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not to be melodramatic.

July 26, 2011

I am sure if my father read that last post he would say something like – OK ‘sarah’ stop it with the drama (emphasis on the dram-a).

Sometimes I treat this whole blog thing as a virtual diary.   It took me a while to even put down that dad was gone let alone process it in some sort of clear and eloquent way.  The truth is, I thought maybe by writing it down it would make it seem more real.  The last few weeks have been like an outer body experience.  I can actually see and relive the phone call that I got telling me what had happened as if I were the ghost of Christmas past hovering above the whole scene.

It’s hard to just suddenly lose someone who you are so very close with and then to go on with life.  Part of me feels like I will never go on and another part of me feels like I can’t believe I am getting out of bed and functioning.  But that’s what you have to do after loss – recognize it for what it is and then get yourself back up.

My dad would always say – it’s not the end of the world – and though it seems as if this is in some way or should be the end, the world is still moving.  Sometimes I want to scream and be like – stop!! my father isn’t here and this can’t be – but it just keeps going, people keep on living.

I went back to teaching my classes last week and cried along with my students recounting how yoga really has helped me.  The thing is that the whole yoga thing really works if you work it.  I feel a steadiness and am ok with the days when I am shaky.  I’m not sure I knew I’d ever be this strong without my practice.  With that practice comes a community – a kula – that is there to support and love, laugh and cry.

Last night in class I had students whom I teach both husbands and wives and even their children.  Their support and love means so much in times like these.  Many couldn’t believe I was back but it feels so good to serve and teach them as much as they serve me by just being there. My father was just like that – he was always helping people.  Friend of the friendless he was called and I know those traits were passed on to me.

It was a rough night last night.  I felt crappy – even all the students sort of felt crappy. About a quarter of the way through half the class was down.  I’ve never really had this happen before.  The theme was about how you cultivate and tend to what you have – so I took it as a cue to slow things down and take care of them.  By the end of class they were back and feeling much better.  Towards the end, one student looked at me and said something about not having been in class in a while and that coming back is hard.

I thought about it as they lay motionless in svasana – coming back is hard.  Whether it’s back to a class or back to life after a loss.  It takes a vulnerability that you have to be OK with.  As I thought about it more I realized – coming back is hard, but not coming back is harder.

july 1, 2011.

July 18, 2011

worst fear come true.

Dad was hit by a drunk driver and killed upon impact while riding his motorcycle in PA.  Even as I type this it still doesn’t seem true.  17 days have passed – we didn’t get to see him at the wake.  All we have are bits and pieces.  The house is empty.  I feel like I am constantly looking for something that I lost.  I don’t even see him in my dreams.

It sucks so bad.  So bad.

I can’t even begin to figure out how to move on.  I feel this inner strength but then there are times when I am just so sad.  Sadder than any time when I was a depressed teenager.  I miss him so much.  Just want to hear his voice and see him across the room.

guess who.

June 10, 2011

I got this sweet email from my dad today that said ‘find grandma’ and this pic was attached.


It’s been a while since my grandma passed and now her brother and sister in law have both passed as well.  I know my grandma brought me to a party when I was in my early 20’s for her brother Roy’s anniversary.  Everyone raved about how I much older I looked and asked me questions about work and college.  She was so proud and happy to spend the day with me and show me off like a prize.

It’s interesting to have all these connections.  Before the internet and facebook, I probably wouldn’t even know what most of the people looked like.  I now am connected to cousins and second cousins and all sorts of others.  Looking at this pic, I wonder who all these ladies are – are they the ladies that shaped me into who I am today – I am sure at least one of them is.  My grandma is the one with the white shirt sitting in front with the young girl on her lap.  Barbara Wilde Morgan.  Wilde her given last name and Morgan her adopted family name.  I will have to do some research to find out who everyone else is.  I do love looking at these old pics.

 

 

 

total sap.

May 23, 2011

I’m a sucker for a sweet love story.  I totally lost my tough girl street cred the moment I fell in love.

This video really made me smile and cry a bit.

totally inspired.

