Category Archives: Conversations

Good chat with interesting humans

“Vas ist Los” or “Was geht ab” auf Deutsch

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What’s up?

This is just a random post to test the waters with the new WordPress format WHICH I HATE HATE HATE. For me, it’s taking all the fun out of writing. It’s clumsy and NOT user-friendly. 

By now if you have read even a couple of my posts, you know that I am unapologetically a MOM first and foremost. All I ever wanted was to be the mom of one boy, and my wish came true. Not only is he brilliant and kind and a great dad, he’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. 

He’s a professor of German language and philosophy. That’s actually what his Yale PhD is called: Germanic Language and Literatures.

At my insistence, he’s been teaching it to Angel Boy 2.0  but it’s harder than it seems. We do refer to raccoons as Waschbär, though, so that’s progress, I guess. 

I don’t speak Deutsch, I do better in French or Spanish, but I used to help when he was first taking German in high school, like conjugating trinken to getruken.

We practiced with 3X5 cards every day until his conversational skills surpassed my ability to decipher even a single word.

When he did his junior year abroad in Goettingen, I visited him (as the good Jewish mommy-drone that I am) and was continually impressed by his fluency and beautiful accent. People thought he was a native speaker, and I was/am so proud of my Engel Junge (Angel Boy). 

I learned to say Tschüss instead of auf Wiedersehen every time we left a store, and that’s about it for my language skills.

He wrote a book entitled The Geological Unconscious
GERMAN LITERATURE AND THE MINERAL IMAGINARY 

It probably won’t be read by too many people but that’s OK ‘cos I’m mentioned in it, so my life’s work is done.

Here’s the link to that post: https://enchantedseashells.com/2020/05/14/happy-birthday-to-meeeee/

“Is that a keeper?” More chat with the brilliant Angel Boy 2.0.

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My little guy and I LOVE LOVE to search for rocks and seashells and feathers and other treasures.

It doesn’t matter if we’re walking in the neighborhood or at the beach or in the mountains, we make time to search for Mother Nature’s precious gifts.

Holding a rock in his little (but almost as big as mine) hand, he says, “Is this a keeper, Grandma?”

I take a look, think for a minute, and reply, “No, not that one. It’s not asking me to come home. Let’s leave it for someone else to find and bring to their house.”

“How about THIS one, Grandma?”

“Oh YES, T! That’s exactly the kind I love. It’s perfect.”

“OK, you bring it home with you and I’ll see it when we come to your house.”

“Why do you love rocks so much?”

“Great question, T. I love them because they make me happy and I like to collect pretty things. Why do YOU like rocks?”

“They make ME happy, too, Grandma!”

“OK. Think about this. You like it when you get presents in the mail, right? Well, this is getting presents too, but they don’t cost money and we get to have so much fun finding them together, so when we’re not together, we can remember what fun we had.”

“Hey, T, is this the kind that you like?”

I’m holding a pure white oval rock.

“Oh yes! Do you want it, Grandma?”

“That’s very kind of you to think about me, T, but this one is for you. Let’s look for more.”

At this point, all my pockets are full and weighted down by rocks and seashells, and my backpack has no more room, either.

“T, look at me, I’m all loaded down! Let’s leave some to find next time, OK?”

“Grandma, we love rocks so much, don’t we? I put the special ones in the little box you sent me. Where do you keep yours?”

“My special favorites are on the windowsill in my bedroom, so I can see them every day and think about you.”

“Can you take a picture of them and send it to me?”

“I sure will, little buddy.”

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A Rant About Disagreeable People

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(Because I’m not sure WordPress allows us to use the word “assholes” in a post title.)

A little slice of life from SoCal, and a reminder that sometimes the best course of action is to stay away from other humans.

While it was still relatively cool with a marine layer and an onshore breeze, I decided to take a walk.

I usually walk anywhere between four to ten miles, and today I thought I’d walk around the lagoon and a bit more, probably four miles or so, ‘cos I have a lot to do later on.

It’s a beautiful day, the birds are out, families are walking, and we were all respectful of social distancing.

Well, ALMOST all of us.

I swear, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with some older post-.menopausal white women with short blonde (to cover the gray) hair.

I’m not shaming them, as I sorta fit the description myself apart from the short hair and wheat belly Trumpian bitterness. (Inside joke for my local peeps,)

I decided to take the long way home and detoured to a public path that winds around a subdivision that once upon a time was a gorgeous habitat for a lot of coyotes and bobcats and even deer and mountain lions. It WAS spectacular. All that’s left as mitigation is this path.

