Heart

There is a muscle the size of a fist that sits on the left side of the chest -- beat, beat, beat --- more beats...

It continues on...until one day it stops...

I remember a time when I was just about seven (three years before his heart stopped) -- my dad was stretched out on the couch. I crawled next to him.

"Dad, can I listen to your heart?" I asked shyly.

"Sure," he replied.

I put my head on his chest and listened -- thump...thump....thump...it went...

At that time I was well aware that he had a sick heart -- that he may die earlier than other dads. I had sneaked numerous times into the secret safe behind the bookshelves in my parent's room and found the large X-rays hidden therein.

There was a line sort of like an earthquake fault running across its surface. I'd push my index finger along the line, shuddering at the thought of dad hurting.

My intuitive child-self knew deep down inside he was a walking time bomb.

"Dad, are you ok?" I asked into his white tee-shirt.

"Of course Jennygirl...I'll be fine."

"Does your heart hurt?"

"No Jenny."

His long fingers took hold of my flexible right ear and tenderly bent it into a funny position.

"I heard it's not OK," I pushed the issue.

"I'm perfectly fine silly."

That was the end of that discussion.

And then there was another time...

My grandmother had recently died, and dad was resting for a spell. I crawled up and put my head on his chest again, sensing there was something bothering him.

"Hi Jennygirl."

"Hi Daddy..."

Silence.

"Daddy, are you OK?"

"Sure Jenny, I'm fine. But I was just thinking of my Mamma."

"Were you there when she died?"

"Yes, I was."

"What happened?"

"Well...I knew that she was dying, so I put my head on her heart. Just like you're doing now."

I held my breath, imagining him sitting by her hospital bed with his head on her heart.

"It began to beat slower and slower."

To illustrate, he took his hand and imitated her heartbeat on my shoulder.

"Finally, it stopped beating."

Realizing I still wasn't breathing, I sharply inhaled.

"What happened next Dad?"

"I cried out Mamma, Mamma. I love you so much. And then I just sobbed."

Dad's voice cracked as he spoke. I knew tears were running from his eyes, but I didn't dare look. Something told me not to move, allowing for him a bit of dignity in his grief.

His chest shook a bit. A few tears escaped my eyes.

"I'm sorry Dad," my seven-year-old self tried its hardest to console.

We then lay in silence -- our hearts breaking open together at loss -- father and daughter bonding in a profound moment in time.

To this day (though difficult), it is one of my most special memories. Dad and I trying to figure this life out and understand its heartbreaking mysteries.

Life, Baseball and Dad

There lives in me a love for a game. To me it's one of beauty - full of games within games, calculations & stats, personalities, stories, and history. My game smells like the earth and sometimes moves at a snail's pace. And as the Santa Ana winds blow into my home team's stadium nestled in the hills of Los Angeles, chills climb up my neck and spread down my arms -- my heart aches -- a beautiful ache.

Have you ever smelled freshly cut grass and the scent of brown dirt mingling while under the summer sun? Have you ever held a baseball in your hand and brought it to your nose? Grass, dirt, sweat, leather, and love come together and form an unforgettable and beautiful, earthy delight.

Sometimes I think that in my former life -- if there were such a thing -- I was a baseball player. What else could explain why as a child I'd return from school to pick up my mitt and run out into our courtyard barefoot to throw a baseball, tennis ball or racquetball against the wall? In my mind, I created a world that was so far removed from the fantasy land that most girls usually build in their minds. Mine was in imaginary baseball stadiums and with me involved in heroic feats that could only include baseball heroes like Babe Ruth, Nolan Ryan, and Kirk Gibson.

And then there was my dad -- I remember when I played as a child, he'd watch me with pride. And I was more than thrilled to see him in the stands during my games. He was an amazing player himself --  he'd play catch with me or pitch balls to me until I got the basic skills down. Then he'd encourage me to push myself beyond what most people thought little girls were capable. I'll never forget his long limbs working in unison to deliver the ball in my direction. His beautiful fingers and right hand would flutter in the air gracefully after he released it.

