The bronze Spirit Warrior Sculpture by Ogala artist Colleen Cutschall at the Indian Memorial. Little Bighorn National Monument, Montana.

 

I can hear the followers of Camp Liza canceling their subscriptions as I write.  Because who wants to read about death?  The fact is, if you think about death, like the Buddhists do, you will live ever so much a more beautiful, rich life. And we all want that.

So today, let’s think about death.

This post is inspired by the accidental death of a friend last week. It was a day like any other. An artist, he went to work. A big machine fell on him. Yup.

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One day last week I cried so much I had to drink tall glasses of water for the rest of the day to rehydrate myself. I cried for different things that both were and weren’t happening to me. I won’t bore you with my “stuff.”  I’m sure you have your own.

I invoked Tony Robbins’ “90 second rule” — but I turned it into a four hour rule, because 90 seconds seemed a little too short for me (haha). The 90 second rule is to let yourself feel your pain, sorrow, suffering for 90 seconds.

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What’s missing from this idyllic picture of the Ile St. Louis? Me, walking it! Soon!

 

On Tuesday it will be three weeks since I had my hip replacement surgery. How to give you an update without sounding all boring about medical blah blah, when there is so much more in life to think about.

And that’s the point. Get on with the health and recovery but put your attention on the delicious stuff of life that awaits.

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Why do we love hospital shows so much when the reality is so not nice? That’s putting it mildly! For as long as I can remember there’s always been a medical show on the air — because doctors and hospitals bring on the drama. Unwanted drama.

I won’t dwell on boring medical blah blah, but here’s what’s happening. After five years of pain that I ignored because, who wants to pay attention to pain…I’ll be having a hip replacement this week. Not how I planned to spend the Easter hols.

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Jealousy sounds so much nicer in French, doesn’t it?  Romantic. Poetic.

In another twist, jalousie in English refers to a “blind or shutter made of angled slats.”  Go figure.

As a femme d’un certain age, I’m mortified to admit that I’m prone to occasional whiffs of jealousy envy. How embarrassing is that? It’s true that life is always like high school over and over again — same cliques, same emotions.

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Mine does.

I recall my father saying to me when he was in his 70’s and 80’s: “My skeleton hurts.” I let it slide by, not understanding, not caring to understand.  That’s the arrogance and breeziness of youth.

Now I understand.  My skeleton hurts.  I guess I inherited it from him.

So, in addition to this being the year of living passionately, this is also the year of the bod.  My bod.

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New Year’s eve morning as I write this. I’ve spent the week between Christmas and today pondering the events of 2016. I’m surprised at the number of surprises I had in 2016. It was a year of surprises.  And I’d like another please.  I believe this is because of my new commitment to extemporaneous living, instead of planning everything out.  There’s a flow going on.

Here’s my list. I suspect you had tons of surprises too.  What’s on your list?

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This is where I’ll be this week

Whilst many of you in western countries are returning gifts and shopping the ginormous after Christmas sales, I, here in Tropica, will be on the yoga mat, taking stock.

The week between Christmas and New Year’s is when newspapers, magazines and television make their round ups of 2016. I too find the need to take stock, to quantify and review the past year as I approach the new.

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A lifelong friend of mine passed away last week.  At first I felt numb.  Then I felt sadness and loss.  I accepted the condolences. I grieved.

And now I feel angry.

We are uncomfortable with feeling anger in general, and especially uncomfortable with feeling angry at someone who has died.  It doesn’t seem right, or “seemly.”

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