Whenever I encountered another human, we waved hello and each moved to the opposite side of the approximately six foot wide trail, to respect the state-mandated distancing.

Then this happened.

An older couple approached. He was a nondescript white man; she was the person I previously described. I tried to anticipate which side of the path they would move to and I moved to the opposite. Then, in sync, they moved to the other side, so I moved away, thinking we had a silent communication glitch.

THEN, the woman stood in the middle of the path facing me with her arms outstretched, as if to block my way, and they demonically laughed.

I AM NOT KIDDING.

They OBVIOUSLY must not have realized that despite my tiny size, I’m a fire-breathing dragon with the cussing ability of a merchant mariner–and possess zero filter.

I said, “That’s really fucked up.”

He said, “Then don’t walk around here.”

I said, “What. the. fuck. I’ve lived here for thirty-five years.”

Like a toddler, he responded,  “We’ve been here for forty.”

I said, “You are full of shit.”

…snd I kept walking before the incident escalated. I wish I had thought to take a pic of them, but I just shook my head at their abject stupidity.

Who would think it funny to deliberately defy the guidelines to keep everyone safe from this virus? (While I’m not even sure what Covid IS and how it got here, I’ll play along for the greater good.)

Why bother being such assholes for no apparent reason? My hair was in a ponytail and I wore a hat so I can’t even think it was because they hate curly hair.

In the old days, an encounter like that would have ruined my day, but now I realize it’s their problem and not mine, and I don’t take on their negative energy.

However, I confess that it felt really really good to breathe a little fire, hee hee.

 

 

 

“I swear, Grandma!” More chat with the world’s most brilliant human

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Four going on thirteen. That’s Angel Boy 2.0, or as he likes to be referred to when he’s cooking: “Mr. Ovens”.

I have no idea where he gets that precocious attitude. Well, yes I do, but that’s another story.

Since the pandemic has eliminated all of our in-person visits, T-boy and I have been chatting on the phone a lot, sometimes several times a day.

If he sees my favorite breed of dog walk by his house, he likes to call me and say, “Grandma, I just saw a Border Collie, you love Border Collies, don’t you?”

Or he’ll call and flip the camera around to show me his weather, “It’s supposed to rain today but right now there’s some blue sky and clouds.” “What’s your weather like today at your house, Grandma?”

He likes to call me after dinner when Mom is giving baby a bath and putting her to bed and before his bath and bed routine. Dad is usually working in the garden and I’ll get a call.

“Hello, my special friend! How was your day? ”

“GOOOD. I’m outside with Daddy. You know what, Grandma? I had to call you. I swear. Daddy went on a skateboard and didn’t wear his helmet again. I swear. I told Daddy you want him to wear his helmet but he doesn’t. He wears it on his bicycle but not when he’s skating with me. I wear my helmet, Grandma.”

“Thank you for telling me about Daddy. And I’m so proud of you for making good choices and wearing YOUR helmet. Well done!”

“Thank you.”

“Let me talk to Daddy, OK?”

“OK, Grandma.”

And then I hear…

“Dad? Daddy? Jay? Jas? JASON NATHANIEL!! Grandma wants to talk with you. I told her about the helmet situation.”

It cracks me up every single time I hear T call his daddy by his other names using the same exact inflection that he’s heard. Pretty adorable.

“Oh you did, huh? Hello, Grandma.” Says the original boy who stole my heart so many years ago.

“DADDY, I was just informed that you are still not wearing your helmet when you skate with T. You do not need to be told about traumatic brain injuries, you know all about that. Who will take care of your babies when you are incapacitated?”

“Geez, he’s a tattletale haha. I wear it sometimes.”

“Dad, did you hear what Grandma said?”

“Hey, T, I have an idea. Tell Daddy that I won’t allow him to go surfing the next time you guys come to visit if he doesn’t make good choices and wear his helmet.”

I hear him yelling at the top of his lungs, “DAD! GRANDMA SAID YOU CAN’T GO SURFING IF YOU DON’T WEAR YOUR HELMET!”

Then I hear Dad, “OK, tell Grandma I will.”

“Grandma, did you hear that? Daddy said he would wear his helmet.”

“Awesome job, T. We love Daddy and we want him to be safe just like we want you to be safe, right?”

“Right, Grandma. Hey, look at me jump! Grandma, I can jump so high! Grandma, did you send me a box of presents? Did you send The Borrowers Aloft?”

“I did, you’ll get the box in a couple of days.”

