Easter Parade

Hi, Boomers,

I don't quite know how to respond to Easter. I was raised a Catholic so I celebrated Easter every year until I married a Jew, had two sons and since then celebrated Passover. It seems ironic that I went from the New Testament to the Old Testament in a few short years. The fact is that I was raised a Catholic (my father's side), but my mother was Jewish but not raised Jewish. She used to say when finally revealing her parentage that my grandmother was Jewish, but she didn't really recognize that she was Jewish because she knew nothing about the religion. My mother told me when I was 19 years old that Grandma Rose was Jewish. When I asked her why she decided to tell me that very important fact about her life when I was 19, she told me that since I was dating a Jewish boy, I should know.

If you get that logic, you're a lot smarter than I am.

Except to say that I was well aware that San Francisco and environs carried heavy anti-semetic prejudice. My mother told me that job applications during most of the early 20th century asked what religion the applicant claimed. If you put Jewish, then you most certainly wouldn't get the job. My mother put down that she was Protestant. My mother had no idea what that meant. It just sounded neutral.

Religion is complicated. I went to a Seder on Monday night and had the most fabulous time I have ever had celebrating Passover. Who knew it could be so much fun! We all read from the Haggadah the story of the Jews flight out of Egypt and there was clapping and cheering and the ritual passing of bitter herbs and hard-boiled eggs and kosher sherry, and we even took some intermissions for dancing before we settled down around 10:30 to eat the most delicious food I have ever tasted, which was laid out beautifully on the dining room table. Middle Eastern Jews - the Persians and the Iraqis sure know how to bond as families and feel the intimate joy of oneness.

My Easters were dull affairs without celebration or bonding. My Irish relatives had no sense of cuisine. Outside of the celebration of the Mass on Easter Sunday, very little ritual lingered after 10 o'clock in the morning. The drive from San Rafael to San Francisco in the mid-afternoon was tedious. No one spoke except to wonder if the ham would be salty. I hated ham so I knew I would't eat. Brussel sprouts were overcooked as was everything else that was supposed to be green on the table. The Irish weren't big on fresh green salad; the closest they came to salad was potato salad swimmings in mayonnaise with too many pieces of, what else, green pickles. My cousins and my brother and I played with each other with little interest, and most of the time I sat in the living room waiting to go home, slowly sipping a coca cola that was forbidden to me at home.

In terms of religion, each holiday represents different philosophic concepts. One of the uncles at the Seder took me aside and told me that what really mattered about Passover was the central theme of freedom. The Jews finally got out of Egypt and were able to be free as they went on their journey to the promised land. Easter represents redemption. It was reported that Jesus, crucified two days earlier (Good Friday) and buried in a cave, rose from the dead and was proclaimed the true Messiah by a group of his followers. Some of his disciples said that he made a few visits before he ascended into heaven. Mankind was redeemed; our sins were forgiven. We are not concerned with freedom - freedom of thought, in particular.

But then there was some European pagan ritual that got mixed up with the redemption of Christ and we got Easter egg hunts and chocolate bunny rabbits and an annual NYC Easter Parade . Now if you can find the logic in introducing a pagan ritual into a spiritual context - and mix that with ham - and it simply baffles me and often vexes my sense of spiritual decorum.

I have a tendency to think that religion is based on mythology - like the Greek and Roman mythological stories we may be familiar with. The books in the new testament written by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were all written 50 years to 150 years after Jesus lived on the earth. Facts can be altered to suit someone else's truth. It's a little unclear who actually wrote the old testament - probably lots of contributors and lots of good stories ranging from forbidden fruit to an array of punishments that even frightens adults. Did I mention sex, the subservient role of women in marriage and worshipping idols? Neither old or new testament give much credence to individual thinking or philosophic exploration.

It probably doesn't matter much because when it comes to a spiritual belief system developed out of organized religion there is little apparent logic. Belief in a higher power or religious institutions is emotional. I suspect that the need to believe in something other than ourselves is based on our fear of dying and the need to be spiritually and morally supported by "the other" throughout life. It's challenging to live without some powerful ally. God, Jesus, Allah are on my side. Some think that belief in a higher power is based on the concept of surrender and acceptance. Others think that a belief in a higher power is a crutch; i.e, our human belief system developed from our own sense of virtue is not strong enough to get through life and pass on into death. No matter the reason for belief in a universal power or organized religion every person has to get through life and death in his/her own way.

Powerful forces can also exist within our own psyches or souls. Stepping back a bit from ourselves, detaching with that 10% reserve to observe our actions (kindness and forgiveness is good) is also a fine way to access our moral compass. Finding the power in the energy of our universal is another way of surrendering to and accepting our lives and our eventual death. For after all, we are only passing through this life on the way to death. We can choose to make it joyous or fraught with struggle. We can choose to live by virtue and a strong moral spine or we can simply collect a bunch of bad karma.

The longer I live the more I realize that there is an Easter parade going on all the time in our hearts and minds. It always comes down to having an attitude of gratitude. This is my religion.

Namaste

Joan

Pity Party

Hi, Boomers,

When was the last time you were in a hospital, either overnight or for a few days or just an out patient center? I bet it wasn't an experience you'd like to have again. I know my seven hours in the UCLA out patient center was definitely not a walk in the park.

The good news is that I didn't need to use my last directives. You know, that form indicating how you would like to be treated at the end of life should something go wrong. Some doctor by accident nipped at your gall bladder while trying to find your appendix and you went unconscious and you explicitly desired not to end up on life support for more than a day.

I entered the UCLA out patient center at around 11 am on Friday morning. I had not eaten anything nor had a drink of liquids since 8 pm the night before. I was scheduled to have the laparoscopic operations around 1:30 pm. At about noon, I was ushered into a small room to strip and put on a gown. I got my Cleopatra book out and began to read. About 12:30, a male nurse came in to check me and ask me the same questions that were asked me upon admission. He stuck a needle into the top of my hand and my vein collapsed. Then he stuck a needle into my arm and tried to draw some blood.