May 17, 2011

went to the met this weekend and saw the Alexander Mc Queen show – it was breath taking.

this hologram video was one of the highlights:

even though he was obsessed with darkness and death there was something so romantic about his designs.  also, you can totally tell where Lady GaGa gets her inspiration.

freedom of indifference.

May 4, 2011

I am having a hard time wrapping my head around the whole idea of freedom and rejoicing in the death of an enemy.   Beyond the sheer thrill of the Jack Bauer/espionage-style  taking of the compound and killing of Bin Laden over the weekend, I just sort of feel un-settled.  Maybe it’s a good thing, a marker of morality.  All I know is that I still remember the fear and unsettling feelings that were experienced during the whole 9-11 experience in NYC back when I lived in Brooklyn – but killing one man who was behind an ideology that is followed by many doesn’t really make it even or right.

There’s no right or wrong answer here; it’s hard to define justice in this instance and probably in most.

good friday.

April 22, 2011

me and gram at her 55th high school reunion - 2007

It’s Good Friday here and Wookie and I are home chilling out with the kitties, listening to records.  I’ve thought many times about writing blog entries but just haven’t had time or energy.  It’s nice to have a three-day weekend to really enjoy some down time.  It doesn’t feel much like Easter, it’s kind of cold and though the trees have started to bloom its a gloomy day in New Jersey.

Last week I thought of my Grandma and how much she loved this season.  From as long as I could remember she used to make the whole family Easter Baskets with homemade – molded chocolates.  My first memory of this was back when she lived in the old house, the one my father and his brothers grew up in, in Pequannock, NJ.  The house is no longer there, it was torn down years ago and the place where is used to stand is now an extension of a bank parking lot across from the CVS.

I remember this first time of being in her kitchen with my mother.  We made some chocolates, but what most intrigued me was how she made her own chocolate covered cherries and peanut butter cups.  She worked diligently, most-likely with a cigarette in hand telling us stories about her job at the police station.  My mom used to help her every year – it was sort of a tradition.

When my sister and I were old enough, we would go a few weekends before Easter to help her out.  It was an all weekend event.   My parents would drop us off on Saturday morning and Grandma would have the piles of molds out and bags of all sorts of chocolate pellets to be melted down and set into the molds.  A double broiler would be on the kitchen table and we would get to work.   We’d work until the evening and usually order something from the pizza place or even run out to Micky D’s for dinner followed by a movie and sleep over on her pull-out couch that had this amazing velour cheetah blanket that would shed its fur all over.

When we made the candy, the air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and melted chocolate.  After about three hours, you’d feel sick to your stomach from a combination of the smell and the amount of chocolate that you licked off your fingers – but it was worth it.  The table would be full of bowls of half melted chocolate – dark, milk, white, pastel pink and green and yellow and about every other Easter-y color you could think of.  She must have spent a fortune on it.  We would use paint brushes to get things just right.

She had a list with everyone in the family’s name and what type of chocolate they preferred.    Over the years she had acquired quite a collection of interesting molds.  Each person on the list got a special type of molded chocolate according to their interests. For instance, my aunt Penny would get chocolate shaped hair dryers and curlers since she was a hair dresser – my uncles and father would get chocolate shaped tools and my sister and I got over the years ballet chocolate and even softball chocolates.  I bet if she still did it today, I would get yoga chocolates!!  Oh and she also made obscene chocolates, too.  She was always crazy like that – she made these after my sister and I went to bed or left – chocolate penis’ and boobs!!  I think most of the molds were thrown out years before she passed away, after she got too sick to actually all the chocolate.  But we really relished that time.  It was a time of just hanging out with grandma and creating and being beyond an sugar high you could ever imagine.

The result was on Easter she would show up with everything packaged in pretty glassine bags with ribbons inside a bag that had fake Easter grass and jelly beans.  Each bag must have weighed five pounds each and we’d have the candy for ever!  For my sister and I there was always a special treat that she would get pre-made from the chocolate supply store.  The most memorable was in my teenage years –  a chocolate telephone!

It’s a little too late do to it this year, but maybe next year I can get some molds and start the tradition again.  I love this memory.  Hopefully my sis and I can pass this on to our kiddies one day.  Miss you Gram.  xoxox

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