Appliance Love

 

Lobster Phone by Salvador Dali

After the Ecstasy, the Laundry

"Hi Chela-Bella, how are you?" My Mom's Swedish accent sounded in my ear as I cradled the phone to my cheek. 

"Well, Mom, the good news is, I've fallen in love. The bad news is..." I love my Mom. Both her and my Dad have been the epitome of tolerance and acceptance throughout my eclectic love life, which has ranged from my boyfriend living with us when I was a teenager to my fierce lesbian separatist days in my twenties to being with a transgender partner in my thirties.

"Mom, I've fallen in love with the Miele."

Yes, it was true. My Mom had left her Miele vacuum cleaner at my house for six months. It was worth more than my current car. Candy red, hummed like a well tuned Lamborghini, and boy, could that machine clean.

I think I'm going to start a new movement: Appliance Love. We all know how attached some folks are to their cell phones and laptops, let alone the Hitachi, but it is time to start coming out from the utility closet. Some of us have longer, more meaningful relationships with our household friends than with humans.

I see parades going down Pacific Avenue, led by the Precision-Drill Dust-Buster Squad, followed by the Microwave Marching Band, and of course, the Automatic Coffee Pot float will be one of the main attractions. I'll be the Grand Marshall, my Miele beside me as we cruise in a well decorated convertible, throwing replacement filters into the cheering crowd. Everyone will chant, "2, 4, 6, 8... Take your fax machine on a date!"

Next, we'll petition governments for the right to marry. I mean, there's domestic partners and then there are DOMESTIC partners, right? "To have and to hold, from this day forward, until death or the end of the warranty do us part..."

I made the gross mistake of attempting non-monogamy with my Miele. Yes, I admit it - I let my housemate touch her hose, fondle her attachments, and (gasp) change her bag. Now, I love and trust my housemate to the core, but my whole world shifted when I heard those words, "It just doesn't seem to be picking up like it used to..."

Yesterday I sat out on the back deck and took the Miele apart. Five years of accumulated cat fur, dust, threads, and hair had worked its way in every conceivable crack, corner, and crevice. I used screwdrivers, scissors, exacto knives, and two different kinds of tweezers to lure its secrets out. 

At a certain point, my daughter came out onto the deck. She surveyed the vacuum cleaner parts spread methodically over the deck, my deep plum velvet skirt covered in grey lint, the look of glee in my eyes as I snapped open this and screwed shut that. She listened to me prattle on about how much money I had just saved by spending hours of my time doing this.

"Mom," she said in her funny drawl, "You are all the husband you will ever need." 

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Raging Hormones

 

Guess what, there's a lot to feel crazed by, let alone be angry about, during menopause, as wellas these particular times. So don’t just be a cranklepuss or a curmudgeon, notice what is really infuriating - it might be some old family dynamics or just what is going on in our government right now. Anger is truly a force to embrace, rather than just trying to be nice or deny it. It can explode and harm others, or implode and harm oneself. Anger serves a purpose - it lets us know that something is not right, something needs to change. 

Often, behind anger is hurt or fear. Take, for example, if someone is standing on my foot. It hurts. I express pain. They don't do anything about it. Now I express anger - I get louder, or maybe I even shove them off my foot. Then negotiations need to start - does the other person see the harm, take responsibility? Do I just act the victim and not say anything, or respond in a passive-aggressive way, i.e., make them feel guilty without letting them know what happened? Whether it is your spouse or your government who is stepping on your toes (or your rights), now is a good time to be fierce and passionate in expressing yourself and your needs. Channel that anger into something passionate, productive, and hopefully for social good.

It's okay to be crankypants. Just like puberty, just like being pregnant, the hormones they are-a-raging. Not that I was ever pregnant, boy oh boy, have I witnessed some emotional turbulence. In fact, if I ever start a Metallica band, it'd be called Hormonal Flux. I think my next bumper sticker will say, “Hormones: Gotta Love ‘Em.” Or maybe, “Have you done your Kegels today?” 

Something as stupid as a Band-Aid commercial puts me in tears. My mind obsesses on worst-case scenarios, and my dreams are plagued with apocalyptic scenes. My body is pumped with not just the mmmm whale noises endorphins but a bunch of testosterone, survivalist notions, my inner cranklepuss activated. Crank crank crank, churn, churn, churn. What has been helpful is to allow each catastrophe to unfold in my imagination, to be mindful to tap into my own inner resourcefulness by writing them out to completion in my journal.