"Good Jenny!" he'd congratulate me when I did something right. And "No, Jenny," he'd say when I did something wrong. "You need to keep your head down when you swing the bat, Jenny."

I savored each and every moment as though it were my last. This was one of the only places in the world that we could connect and work toward a goal together.

Things got tough within our family and dad wasn't around as much as I would have liked between ages eight and ten. I wasn't sure exactly when he'd show up in my world. I'd go to my baseball games...dressed in my uniform, hat and all. I'd look for him -- search the stands, look toward the parking lot, look behind the backstop. I'd hope and I'd pray. Each minute that he didn't show up, my heart bled a bit more. Most times a few innings into my game, I'd see him walk from the parking lot with his unforgettable, long stride and I'd breathe a sigh of relief. Then I'd settle in to play my heart out.

Just for him.

He died unexpectedly when I had just turned 10 -- June 26, 1986 -- a day I will never forget. Baseball continued to be where I excelled. I'd pour myself into my imaginary baseball field in the front yard of our new condo. I'd use every opportunity that summer and for summers to come to bury myself in my field of dreams. There I could be OK -- with the sun shining brightly and the smell of the grass offering comfort.

A couple years after my dad died I joined another baseball league -- again one of two or three girls in the league. One evening under the bright lights that attracted bugs of all shapes and sizes. I found myself looking in the distance for my dad -- and I realized he wasn't there -- that he was never going to show up. I began to hyperventilate and panic. Had to run off the field and ask my mom to go to the restroom with me. She held me and tried with everything she had to heal my hurts. I cried.

All too many people understand what it feels like when you finally realize that someone you love will never walk in the door, or call you on the phone, or sit in the bleachers to cheer you on.

I remember the day I watched Field of Dreams for the first time. Tears sprang from my eyes live a river at the pivotal moment when Kevin Costner's character had the opportunity to meet his deceased father one summer evening on the baseball field Costner's character Ray had carved out of a cornfield.

He shakes the hand of his deceased father (who has appeared from the past and is once again a young man) and then as he watches his father walk away, he emotionally asks him if he'd play catch. His father replies, "I'd like that." And they toss the ball back and forth, without saying a word to one another, until the twilight turns into night. (see movie clip below)

For those of us who love baseball, we understand. To toss a ball - a simple leather ball, with red seams and a mix of grass, earth, sweat, and tears - unites two hearts in unspeakable ways.

My dad wasn't a man of verbal communication -- but he was a man of action. And me, well I try to say things with eloquence and tact -- but no matter how hard I try to speak and explain, I many times can't get the words out right & I realize that I may be more like him than I know.        

                                                                                               (picture: Me and Dad -- long before my baseball days---->)

Thoughts before Bed

Life is a funny ball of wax -- I'm never sure what is going to be around the corner. In some ways this is terrifying and in others it is thrilling. Was thinking this evening about all of the roads and moments that led to where I stand right now. Just want to close the night with some questions and thoughts:

• Love the rain falling outside my window -- sitting by the fireplace and so enjoying the moment.
• Am so very thankful to be surrounded by amazing, loving people.
• Am so happy to be in love.
• Love that I have a partner with whom I can talk, and laugh, and adventure, and hope and dream and accomplish things with.
• Love people who have the ability to just say f-it and dare to be themselves. 
• Wonder if Glenn Beck really believes that Sarah Palin is the "only hope for America," as he put it the other day on Fox. I am trying to figure out what he means...that she is our only hope for Christian revival? Or hope for freedom? Or...hope for the continuance of judgmental, narrow-minded social thought? I need help Glenn...please fill me in a bit. (And no I don't dislike Sarah Palin as a person...I just think she needs to stretch her mind a bit further.)
  
• I wonder how 2010 will shape up...I hope beautifully.
  