“DAD!!! JAY!!! I swear, I told you Grandma sent the second Borrower’s book! I knew she did. I told you not to buy it, I remember Grandma said she was going to send it.”

“OK Grandma, I’m going to go now. I’m going to have a bath. High five, Grandma.”

He likes to “high five” the phone.

“Bye, T. I love you.”

“Bye Grandma, love you, too. I’m going to hit the red button now.”

And he’s gone.

 

 

 

Soulshaping/Shapeshifting/Soulhealing

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Tough truths from Jeff Brown.

Someone– I can’t remember exactly who it was–shared these words with me, and they resonated. Deeply.

I don’t often post words written by others, but his thoughts are so much what’s on my own mind lately, so I will because he expressed it more succinctly than I ever could have, which is saying, something ‘cos he’s a guy and all… I don’t know much about his writings, but he considers himself a grounded spiritualist.

Jeff Brown…http://soulshaping.com/

It’s up to you- its always up to you. You can deny, repress, distort, and bury your unresolved wounds all you want. You can re-frame them, pseudo-positivity them, detach from them, spiritual bypass them. You can re-name yourself, hide away in a monastery, turn your story around. And you can spend all your money on superficial healing practices and hocus-pocus practitioners. But it won’t mean a damn thing, if you don’t do the deeper work to excavate and heal your primary wounds. Because the material is still there, right where you left it, ruling your life and controlling your choices. This is the nature of unhealed material- it is alive, and one way or the other, it will manifest itself in your lived experience. It will language your inner narrative. It will obstruct your path and limit your possibilities. It lives everywhere that you live. And so you have to decide- excavate it and bring it into consciousness where it can be worked through and integrated, or repress it and watch it rule your life. It’s one of the hardest truths we have to face: If we don’t deal with our stuff, it deals with us. There is no way around this. Choose.

http://www.Jeffbrown.co

 

Conversation with Inspiration: Gold Medalist Megan Blunk

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“My accident gave me a second chance at life, so I want everyone to know that you can fight it – and you can be happy. No matter what happens in life, don’t ever let it hold you back.” https://meganblunk.com

Totally rando and out of nowhere, I was in a very public place and there was a young woman in a wheelchair sort of pushing another wheelchair with slanted wheels (that I later learned was used when she played basketball). I asked her if she needed any help and she declined, but we started chatting and I learned that she is a real live HERO.

Her name is Megan Blunk. Originally from Gig Harbor, Washington, Megan is a Paralympic gold medalist for wheelchair basketball.

Megan discovered adaptive sports a year after a motorcycle accident that paralyzed her and also revived her former inner athlete. Prior to her accident, she was a five-sport athlete.

She went on to play college wheelchair basketball at the University of Illinois, where she completed a bachelor’s degree.

She’s an advocate for adaptive sports and speaks to groups and one-on-one with other athletes.

“Whenever I meet someone recently disabled, I reach out to them,” she said. “I would be there in a heartbeat if someone asked me to see someone who had just been injured.” https://meganblunk.com/2016/09/01/south-sound-magazine/

In my opinion, Megan really needs to do a Ted Talk. Her story — and her inner and outer strength — is an inspiration to everyone.

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Megan holding her gold medal.

A Slice of Covert Racism

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On a recent flight back home, I was sitting in my usual choice of an aisle seat mostly because I don’t like to crawl over strange legs when I need to use the restroom.

An older (older than me) woman crawled over me to take the window seat.

A young man was escorted to his seat directly across from me by a flight attendant who commented on his height and asked him how old he was as he was flying as an unaccompanied minor.

He was nine-years-old and about six feet tall.

Just a little boy in a man sized body.

I could feel his embarrassment as he was singled out for his height and I’m sure has had to endure a zillion comments about it.

He was very quiet, but seemed a little scared, so I chatted with him a bit, and he was very sweet. His dad was picking him up and he would be starting school in San Diego. He began to open up and just as I suspected, he was a little boy who didn’t really know how to deal with the fact that he looked like he was in high school.

The older woman next to me said, in a very heavy southern accent, “I should get his autograph now, he’s going to be famous.”

I didn’t respond to her right away because I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt or maybe I had misinterpreted what she was alluding to, but she repeated herself loud enough for the young man to hear, and I felt that I needed to do something.

I said, “What are you saying? That because he’s tall, his only life path is basketball?”

She looked at me and said, “Well, he’s tall…” and then her voice and thought faded.