Be Humble. You have never done this before. Puberty, pregnancy, perimenopause - you’ve been through some of these hormonal roller coasters, but nothing like this. Thank the goodness you are stronger than before. Rather than cursing, what follows in the next section is a blessing ritual to transform unhelpful people/situations into helpful ones.

This is a good time to review your past, make peace with it, and let it go. Whether you have prior conflicts or regrets or resentments, it could be as simple as writing a letter, going to therapy, or practicing forgiveness. One can define forgiveness as no longer being affected by a person or incident, not that what happened was okay or ever will be okay. But you can be okay. So forgive parents, siblings, ex-lovers. None of these people and none of the past define you now. If you can’t or don’t want to forgive, you can bless them and move on, using a Helpful Beings Box.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Thoughts on Being Barren

  

When I got together with my loverloo, he was quite willing to discuss having kids, despite our advanced age (I was forty-three at the time, he was fifty-six). My logical mind said no, health risks, etc., my emotional side... Mixed whale noises. Happily, I have both step-children and grandkids, so certainly my world has expanded.

There is a difference between not being able to give birth anymore and choosing not to have children of one's own. I never wanted to have children. In fact, there are only two distinct times in my life when I wanted to get pregnant. Once, when I was in high school, I simply felt so happy in a random moment with my sweetheart. Then, in my late thirties, after getting divorced. I realized pretty quickly it was not that I wanted another child, but wanted a child that I would not have to share custody with. Get a cat, I told myself.

So it came as quite the surprise that when my eggs dried up, I grieved no longer having the option to conceive, even though I never felt the proverbial biological clock ticking, let alone the biological urge to procreate.

I found myself thinking about empty vessels. On my altar is an empty birch bark basket, made by my Nona Linda, my maternal grandmother. It sits on a piece of embroidery from Nona Theresa. Next to that is an empty bowl. Where is there sacredness in the absence of all? I find myself contemplating the black hole in the middle of my uterus, which is not just blank but somehow sucking in all of my life force within. When I succumb to the abyss, I allow myself to wallow in the nothingness. Sometimes this looks like staying in bed for hours on end. Maybe it is this hollow feeling that we try to feed with posting on social media, gloom scrolling (what I like to call doom scrolling), or endless NYT crossword puzzles. I take a moment to imagine being hollow like a drum, still resonant, still beating.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Embracing Chiron, The Wounded Healer

 

No coincidence, I am also experiencing my Chiron return, astrologically speaking. Once a year, the Earth goes around the Sun, our solar return, happy birthday. Every 28-33 years, we experience our Saturn Return, a time to review our feelings of family and being in authority. Chiron has an eclectic orbit; most people experience a Chiron return in their late forties and early fifties. Chiron’s message in our natal charts is, “Change your greatest wounds into your greatest gifts.” 

According to Greek mythology, Chiron is the Wounded Healer. He was an immortal, but as luck would have it, he got stabbed by one of Hercules' poison arrows. He was condemned to being in agony for eternity. He scoured the earth looking for a cure, trying each and every one of the herbs for medicinal properties, but to no avail. So he decided to turn over his knowledge of the healing properties of plants to humanity, even though he still suffered. The gods and goddesses were so moved by this gesture that they decided to let Chiron become mortal, and thus die from Hercules' arrow. 

Now he is an asteroid in the sky, known as the rainbow bridge linking Mars and Jupiter, our deepest desires, and our willingness to be in the social world. The message here is how to change one's deepest wound into one's greatest gift, to bridge our selfish desires with our desire to improve the world, not just enjoy it. 

People tend to experience a Chiron return around the time of menopause. We are looking at our past and recognizing the need to stop being a victim of conditioning; it is not our wounds that define us. How to walk as the hero, but also the healer, the teacher, the mentor, and in whatever way, encourage future generations despite our own frustrations. Check with your local astrologer or an ephemeris to see where Chiron is in your chart. 

 

When you are honest with yourself and are willing to stop picking at the past, to let those wounds heal, maybe you’ll have some scars, but you’ll feel integrated and whole again. Embracing Chiron means moving out of being a Victim, Martyr, or Bully and walking the path of the Peaceful Hero. Stands up for yourself and knows how to sparkle.