• Why do people all too often give up on their dreams and settle for commonplace? 
• In yoga tonight I focused on my breath more than I usually do -- it was liberating.
• How can I be a more compassionate human being? I need to try harder :-P
•  “Christianity, with its doctrine of humility, of forgiveness, of love, is incompatible with the state, with its haughtiness, its violence, its punishment, its wars” -- Tolstoy. I read this today and I agree. More on this another day.
• Why is it that I can write all day and night for clients but it is so hard to write for myself? 
• Love that Glee won best comedy or musical TV series. I saw the entire season over the past 3 weeks and love it!
• Am realizing that creativity is at its best when I come to the drawing board with a fresh mind and perspective. Also when I come from a place of freedom -- fear freezes most thought.
• Flipped a coin the other day. The deal was that we were going to either stay in or go out to the nature preserve -- it was heads (George Washington's face stared us in the eyes) -- and the nature preserve adventure that followed was breathtaking. I realize that it's better to go and experience than be stagnant.
• Love Meryl Streep -- her rawness and goodness. Little girls should study her life philosophy in school.
  

Ok off to bed -- was fun writing for myself for a bit

Adorable!!

Now this is a boy with passion -- He may not be able to sing all the words yet,  but he is amazing :-)



Here's to keeping our childhood dreams alive!!

Childhood Dreams

I remember being a child and truly believing that if I were to play hard enough and emerse myself in my dreams deeply enough, that they may actually come true. I'd spend hours upon hours pretending that I was a baseball player, a basketball star, a football hero - and it all felt so real. In the summer evenings, I'd play barefoot outside as the crickets would begin their song and the sun drifted beneath the hills.

Many adults would give me a hard time because the activities I chose to pursue weren't in line with what little girls should do. But there was something within me that propelled me to keep doing the things I loved to do. I loved the smell of the freshly cut grass in our backyard, mixed with the fragrant eucalyptus  trees. I enjoyed feeling the California sunshine on my skin...and the Santa Ana winds as they regularly swept through my neighborhood, providing electric energy that breathed added aliveness into my being.

It was fitting for me to grow up where I did. With trees that I could climb, grass that I could make into imaginary baseball fields, a pool that I could dive into and swim in for hours, vacant dirt fields that I could ride my bike on...

I sometimes wonder why I am who I am? Why I was born with a love for things that many women can't identify with? Why did I prefer throwing a ball against the wall to playing with Barbies? Why did I prefer playing in little league to ballet classes?

Don't get me wrong...I'm not unhappy about this. I'm 33 and I still ride my bike on dirt paths, shoot baskets with the guys and can't help but jump in during BBQs to toss the football while the majority of the women can't figure out why I'd want to leave their conversation circle to act like a kid.

We each have our own thing...my question is...where should we go with it all? Do we banish who we were as children to become serious adults? Do we merge the two?

I constantly crave the ability to return to those days -- to feel the freedom of believing in my dreams, no matter how silly they seemed to others. To feel the sun shining on my face and the winds blowing through my hair...to end the day grass & dirt stained, green haired as result of hours in the pool...exhausted because I exerted every ounce of energy I had to give. To sleep sweet sleep, with the knowledge that my dreams were waiting for me the next day.

Childhood dreams...I wonder what significance they should play in our adult lives. And what happens when we decide to become adults and leave them behind?

Thoughts on Perspective

I've been reflecting lately on what makes us most happy, most fulfilled and most at peace. A friend of mine asked just recently how she lets go of 25 years of conditioning -- the things that keep pulling her back to reacting to people and life in toxic, non-progressive ways.

My advice to her was that she needs to live in the present -- to breathe. I found myself this evening reflecting on the future, wondering how things will come together for those I love, for myself, etc. and I began holding my breath and my stomach began to clench -- my heart skipped a few beats and I had to take myself back to the conversation I had with my friend just yesterday. "Breathe Jen, breathe! For goodness sakes."

We have a full house here tonight, and I'm sleeping back in my childhood house for a night. Before I jumped on the computer, I found myself staring off into space wondering what my dad would do if he were me (or what he'd advise me to do if he were alive). He was never one to sit around and wait for life to pick him up and determine his destiny. He was the one chasing after destiny...and crazily enough he won often.