I replied loud enough for anyone to hear, “Maybe he’s going to be a doctor. Or a professor. Or an artist or a writer. Just because someone has a physical trait doesn’t mean it’s a life sentence. He can and should do whatever touches his heart.”

The woman had so much ingrained covert racism built into her that she didn’t really know what to say, but a few minutes later she told me that she thought about it and agreed with me, so then we had a pleasant rest of the flight.

Did I change her?

Probably not, but the grateful smile I received from a nine-year-old made my day.

(And did I really need to mention that he was a six foot tall African American nine-year-old child or did you figure that out for yourselves?)

And then I saw this photo of Trump serving fast food to the Clemson team.
More covert or not so covert racism. Love Reggie Bush’s tweet.

Ocean Warrior: Sea Shepherd’s Captain Paul Watson

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Despite suffering from a sinus infection, Sea Shepherd’s Captain Paul Watson showed up on Saturday morning to meet and chat with the public when the vessel, M/V Farley Mowat, was docked in San Diego Harbor at the Maritime Museum, offering free tours all weekend.

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I took the train downtown and got there just in time to greet Capt. Watson as he arrived, and he kindly set aside time to respond to a couple of questions.

This is a man who walks the walk and talks the talk. He is a man of integrity and I admire him immensely and support his ideals and goals.

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While I’m waiting for the pics and video to download to WordPress, I’ll ask you a question…do you know who Farley Mowat was?

Canadian born, he authored one of the books that inspired me and shaped my existence as a wolf activist: Never Cry Wolf.

He created a body of work staggering in its quality and breadth: Sea of Slaughter, A Whale for the Killing, Grey Seas Under, Lost in the Barrens, Virunga: The Life of Dian Fossey (that became the movie Gorillas in the Mist), and many more.

One of Canada’s most popular and prolific writers, he became a champion of wildlife and native Canadian rights and a sharp critic of environmental abuse.

His writing spoke deep truths about humanity’s responsibility for the planet and the species we share it with. In doing so, he became one of the pioneers of the environmental movement.

The Sea Shepherd Conservation Society ship Farley Mowat was named in his honor, and he frequently visited it to assist its mission.

The M/V Farley Mowat has been in the Sea of Cortez saving the protected vaquita porpoise from gillnets: 

(https://enchantedseashells.com/2018/04/14/battle-in-the-gulf-of-california-for-the-traffic-of-sea-cocaine-maritime-herald/)

 

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Nothing happens without dedicated volunteers!

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Captain Paul Watson is a Canadian-American marine wildlife conservation and environmental activist who founded the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society, an anti-poaching and direct action group focused on marine conservation and marine conservation activism.

Since WordPress doesn’t allow me to post videos directly to a post (I have a free blog), here’s a link to a couple of videos of Capt. Watson I posted on Facebook. It can’t be embedded, but if you click on “Watch on Facebook”, you’ll be able to watch!

How To Hold Sacred Space

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Sacred / Scared

Switch one letter and not only is the word changed, but so is the meaning. That opens up a whole new conversation about fear; fear of the known and fear of the unknown.

Recently, I was chatting about sacred space and how to define that concept. I wasn’t quite sure I knew enough about it to offer an intelligent explanation that would make sense-I’m still not sure it makes sense for a lot of reasons, but I know that it accurately describes how I’m feeling.

When we hold space, we release control. Yup, that’s about right.

It’s another way to show unconditional love.

According to GoodTherapy.org, around the midpoint of life, we start picking up hints that we’re not going to live forever. In Once Upon a Midlife, Allan Chinen describes how shocking this realization can be, accompanied by anxiety and grief.

Especially at such a point, a sense of the sacred can act to ground us. As the fact of “me” begins to lose its apparent guarantee of continuance as well as its centrality (because how central to the universe can I be if I’m not going to be around?), the universe is less and less about me. But perhaps I become more and more about something else, something larger than me.

As above, so below…

Carl Jung notes that, in this way, the ego becomes relativized and the process of individualization—becoming wholly who we were meant to be—is accomplished. We begin to live in a system of meaning where the earth revolves around the sun, the sun rotates through the galaxy, and the galaxy itself follows its own great attractor. Our experience then seems to participate in larger movements, whether those are our family or a cause in which we believe or humanity in general, a spiritual pathway or the life of the universe.

Everyone has trauma.

The only way through trauma is to feel it. If a person doesn’t feel their pain, their anger, their fear—if they instead repress it—it grows and festers, like a sliver that doesn’t get pulled out. But feelings like pain, anger and fear are painful and scary!  Feeling them isn’t fun. It takes a great amount of courage and strength to do so.

