book (stupid) or get an agent (I should be so lucky) and I'm not really kicking ass like I should.  

I'm 65 and too busy working.  Can you imagine teaching 27 classes a week in yoga and one tango lesson to my best friend?  By Friday I can't walk or talk.  Don't get me wrong.  I absolutely love teaching yoga and meditation.  In fact, I'm taking a seminar in Kundilini yoga tomorow for 4 hours at UCLA through the Mindfulness Center.  It's all very wonderful every day, but the physical toll on my body worries me.  Someone said to me, "That's why you're in such good shape," and I responded, "It's overrated."  

More angst this week with my old lover returning and the same pattern materializing.  I finally got up on Friday morning and wrote the email of all emails to him about how I see our relationship developing if he would just get out of his mother complex long enough to listen to his heart and stop running away.  

Which leads me to ask:  Do people really change?  Do men change?  I was talking to my ladies in recovery (from drugs and alcohol) in their meditation class  on Thursday and I posed the question to them.  Well, they are in recovery and, of course, they feel people can change.  They are changing, for God sake!  But these are women - nurturing, open, compassionate women and in this moment of their lives fully conscious for the first time in decades.  But can men change?  Can we change the strips of a zebra?  I do not know.  I will let you know if there is a man that can change when I find one.

I'm closer to publishing my book, SO YOU'RE 60, GET OVER IT:  CONFESSIONS OF A BEATNIK/BOOMER.  I have 2 agents to hear from and one publisher and my contract with another publisher and then I'll move forward.  I'm feeling low on energy right about now.  It's the lull before the storm.  I need patience.  That's why I meditate 4 times and day.

My iPod shorted out this week.  On Monday, no less, with the entire week ahead.  I play music in all my classes.  My iPod is my life!!!   It had 80 GB and they don't make those anymore.  I got a nano iPod with 8 GB and it isn't enough to hold all my favorite music.  

I'm off to see the new Chinese gardens and the Chinese art exhibit at the Huntington Museum in Pasadena with one of my male best friends.  Andrew will help me load my 8 GB iPod.  Really, men can be great in other ways.  They really don't have to change.  I wouldn't want Andrew to change a hair on his head.

Namaste

       Joan