"I'm dehydrated," I said weakly. "You won't be able to get much."

"Really? Why is that?" he asked without a trace of irony.

"Because the last time I had water was nine last night? It's now one o'clock. I usually drink water all day to hydrate."

"I can't seem to get any blood," he replied.

"I just told you I'm dehydrated and now my blood sugar is falling."

The nurse took the little bit of blood in the vile out of the room. I waited about fifteen more minutes and walked into the hallway. The nurses were all talking around the station.

"Hello," I called out to anyone who was listening. "Can I talk to someone, anyone?"

A nurse came over and I told her I was dehydrated. I went back to bed.

Several minutes later, a nurse came into the room with an IV hookup. On her heels came the anesthesiologist all perky and oblivious.

"Hi, how are you? I've just got a few questions?"

"No questions. I've got low blood sugar and am going to faint in a minute," I shot back.

It's very difficult to use my nice voice when I feel I have been ignored, and especially when the operation was to have taken place at 1:30 and it was now 2 pm.

"Where's the doctor? He's late." This time I was using my hostile voice.

"Well, you don't want the doctor to rush through his last operation. I was just with him and it took longer than expected. I'll get you some glucose." He wasn't smiling now.

I became sullen. Suddenly, I felt totally alone. I wanted an advocate.

Next came a barrage of other questions - the same questions asked me many times before by many other people in the hospital.

"How long is it going to be?" I asked the anesthesiologist in a slightly more polite voice.

Another half hour or forty-five minutes.

My head was about to explode. The once faint headache was not becoming a thumper. No food or water for almost eighteen hours.

"My ride is coming at 6. He can't come later. I have to be out of here at 6, downstairs ready to go. You have to put me in a cab if I can't get out of here at 6.

My doctor walked into the room. He was full of good cheer.

"Hi, how we doing?" he asked but didn't really want a response.

The anesthesiologist told him I had to be out by six.

"We can do that," my doctor responded. "My last operation was similar to what wer're dong with you. I'm having plenty of practice today."

Did he really say that?

I don't know what happened after that because I think the glucose was laced with anesthesia.

I woke up at 5:15 in a room without a nurse in sight. Where was my doctor? Where was my advocate? I was completely alone. It was having a pity party.

It was pouring rain outside when the nurse wheeled me out of the entrance. Water was hitting me in the face. The nurse had no clue that I was getting drenched. I spotted my ride, my savior, my knight in shinning armor.

"How did it go?" my wonderful friend asked.

"I dont' know. Never saw the doctor afterwards. Never saw a nurse. Don't know." I started to cry.

As soon as I saw my apartment building, my mood changed. I was never so happy to be home. I practically crawled up the stairs to my apartment in the pouring rain and realized that for the first time that day I wasn't lonely, for the first time I didn't need an advocate. My pity party was over.

Namaste

Joan

Forgiveness

Hi, Boomers,

Sad times for the nation at this moment. We are all consumed with tragedy. We are looking for something or someone to blame. It's only natural. Innocent people were killed by a young man who saw he world differently than a normal, functioning, rational being. It happens too often in our world. The taking of human life has very little meaning in some parts of the world, even our world, our America. Since 1982, when the shooter was born, there have been something like ten other shootings by young men whose only rational thought was, "You're not making the world the way I think it should be."

I remember when 9/11 occurred in 2001. I was taking yoga teacher training at that time when the tragedy hit our nation with full force. We were all numb in class; we were waiting for some kind of direction from our teacher, Max Strom. We sat in silence for a long time in class. Speaking wasn't an option for any one of us. Max then reminded us that we couldn't do anything about this tragedy. He also reminded us that even though the deaths and destruction took place outside of us, we were still connected by divineness to everyone involved, including the high-jackers. What we could do in that moment in our yoga studio was to send our love and light to everyone affected by the tragedy, including the families of those who planned the attack because they had lost their sons in a futile effort to make the world into what they wanted it to be.

It is difficult to forgive when one follows an ideology to the letter, when one fantasizes that acts of terror will change people's minds and hearts. Ideologies promote the "you're wrong and I'm right" mindset that is so very destructive to societies. Everyone has opinions and everyone has the right to that opinion, but it is unlikely that people and societies who espouse their ideas will force others to conform. It's a useless supposition. It is a perception out of whack with human nature.

I had a sweet moment with my dear friend and fellow yogini on Sunday that brought the day and a half of non stop angst to somewhat of a normal level. Annie had read my book, Sixty, Sex, & Tango, Confessions of a Beatnik Boomer - in fact, she is in the book - but she had to let me know how important my last chapter was to her. The chapter is called, "Calm To The Core." It begins with a tex message from a Chinese royal named Hong-Shi (1704- 1727).

"When zen practice

is completely developed,

there is no center,

no extremes;

There are no edges or corners

it's perfectly round, frictionless"

The last section in the book is subtitled: "Forgiving is a Bitch"

It begins: "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

It's challenging and completely exasperating to forgive someone. Annie struggled for years with forgiveness. It wasn't until her parents had finally passed away that she was able to come to grip with her anger and hostility toward them. She still struggles with forgiveness - there are good days and bad days - but the section on forgiveness has given her a deeper insight in the mantra of forgiveness and how it is so important for us all because it enables us to move on in lives. If we don't forgive, we never move forward, achieve change or transformation.

I wrote about 9/11 and wondered if that act is forgivable. Now, I wonder about Tucson and I wonder if that is forgivable, too. I wonder if it is possible to separate the actual horrific acts from the perpetrators who are flawed and psychically sick. I think it is possible and I think it is difficult. But if I do not forgive others, I cannot forgive myself. I will always keep my inner anger inside myself and it will prevent me from living a truthful and honorable life. For me, the essence of forgiveness is a spiritual practice through which I can acquire clarity and stay close to my inner truth. To forgive is to be filled with grace, honor, and dignity.