I've been watching people a lot lately -- in the store, on the street, wherever I go. And I've been noticing that many are like the walking dead these days -- smiles are hard to come by for some -- the pounds get packed on for many -- I saw a few yesterday that were even kind of grayish in skin tone, with zombie-like eyes.

The problem is that we are all to often buying into the philosophy that we are powerless, that it is too late, that it is too hard to let go of the baggage that we are carrying around. My friend asked me the other day how to get out of a rut and my answer as result of my reading and yoga practice was just "be present to the moment" and "make monumental decisions at crucial moments that can help you begin to reshape your life." For instance, instead of sitting down on the couch to watch Kobe get a good workout...and living vicariously through him...choose to go for a walk, a run or hit a yoga class. Or at the moment when we would usually say something hurtful to those we love, STOP. Don't say anything...just let it be. Breaking a pattern leaves room for magic and change.

One of my favorite yoga philosophers, BKS Iyengar says in Light on Life that when we choose to take the right path or right action we are infused with lightness -- our decision to proactively take the reins of our lives makes for simplicity.

Another great man that I know told me the other night that we can't be proactive or reach our goals when our souls are conflicted.

How do we know when we are on the right path? Many say that you can't trust the human mind. But I think that's an excuse. We know what's right and what is wrong more than not. Sometimes the right answer is just too scary for us, and we choose to pretend that we don't know our heads from our toes.

I believe that we as humans have the ability to do amazing things -- we all can choose to eat the right things and amounts, move our bodies, find flexibility, use our minds wisely, love those around us unconditionally, and more. But in order for us to live effectively we must live second to second -- breath to breath -- one moment at a time. Make bold decisions at crucial moments. Choose to be proactive. And above all to remember that we can change our perspective at any given moment.

----

Something that I've been doing lately for energy and clarity of mind each and every morning is filling my body with powerful foods. Every morning I juice the following:

- Broccoli - 2 heads
- Kale - 3-4 leaves
- 2 large carrots
- 1 apple
-1 orange
- 1 inch ginger
- Handful of berries (blackberries, blueberries or strawberries)
- One TBS Flax seed oil

It has made a huge difference in my energy levels, focus, and more. I suggest giving it a try!!!

Thanks for reading if you've gotten this far!! :-P

Why -- Tie my shoes???

One morning when I was 8, my dad drove me to school and looked my way with a silly grin. "JennyGirl, you need to tie your shoes, he said." I looked down, and sure enough, they were loose as a goose. He then started singing, "Oh JennyGirl, JennyGirl tie your shoes...Oh JennyGirl, JennyGirl tie your shooooose."

I laughed so hard that tears sprung to my eyes. He giggled and sang even louder. My 8 year old legs dangled toward the floor of his car. Shoe laces still a mess. I didn't dare tie them for fear that he'd quit singing.

"Ohhhh JennyGirl, JennyGirl tie your shooooose...."

The moment still lives in my mind as though it were yesterday. The California sun was shining, my dad's eyes twinkled, and I was proud. Proud to have a dad - proud to have untied shoes - proud to be me.

"So what the heck does this have to do with my blog?" you may be asking.

My answer is "everything."

Two years later my father died. And at 10 my quest for understanding & healing began.

It's pretty interesting when you think about it. We human beings are preoccupied with trying to undo the done or holding onto the beauty that was -- the very things that have conditioned us to act in certain ways.

For me, my father's death was painful, yet it is what has made me who I am. I wonder if this is a good thing :-P  Well...I at least make believe it has allowed for me to see things differently, to experience the world with open arms a little more than I would have otherwise.

I'm going to attempt a blog, and I invite you to follow if you dare. The goal is to be bold and true. And maybe we can journey together and find a process for being bolder. So here we go...

What's one of your favorite memories of a child? Share in comments for fun :-)