Holding space means to release judgment, to open your heart and lend your courage and your strength. It means holding the four corners of a safe environment like a safety net for someone you care about to exorcise the hurt within them.

Allowing a human to cry, to scream, to shudder; to witness their authentic experience and react with love and acceptance to the extent that you are able/capable, is a powerful way to support them in this most important spiritual and emotional work; to hold hands physically and/or emotionally; to walk together through their journey of self discovery.

For me, it’s a little different. It might not make sense to anyone else but I visualize holding space more like a drawer I’ve cleared out in my bedroom or a space I’ve left empty in my heart. Being that resolute and solitary lighthouse, that beacon of shining white light on a dark and stormy night, blinking through the fog.

For me, this is sacred — even though at times it scares me to death.

(Featured image by Google/Pinterest)

There was that day I met His Holiness, The Dalai Lama

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Remember? It was back in June. You can read all about it here:

Meeting the Dalai Lama.Thaumaturgic.
https://enchantedseashells.com/2017/06/19/meeting-the-dalai-lama-thaumaturgic/

Still thaumaturgic. Still a magical never-to-be-forgotten day. Still healing.

The rest of the story of that day goes like this…

In my thoughts and preparations prior to that amazing experience, I thought it would be an appropriate act of kindness to bring the Dalai Lama a gift.

But what is the right and perfect giftslashoffering for a once-in-a-lifetime meeting with one of the most special humans on this planet?

What do you think?

Flowers? Nope. A gift certificate to Dave & Busters? Nope. An engraved pen and pencil set? Nope again. Money? Maybe, but I don’t have any to spare, so nope.

Guess. No, come on. GUESS!

Only my DIL got it right when I asked, “well, what do you THINK I would give him?”

Give up?

OK, silly as it may sound to you, I beautifully wrapped a few of my most special seashells and a rock that looks like a whale and placed them in a brightly colored cotton gift bag.  I know it might seem childish to you, but I never really grew up, so it’s in keeping with my mental/emotional age.

When I thought about what evokes enduring purity and beauty, there is nothing more meaningful to me than seashells and rocks. (Diamonds fit into that category too, but that’s another story.)

Y’all have already seen my seashell encrusted home, right?

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Before the Dalai Lama and Ann Curry appeared on stage, I struck up a conversation with one of his emissaries/bodyguards, and told them I had a gift I hoped to present to His Holiness.  They pointed out the person I should hand it to and suggested I do it right after the interview.

However, because His Holiness spent so much time answering my question and talking to me, he exceeded the time set aside for the interview and was late getting to the open air stage at Rimac Field where 25,000 people were waiting in the heat for us to finish our conversation…

Ann Curry whisked away the Dalai Lama and there was no time to offer my little gifts to His Holiness.

However, that setback didn’t deter me…

Since I’m such a great snoop investigative journalist,  I somehow discovered where His Holiness and entourage were staying, drove there, and left my treasures with the concierge at the front desk. I included a hastily written note to thank the Dalai Lama for speaking with me for such a long time and how much I appreciated his wisdom–along with my name, address, email, and phone number.

I drove home, trying to process the intensity of that surreal and amazing experience, and thought no more about it.

Even though I personally treasure every seashell and rock (truth), I didn’t seriously think that they would actually make the journey to be received –or acknowledged–by His Holiness–I don’t have a grandiose sense of my own importance in this world.

A couple weeks later on a Saturday afternoon, my cell phone rang with an unknown number from Florida. Normally, I don’t answer a number I don’t know-there are all those annoying telemarketing calls, but this time I pressed the accept button and said hello.

Imagine my surprise when a heavily accented voice asked for me (not Princess Rosebud lol, but my other name). The voice introduced himself as the Personal Emissary for Peace to His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. OH EM EFFF GEEEE!

Acting on behalf of His Holiness, the emissary was calling to thank me for my gifts and told me how much they were appreciated.

To describe my reaction succinctly. I was literally gobsmacked, And rendered pretty much speechless, which is a rare occurance.

One of the world’s most spiritual humans took the time to express GRATITUDE to me; an absolute nobody.

That’s the ultimate amazing ending to one of the most significant experiences of my entire life.

 What’s the message? What’s the lesson?

Gratitude and appreciation. If someone like the Dalai Lama can take the time and effort to acknowledge a handful of seashells and rocks, we all need to follow his example and this world will be a better place for us, our children, and grandchildren.

No, thank YOU, Your Holiness.

You restored my faith in humankind.

Namaste for reals.

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