Hate never yet dispelled hate. Only love dispels hate.

Namaste

The divine in me recognizes the divine in you.

Joan

Food For Thought

Hi, Boomers,

Happy Birthday! The first of the boomers turned 65 as of January 1, 2011. Hard to believe, isn't it. We always thought that we would be young forever. Social Security? Medicare? Not us! Boomers don't age. The first of of were born in 1946, and for the next 19 years, about 10,000 boomers will cross that threshold every day. Most of us will hold off the thought of turning 65 through exercise or Botox or face lifts or liposuction. And we will never cede our youth to calendar years or statistics.

However, the fact remains that seventy-nine million baby boomers, about 26 percent of the U.S. population and there is no turning back the clock. So what is interesting about this statistic is that boomers will all march into their 60's with varying degrees of acceptance.

Certain buzz words may sting worse than the chronological number of 65. "Old," "older" stings. What about social security or medicare? Ouch! That means I'm included in an aging population. Sixty-five is usually associated with the "R" word - retirement. We're young, for God sake, and retirement means I'm old, therefore, obsolete. No one wants me. I'm invisible in society. I'm the last to be waited on at the cosmetic counter.

Retirement stings - either forced or voluntary. Of course, some of us won't speak of retirement because our savings are are not what we thought they would be at 65 and we have to continue working; some of us will continue to show up for work out of fear that we might be left behind at 65. It's important to remain relevant and hip and with it and part of the fabric of our community. We don't want to turn into unfulfilled, self-absorbed boomers who are racked with self-pity. Some form of work provides identification to our psyches. Most of us won't want to exit the job force at 65 or 66 and sit in contemplation until the end of our life - except my therapist who chooses to do so.

Since the last of the boomers to turn 65 will do so in 1964, it is not clear that we can ascribe a cogent set of characteristics to the entire boomer generation. I was born three years before the first set of boomers were born, but I do lump myself in to the boomer generation because I'm not typically a World War II baby. My frame of reference growing up includes all that is typical and familiar to that those born in 1946. I was raised in a more nurturing, child oriented environment. I could be seen and heard in polite society. Dr. Benjamin Spock was my mother's guru. While I learned something of human relationships via the television, I was treated to the finer subtleties of life through the movies. Yet, I wasn't captivated by marketing or advertising and never begged my mother endlessly to buy me an angora sweater or a poodle skirt. Because my parents were still old-school when it came to raising children, I wasn't convinced that the way to get through adolescence was through rebellion. "Rebel Without A Cause" was not my favorite movie. I was taught that one worked very hard to get what wanted or needed and kept a keen eye on book learning. There were no free lunches in my world.

Of late, there has been a lot of talk about the depressed state of boomers. Perhaps those boomers born later were fed the "entitlement" line - as in I'm entitled to my large pension, to my full 401K, my bailout, my medicare, my social security - were heavily disappointed when it came time to cash in or cash out. "Show me the money!" Well, guess, what? The money isn't all there, along with the expectation, the demand, the freedom of choice. Today, these are not always options in our lives. Maybe boomers thought all that "stuff" would keep us young and carry us forward to our heavenly resting place. And it's a pity that for some of us that it didn't pan out like that, but it's not the end of our boomer world.

The end of the world is thinking that we are still entitled to our fair share even though we might have made some bad money decisions, even though we might have been let go from our jobs before their expiration date, even though our economy tanked two years ago or more if we were just paying attention. Life is not always a level playing field.

I'm still working. I'm even planning to create other sources of income. I'm still excited by life at 67. At 67 my parents were still building homes and condos and apartment buildings. I remember them being so very young at 67 that I couldn't imagine them getting old and they really never did get old because life was still a joyous ride for them until the end. Those two people married during the depression and persevered to make their lives better and richer and more creative. And they set the example. They were the gold standard.

So boomers are young and vital still. It's a mind set and a vocation to be 65. If we are settled financially, we can volunteer and give back and make the lives of others more fulfilling. There is joy in enriching our lives at any age at any time. If we lack access to full funding for our later years, we can create many positives in our life. I just read an article about a Los Angeles poet who got laid off from her job at a museum and is now blogging about stories of people who have lost their jobs but who are making positive contributions to their lives by working differently and making a difference. We all possess tenacity and creativity if we just look deeper within ourselves.

Boomers don't have to make a wholesale redefinition of growing older. We are any age at any time as long as we don't buy in to labels, to statistics, to depression, to the mantra of the bad news on television. Turn off the sound and listen to your heart. That is where eternal youth resides.

Namaste

Joan

Post Dramatic New Year's Disorder

Hi, Boomers,

I think I have a computer hangover.

I made it through the new year's weekend of excessive, very excessive tango dancing in San Diego at the annual new year's festival with more than my fair share of sore feet and ankles. I never know what to expect from tango festivals; that is to say, I never know who is going to show up except my immediate posse of friends (both male and female) because we share our tango plans ahead of the event.

I attend these festivals for three reasons: to dance excessive tango for days on end; to sell my book (Sixty, Sex, & Tango, Confessions of a Beatnik Boomer), and to commune with good tango friends from around the U.S. and, hopefully, to meet new people and I can guarantee that I always do meet the most interesting people along the way. I bring ten books and I usually sell out. My dearest friend, Anne Leva-Midon (Tangoleva.com) sets up her booth of fabulous tango clothes and she lets me display my books. We hang out during the day and talk and meet all kinds of tango addicts.

This year the dancing was tremendous fun and energetic and the music was outstanding. All the D.J.'s were terrific. The weather was absolutely beautiful around Point Loma. The skies were crystal clear blue and the temperature had a nice snap to it during the day. And, as always, the company was sublime. I even took a side trip to La Jolla to revisit my old stomping grounds. I lived in that village for two years sometime in my past and used to vacation there during the married years. The view from the Cove always sends a chill up my spine. At one time in the not too distant past, I used to swim in the Master's Race from the Cove out to a buoy a half a mile out. The mile swim in a race with other women my age was always the greatest physical challenge for me - not just for the mile but I could get seasick if the waves were too rigorous. I'm a wimp for sure.

And now I'm sitting in the Apple Store in Santa Monica waiting for my turn at the Genius Bar. My CD player doesn't work. And, yes, it's the beginning of a new year but it's the same old relationship with Apple. This is the third time in a week that I have frequented this store and I'm wondering if I'm actually visiting the people who work in the Apple Store because I like them or do I really have problems with my computer. Sometimes I do have a problem and sometimes I don't - as in I've asked a dumb questions in the past and wasted genius people's time behind the counter.

But of late, the real intrigue, the real relationship has to do with that 11 inch, newly designed MacBook Air. I adore it. I thought I adored the IPad and I thought a lot about the IPad - probably more than I thought about any man in my life. But now I am only thinking about the Air. Sexy comes to mind. I pet it on the display table; I fondle it and lift it up to experience the lightness. I place my fingers on the keyboard and breathe slowly.

Do I want the Air because I'm looking for something exciting to celebrate 2011? Is it because I'm going to travel a lot in the new year and want something lighter? What is it with me and the compact, light sensuous MacBook Air? Is it a replacement for a boyfriend because I've given up on finding boyfriends? I feel I have a real disorder surrounding my desire. If the truth be told, my MacBook, my solid, beautiful 13 inch black MacBook still has life and love left in it. It has six months more to go before I we celebrate our third year relationship. It has been my constant and sustaining companion through thick and thin, through writing and editing my book, through travels to Curacao, to Denver, to Portland to Santa Fe, to Park City, to the monthly trips to Las Vegas. I even sleep with it sometimes. No, I don't cuddle with it in bed, however, because that would take it over the top.

I feel guilty. I feel fickle. I feel I'm cheating. I've just got to live with it without my Air. My gleaming silver Air. But it's faster in speed than my black MacBook. But they don't make black Macbooks anymore. I'm surly going to have to make my peace with my present computer state. After all, I brought in the new year with it and we were happy together. I'll think about it tomorrow at Tara. Good night, Scarlett.

I'm a day late, but a happy new year to all. Peace, joy and good health and let's add some needed prosperity.

namaste

joan

My Tao

Hi, Boomers,

It's Christmas day. It's quiet and everyone is napping except my son. He and I are watching the Lakers game. I'd love to be in the stands at Staples Center and watch the game with Miami up close and in personal. My sons have season tickets but they live in Las Vegas at the moment. They've been going to Laker games since they were in grammar school in Beverly Hills when their physical education coach took them to their first games. Even though they can't see the Lakers play at Staples regularly (they sell the tickets when they don't use them), they have vowed to keep the season tickets into eternity. Every once in awhile I got to see a game with one of my sons. I love basketball and I love the Lakers.

It's a peaceful day. I still feel the joy of being in Park City with my oldest son and his family - my three grandsons from and my wonderful daughter in law. This morning I took them to the airport to catch a flight to Florida to be with their other grandparents. Last night we had a family dinner with #2 son and his family - and another grandson and baby granddaughter - and it rocked with energy. Son #2 made a fabulous meal - he's an unbelievable chef - and I sat back in my chair with a glass of red wine and thought how blessed I have been in my life. For months now I have been astounded at the joy I have felt. For so long, my journey has felt like a bumpy road; but lately, it's been quite smooth. Is it my age - an arrival of some kind of wisdom? Is it the decades of putting one foot in front of another to keep my life moving in a positive direction? Is it finally that I have slowly realized that I have been so blessed with a sense of gratitude that life truly is peaceful?

The practice of my tao, my journey of truth consists in daily losing. I accept this idea of loss because it is in my surrender to it the loss that I stay conscious, offer gratitude, release attachments, and find balance in yin and yang of all that makes up my life.

The end of a year gives all of us the opportunity to pause and reflect about the state of our being, our souls, and to connect with ourselves in a more profound sense. In meditation, we learn to empty our minds and resist the impulse to fill ourselves up with needless thoughts and judgments, which only cause anxiety and stress. In the final days up to the end of the year, I find that clearing the mind of the unnecessary thoughts leads me to clear intentions in the days ahead.

As I bring in each new year, it has been my habit to celebrate the wonderful experiences of the past year and to note the losses as a positive learning experience. Then, I look forward to bringing in this new year with a sense of excitement and anticipation and positive energy. And I renew with conviction to my family and dear friends and to my devotion to yoga and meditation.

A happy new year to all.

Namaste

Joan

Oh, Ye of Little Faith

Hi, Boomers,

I was walking through the UCLA campus late this afternoon, taking the path up Bruin Way. One of the many tables lining the pathway caught my eye. The sign said: "Religion is for the Weak."

I was surprised by the sign. Now, I 'm not a religious person anymore. I left the auspices of organized religion many years ago. At one time, I was very religious and attended daily Mass and received Holy Communion frequently. But the years of following man-made doctrine blindly lost its appeal the older I got because the more I discovered the divineness within myself (namaste), the idea of organized religion became less appealing. Going to Mass was habit and rote behavior. When I learned to meditate, I was a journey of mind and spirit connection that became a stronger force in my life.

But that doesn't mean to say that codes of ethics and behaviors in organized religion aren't important. I believe they add direction in life if they are based on a generosity of spirit and forgiveness. Most religions portend to extrapolate on those themes. But the idea that I should go to church for an hour every Sunday and listen to a preacher tell me how to live a peaceful and joyful life doesn't sit well with me because I can leave Church and steal a lipstick from CVS while I buy Kleenex at the check out counter.

Does religion truly make us weak? I find that to be a pretty radical concept. Perhaps it doesn't truly make a person weak, but religion can alter the perspective of the individual and urge him or her to accept only what the institution has to say. What then happens to personal responsibility? Who is creating one's spiritual journey? The institution or the self? It's easier to let the priest tell me what I should think or how I should act. Hence, our divineness doesn't emanate from within our own soul to act with charity and responsibility to each other or to nurture our individual spirit. It comes from someone telling us to act in a specific way.

As I walked away from the table on Bruin Way, I felt a sense of relief that in the positive energy that I generated within myself, I had the ability to give back love and respect to those I care about, my family and dear friends. I truly believed that a life of fulfillment and peace begins by taking steps to find the divine within ourselves.

I remember wanting to go to church at one point in my life because I wanted to be with like people, people who believe with faith and love that the church we were attending was the institution that helped us live a better life. That's not a weakness to believe this; it is an idea based on faith. And faith does not make us weak. But there is more to faith than believing that the institution representing a divine being is always on the right path. The right path is a path of our own choosing attained through mindfulness and staying conscious and present in life. Through the study of yoga and by practicing meditation, I discovered that it would be through my efforts at self-discovery and growth that I would achieve some kind of transformation and finally acceptance of my Tao, my life's journey.

So namaste, boomers. The divine in me recognizes the divine in you.

Joan

Are You Just Along For the Ride?

Hi, Boomers,

I was in the post office this morning mailing my book, Sixty, Sex, & Tango, Confessions of a Beatnik Boomer to a wonderful woman who used to be my partner in the theater we owned in Las Vegas, Nevada, from 1977 to 1892. Maryan was the co-founder and daily managed the finances for our professional theater - The Meadows Playhouse. She was my right arm and guide through this very challenging project. Those were some of the best years of my life. On my left was a brilliant, creative genius of a man who went on to direct on Broadway. Philip was a show boy at the old Dunes Hotel and a former junior high music teacher. He was a musical maven who sang Sondheim like he was born inside the lyricist's head. Creatively, we were a team and each other's support. We fostered excitement, generated creative projects and lived our three lives on the edge for six years.

We were not just along for the ride. We were in it to the finish, to the end, to the moment when the curtain came down. And when the curtain finally dropped to our mix of sadness and joy, we three went off to hitch ourselves to yet another chapter in our lives that took us to new and interesting places and to other edges. And we were not just along for the ride on the next leg of our journeys either.

What makes people just go along for the ride in life? These are people who just exist and contribute very little to the enrichment of themselves and to their environment. These are people who tread water.

In the post office this morning, I was quickly signing my book to Maryan as I was putting it in the package and the woman behind the counter - and I know all those women because we are up close and personal on a weekly basis - took the book out of my hands.

"Let me see that," she said. She studied the cover.

"Is that you? she asked with a smile.

"Yep," I responded.

"Living at 60 and dancing tango..." she mused. "That's the way to go."

"I couldn't agree more," I said as I gave her my 4x6 marketing card I am so proud of.

"I guess you're not just along for the ride," she said smiling as she gave one of my marketing cards to the woman next to her. She smiled in communion with our sisterhood as she looked up at me.

"Nope. I'm never along just for the ride. Life is just too damn good."

So why do people stagnant and stand back and observe and issue judgments of others and never try for the brass ring? Is it natural in the DNA?

Sometimes I think that the blend of nature and nurture goes awry. We're born with a certain level of intelligence and we can always exceed that level. And you don't always have to be a college graduate, thank you Steve Jobs. Mr. Jobs dropped out of school to follow his passions and look what he created. So it's not always about book learning. But at the present moment in our culture there is, in my humble opinion, too much sponging going on. We sponge off TV personalities; we sponge off movies and sub-par reality shows and sitcoms and other people's dramas in the newer version of movie magazines, all of which disconnect us from being conscious. These environmental stimuli do nothing but numb the brain and petrify the body. We've gone beyond couch potatoes. We've become those inanimate couches covered in old fashioned plastic wraps that our grandmothers protected their sofas with so that no one would ever have to actually feel what they were sitting on. We weren't allowed to feel the fabric and enjoy the rest. Besides, the plastic stuck to my legs all the time and made a mark on the back. I looked like I had cellulite at twelve. Couch potatoes are just along for the ride because they have become inured to real emotion, unable to feel the real joy in their hearts and minds because they are into plastic wrap.

Get conscious plastic people! You are really annoying to those who participate in life and love. My girls at the post office get it. They are always happy and vibrant and courteous and alive with questions and they are attending the party. I know you don't believe me because I'm talking about the post office, folks, but it's damn true. You can be in any walk of life and feel the joy and live life to the fullest. Or you can be a hanger-on and sponge off the TV and live someone else's life.

It's up to you.

Namaste

Joan

Pasionately Passionate

Hi, Boomers,

I spent the weekend dancing tango in Portland. I love the city of Portland. And I love dancing in that city. The combination is unusually pleasing. Portland is an old and new city. Even as it gentrifies it has an older charm. And it was raining over the weekend. It was a sweet and even rain, bordering on romantic. I felt warm and cherished by its consistency. In my tango world, the city favors the young. And Portland is crazy about tango. It is one of the best cities to dance in within the United States.

When I go away for the weekend to dance tango in other cities, I always meet up with my old friends and often meet new people. It has been interesting to me that most people who dance tango are very bright individuals. Conversation isn't always about tango, although it dominates the interest scale. I'm fascinated by what people do in the professional world. There are ER doctors, lawyers, ex-state troopers, engineers, dentists, environmental consultants, CFO's, accountants, astro physicists, musicians, computer scientists, web designers, massage therapists, nurses, and every other profession you can imagine.

There are not many yoga teachers, but dancing tango is a moving meditation and so it fits well with my profession. Tango is about breathing through the music and the movements and staying absolutely present - in the moment full of consciousness. And it's somewhat addictive emitting adrenalin and serotonin and dopamine into the body's system often causing exhaustion at the end of the evening.

Dancing tango often overtakes a person's brain functions as it promotes the repetition of its musical rhythms and familiar dance movements. It is often good to sit back and take breaks because a milonga can last all night - at the minimum four hours.

What did I get myself in to sixteen years ago? I've been all over the western world dancing tango, to Buenos Aires about thirteen times, to Denver, and New York, and Santa Fe, and San Diego, San Francisco, Albuquerque, and there are plans for more places to visit and dance. I understand that the dancing and music are my passions and I understand that tango is also part of my social life. And I also realize that I am one fortunate lady who just happened to wander in to a tango show in 1987 and found myself enchanted.

It's good to have a passion. And, yes, the passion has to be in balance with life. Not easy sometimes, but it's mentally and emotionally healthy to let all the light into our souls and live as richly as possible.

Namaste

Joan

Retreating and Transformation

Hi, Boomers,

Sometimes you just have to say: Enough! I'm full. I can't take it anymore. There is no more energy left. I'm spent. Basta!

Sometimes destiny plays a role in my life. Sometimes the "others" get in the way of my life. And sometimes I'm just plain tired.

It was a week of practicing the Tao. Daily losing. I had to pick my self up emotionally, spiritually and physically. It began on Saturday night at the milonga - the place where I dance tango. I lost someone I thought was a friend. I don't know why. Men retreat when they are emotionally tied up; women plow forward to explain and explore. I couldn't even begin to penetrate my male friend's feelings and angst. I had to let it go. I'm not sure I have just yet. Daily losing.

My book arrived via UPS at and my door: Sixty, Sex, & Tango Confessions of a Beatnik Boomer. I had read the manuscript for months, edited it, stared at the cover endlessly, and when I got the books - hard and soft cover - I didn't know what to do and I didn't know what to feel. It was familiar and yet foreign. Who wrote this? What's it about? What kind of value does it have, if any? Was it a dream? Did someone else write it? A swirl of emotions and feelings engulfed me. I wanted my mother at that moment. Mom, I did it. I wrote it. Are you proud of me? "I knew you could do it, honey. You can do anything you set your mind to." I missed my mother intensely for days. Where was my dad? Smiling and laughing at his daughter whom he adored. Daily losing.

Endless decisions about marketing the book. Google ad decisions. Book signing decisions. Meta tags. What is everyone talking about? No one was speaking English. I was out of my element I had no learning curve left. You have to have a public relations arm. Why? I'm selling the book on Amazon and Barnes so why do I have to hire a someone? Press releases. I can't decide on which cities. Frustration mounting. Daily losing.

Over a month ago, I had thought it time to go on a yoga retreat with one of my yoga teachers at my home studio - the place where I started teaching yoga. I had gone on several retreats over the years but I hadn't been on one for years. I committed to going on the retreat without knowing exactly why. It turned out it was a good decision.

I leave tomorrow for 3 days to Ojai in order to leave myself behind. My brain is in over-drive and I am challenged daily because I want my old self back. Too many tapes playing in my head. More stress than I can handle. I want to find emptiness and peace, and maybe, a little transformation along the way.

My state of being needs a wake-up call. I realize that some things need to change in this moment.

So what is my intention on this retreat?

Stress is uncomfortable and disturbing. The way I work through stress is in my yoga practice. I've neglected my practice. I have left no room in my life to practice except rarely. I'm teaching way too much. I need to return to the spiritual nature of my being, to the teachings and practices of yoga and meditation, to chanting, to exploring paths to enlightenment all the while remaining unsure and insecure about my path, and I need to reside in the center of my path with acceptance and surrender.

I have been blessed with so many gifts in my life: my incredible sons, my four vibrant grandsons, and my soon to be born granddaughter, my beloved Penelope. I was nurtured by loving parents and supported unconditionally by an amazing brother. I have been blessed with some talent to teach and inspire in theater and in yoga and I want to be daily aware of these gift and not get lost in situations and frustrations. I'm going to take my gifts with me to my retreat and absorbed the light.

Namaste

Joan

The Single Life and Bali Here I Come

Hi, Boomers,

I was musing today about being single. After years of fighting the odds to mate with man, I have succumbed to the freedom, the joy, the bliss of being single. Don't get me wrong, I haven't given up sex. Being single and sex are not antithetical to one another. I love sex now as much as I loved it at 19 when some hunk took my virginity at UCLA on New Year's Eve. Funny, we never forget who took our virginity. Oh, well, sorry, "took" is not appropriate since I was the other half of the consenting situation. I can still remember that small, dark motel room in Manhattan Beach, past midnight, January 1st, with a little light coming through the faded white, shabby venetian blinds. His name was John and I was madly in lust. But I digress.

So being single is being able to come and go as I please without checking in with anyone. It's being able to be in Las Vegas with my family and not worrying about whether I have called my significant other today to let him know that I miss him and I promise to be home on Saturday afternoon. It's fully planning my day without questions, planning my trips without censure, planning my meals without a thought for anyone else. I can go to bed when I want and get up when I want and take my computer to bed and read at 3 am if I want and listen to the silence. I can get up to feed Baby Jude Love at 4 am and gaze into his little face with love.

I'm going to Bali in August with two single female friends. I am visiting my tango friend, Brenda, who, with her husband, built Desa Sanctuary in Ubud. Check out the website. It's so very beautiful and special.

The way this trip camd about was that Brenda emailed me on Linkedin to connect with me and to say she was reading my blog. Bali had been in my head for a long time and I felt I needed to get there before the Eat, Pray, Love movie came out this summer and the followers of Ms. Gilbert began to pay homage in Ubud to her personal journey. A few days before, my friend, Carol, a yoga student of mine at UCLA, was talking about going to Bali with her friend and I immediately invited myself. I showed Carol and Adrienne Desa Sanctuary and everyone was hooked. It took us 3 days to make the plane reservations and reserve a sanctuary for a week. Women are so smart and efficient with organizational execution because we know what we want and communicate efficiently. Bali, here we come.

Last year I went to southern Spain and Morocco with GAP Adventure Tours and I was the oldest of the seven women. It was a fabulous journey and one that I will remember always. The year before I went to Costa Rica for a yoga retreat and then an eco tour with my guide friend. Another great adventure. Being single allows me to plan my travels intuitively and take fully advantage of my curiosity. I used to think that I could never, ever travel without a man beside me. Life sure plays funny tricks on us.

So while I think that I may be falling in love as indicated in my last post, I am not rushing to fall in love. This is probably the first time I have been reserved in a relationship process. I have some things at stake this time around. I'm older and maybe a little wiser and maybe, just maybe, happier with who I am, my family relationships and my dearest friends.

Life is beginning to work out very well for a change.

Namaste

Joan

CAN WE REALLY FALL IN LOVE AGAIN?

Hi, Boomers,

At the moment, I am surrounded by my 4 grandsons and thinking about falling in love again.

How does all this love energy work together? I have no idea, and I am trying to figure it out.

I've been keeping a secret to almost everyone in my life. I met a man last Saturday night who is enlightened, more evolved than most men, dances tango as elegantly and as passionately anyone I have ever danced with, plays tangos on his guitar beautifully, is looking for a mate, makes love like an angel, and maybe is falling for me. Besides that, we have a strong connection with our professional work. More importantly, we want to make a relationship.

What man puts it out there like that to a woman? What woman could walk away from this man without serious consideration.

Oh, and I forgot to say that he lives in Montreal six months out of the year; winter is spent in Los Angeles where he hangs out with his two adult children and grandchildren.

Long distance relationships. They are a plague. They mostly don't work. How do we do this and keep the emotional connection? I tried it before. It lasted 7 months, which is pretty good, I think. But now I'm older and wiser and have settled into singleness with joy - finally.

I didn't get enough face time with this man. He's complicated in a good way. I'm settled in a good way. But we are both looking for companionship. And I think we could be right for each other.

I'm wrestling with how to do this and we have just left each other. Do I really want to fall in love again? Big question after all this work on myself. I think I do but I don't know if I can.

I thought I would never fall in love again after my last relationship. After almost 4 and a half years of his running away and coming back, I ended it. He broke my heart and my heart is still broken. I think I'm on the mend and then I'm not. My therapist would say: "Sit with it, be with it, let the emotions embrace you."

I am and I'm trying. In the meantime, I have enough testosterone around me to last a lifetime. Tonight I'm going out to dinner with my 2 sons and their wives to celebrate family.

I'm full of joy.

Namaste

Joan

Hitting the Road

Hi, Boomers,

I'm in a kind of margarita kind of mood. Literally, I just had a margarita after teaching my tango lesson to my best, best friend and not my lover John. I refer to John in my book, SIXTY-SEX & TANGO, as my best friend and not my lover. He is 67 and I am 66 years old and we behave like teenagers. Every Friday after I give him a tango lesson, he and I drive to a Mexican restaurant where I have a margarita and get slightly high and he has his pretentious British aperitif. We talk and talk and talk for an hour and depart knowing that we will see each other the following night for sushi and dance tango at our Saturday night milonga (the place where tango dancers meet up to dance tango). How I adore this ritual! It is so close to feeling 20ish again that it makes me giddy with joy.

But, alas, tomorrow morning at 4 am I'm leaving for Vegas, Baby, Vegas. I'll spend a week with my family - 2 sons, 2 daughters in law, 4 grandsons. I'm overdo; I'm in a rabbit's stew. It's been 2 months and I'm in withdrawals. My grandsons are 5, 3, 2, and 4 month old - all boys. And we are expecting another baby in Sept. We are not going to know the gender. It's too much pressure for us all because we want a girl in our family. It's scary not to know the sex of a baby now-a-days, but in the olden times, my time, we didn't know either so what's the difference. We want healthy, healthy babies.

I love driving in the early morning. I drive with the truckers. I feel save with them. And I feel young again. I'm on my own, traveling like Jack Kerouac in On The Road and loving the freedom, the music, the flowing thoughts. I don't ever want to give that feeling up. It takes me three and a half hours door to door and that's with a Starbucks stop before driving into my oldest son's home. I enter with all the kids up - Jude Love - the baby - as I imagine him in prop chair - the other two, Jordan and Luc, playing and running around the house in their pj's.

That's life. That's the best one could ask for.

Meanwhile, I think I am getting into a relationship. Life throws us curve balls, even at my age, even at 66.

Namaste

Joan

SIXTY-SEX & TANGO

I feel guilty and completely intimidated at this moment. I am back blogging. I have been putting this blogging thing off for a year.

If anyone who knows me personally, they will think, "She's kidding, right?" "It's a joke." Joan is never intimidated, never afraid, never insecure. Well, guess what? I am all of those things.

I have a few good excuses for not blogging in a year. The overriding excuse is my book. Over the summer of 2009, I got an agent and my book was entitled, SO YOU'RE 60, GET OVER IT, CONFESSIONS OF A BEATNIK/BOOMER. My agent and her wonderful assistant, an author in his own right, changed the name to SIXTY-SEX & TANGO. They thought is was more sexy, catchy and would appeal to publishers.

Alas, after six months, all rejection notices were in. Despite some good reviews, the over-ridding response was, "Who's she? What has she done? What qualifies her to talk about living large in the decade of the 60's?"

I don't know. What have I done? Lived a full and rich life and had some very happy and sad and wonderful experiences and slept with some really terrific men.

So, what do I know? I know that I live by my teaching and practicing, my dedication to meditation and my joy at being a mother, a grandmother (now 4 grandsons and counting one more in Sept), a writer, and a darn good friend.

So the book publishing experience wasn't all negative. Yet, I did sit on the book for several months after my agreement with my agent. I thought of putting it on Kindle, then took it off, then decided to self-publish. I selected iUniverse and have been very happy with my experience with them. My book is now in the editing stages after 7 weeks of rewriting, re-organizing and clarifying the message of my memoir Some people have even found this blog in the meantime and I owe those people my attention and further writing on the subject of living crazy, wild and free at 66.

I am almost late for my yoga class at UCLA so I will write more later. Oh, yes, and it took me days to find out how to find my blog. Being technically challenged is a bitch.

Namaste

Joan

Reinventing Myself

Hi Boomers,

I haven't written in such a long time.  I feel guilty.  I've been struggling with my book about turning 60.  The good news is that I have an agent.   I decided not to self-publish.  I've taken a leap of faith and held out for a publisher who may see value in my musings.  The bad news is that my agent thinks I need to change my title to better reflect the contents of the book.  I'm open to new ideas.  I hope we, the royal we, come up with something we all like.  

I thought about it all weekend while I was on a tango weekend, a festival in Denver where some very good tango dancers show  up and we get high on tango for 3 days over Memorial Day.  It is always great fun even though some of the usual suspects didn't show.  Was it the economy, stupid, or was it that the festival is getting stale.  Stale and tango do not belong in the same sentence.

Meanwhile life takes twists and turns as in my sons are no longer speaking to each other.   Don't they realize that each have only one brother in life.  There are no more brothers to have in their lives.  It's such a cliche in life that brothers/sisters don't talk to each other.  It seems that siblings are harder on each other than just plain friends.  They see each other are perfect in some ways, flawed in others and the good/bad characteristics are magnified tenfold.  I hope in time that my sons, these once terrific friends, will mend the fences and forgive.  Meanwhile, I've experienced intense emotional pain that I have almost lifted during the last three weeks.  

My trip is coming up - to Southern Spain and Morocco.  I just realized that I will be getting home July 5 at 11 pm and I have to teaching the next morning at 7 am.  Boy, will I be tired.  I'm using Advantage miles and I can't change anything.  I'm going to die spending 17 hours in Heathrow.  Most of the time, I'll be sleeping, but the next morning will be brutal.  I knew this when I made the reservations, but I forgot - thought I was arriving on July 4th late.  I'm hoping that something will happen and a seat will open up earlier to Los Angeles.   

I feel naked because I don't have a book to write.  Maybe I'll blog more.  Maybe I'll meditate more.  Maybe I'll write more poetry.  Maybe I'll actually take a yoga class.  Maybe I'll rest.

Namaste

Joan

Good News: I'm not shrinking

Dear Boomers,

     I've been remiss in not writing in my blog.  I had an assignment.   An agent was interested in my book, SO YOU'RE 6O, GET OVER IT: CONFESSIONS OF A BEATNIK/BOOMER, and she wanted a full book proposal.  I've been avoiding writing it for a month but, since an agent requested one, I had to hunker down and do it.  It took me days.  I usually don't have writer's block because I am genetically predisposed to talking and writing, but my resistance was based on principle and laziness and not ability.  I did it.  It's done.  If any other agent asks for a book proposal, I have it.

     The good news is I'm on letter M in the alphabet in my search for an agent.  Sometimes I cheap and take my divining rod and select a random out of order agent, say a T agent or an R agent.  That's my rebellious side.

      But even better news is that I don't have osteroporosis.  My bones aren't shrinking.  In fact, I am above average in my bone density.  I am thrilled.  But more importantly, my doctor was so happy over the phone when he left me the message.  He was practically giddy.  He thought for sure I was shrinking - "you skinny, white woman, you" he must have been thinking.  I told him I teach yoga and I was not at risk.  "Yeah, yeah," he brushed me off.  Maybe he'll believe me when I tell him that the benefits of yoga for good health out-flank drugs by intergalactic miles.

     I was walking on air all week.  You'd think I'd fallen in love.  I have no idea why I was so happy about my strong skeleton.  Of course, I'm a yoga instructor and teach all day every day and why would I have thinning bones.  You never know, however.  My mother at 97 has skrunk to less than 5 feet and 80 pounds.  Her spine is so curved she cannot stand up.  I don't want to end up like that at 97.  I'll just be in my prime at 97, ready for love and sex and more travel.  

     I also saw my dentist this week.  He's been in love with me for over 25 years.  He keeps hoping I'll have an affair with him even though I told him years ago that I don't "do" married men.  One of those in a lifetime is sufficient, thank you.  But he keeps giving me free teeth cleaning in the hopes I'll succumb.  Not only will I not succumb, I keep taking the free teeth cleaning.  We have no one to go when my dentist is conducting the every four months conversation with me, like do I have a boyfriend (NO!) or am I dating (No!).  "Why not?" he asks.  "Not interested," I respond.  He looks sad.  I hide my lies behind my positive smile.

     Question:  Do I miss the sex or do I miss the company of a man?  

     I went tango dancing last night.  It's my weekly milonga (place where we go to dance Argentine tango) and saw an old maestro of mine.  He was splendid at 70.  And he just divorced his wife this last year and they were married unhappily for over 20 years.  Funny about life and people.  I couldn't figure out why he was so vibrant and alive and sexy.  Damn!  He was single again.  We danced, and then he said to me in Spanish, "You're happy, aren't you?"  Thank God I understood him quickly.  "Yes, por su puestro, Fecundo."  "I thought so," he said in Spanish.  "So am I."  It was a perfect exchange to a lovely evening.

     More later,

     Namaste

     Joan