 

Chiron's message in the chart is the same for everyone - that no matter what happens in life, it is nothing but a learning experience that should not be seen as a failure or drawback. Everything that happens has purpose, and the more that you can acknowledge this, the more attuned to the Universe and the people around you, you will be, and the more you will heal - physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

 

What will bring you out of your grief, woundedness, and shame? Laughter is the best medicine, but there are other modalities to support you - storytelling, acupuncture, massage, aromatherapy. Learn how to use your personal birth chart as a map to navigate your own healing journey.

Laughing Meditation - Start by saying out loud, "Ha, ha, ha. Hee, hee, hee. Ho, ho, ho." Do it faster and faster until you actually do start laughing. In particular, try when driving. Other drivers might notice that you are laughing, which can make you laugh harder. Laugh when you need to visit the ATM, then you can say you were laughing all the way to the bank!

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Reclaiming Hypatia

 

During this time of menopause, I've been doing art projects that have been on my mind for years, a feeling of tying up loose ends, taking things off the back burner, a need for completion and closure. This included painting a statue by Philippa Bowers, which was part of a Goddess fountain when I had my café back in the nineties. About two feet tall, glazed in a matt green, cradling a large vibrant purple amethyst cluster, we named her Hypatia after the Greek mathematician, who was killed by having her flesh flayed with oyster shells.

 

We would add a few drops of bleach each week to the fountain water to keep down bacteria. After a dozen years, bleach deposits both built up and began to decay parts of her face and body, as well as loosening the crystals in her belly. After I closed Herland, Hypatia came to live in my garden, along with an assortment of other broken-nosed and gently damaged goddesses.

 

Being flayed was a feeling I related to, and during those dozen years, I got over a dozen tattoos. Much of this was a reclaiming of my body, my beliefs, and my standards of beauty. A way to be comfortable in my skin. Everyone has scars on the inside - mine are on the outside, and they are pretty, colorful, and make for good stories.

 

Now in my fifties, I'm experiencing a new body image issue, that of becoming the crone, the hag, the elder. What does it mean to age gracefully? What does it mean to express my authentic self? I am questioning dying my hair, working to accept my Buddha belly, while pondering the delight in creases, folds, and wrinkles.

 

I decided to paint Hypatia, to reclaim her as a symbol of my croning. Her hair is silver white, with a crown of pearls and roses. As I painted her thin hair, fine wrinkles, smile lines, tattoos, and scars, I thought of Ani DiFranco's line, "I got highways for stretch marks, see where I've grown." I think about all the ways to love a body that is half a century old, the ways to treat myself with tenderness and respect. Just like my old car, this body needs more regular tunings, more quality fuel, and a little more lubricant.

How will you re-create yourself today?

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Thoughts on Going Crazy

 

“‘Ormones, Me-Kay-La. ‘Ormones.” My Dadsays in his rich Italian accent as he swirls his coffee over our regular lunch date. “You know, my mother went crazy during menopause. Are you ready to go crazy?”

His memories of his mother were not pretty. Mostly, I remember my grandmother always saying I was too skinny and trying to feed me, “Mangia, mangia, mangia!” Ironic that now I’m fat.

I remember a particularly dramatic day in Milan when I was around seven years old. Nona Theresa showed up unexpectedly after taking the bus from Rome, her arms in the air, screaming at the top of her lungs, "Io Venuto!” 

Being crazy is something I'm pretty paranoid about, mostly from messages from my parents, who owned every self-help book available in the 80s. No wonder I got into the field of mental health. But what is crazy? There certainly are the manic-depressive moments, emotional sensitivity, angry outbursts, and storms of tears, but so far, I have never actually questioned my sanity. I have been aware of the roller coaster, and thus mindful as a result, to read these as symptoms that need addressing, not labels for the rest of my life. Back to soothing teas, acupuncture, doing the emotional release technique, as well as more art and journaling to channel mine, and hopefully my grandmother's energies into something grounded and centered.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Vintage

Growing older, more mature, 

I appreciate the finer things in life - 

Grape vines, aged cheese, 

Antique candle holders, broken down barns. 

Savoring the time it takes to craft

Richness of patience paying off.

My plate is less full, 

Bites smaller. 

Life is bursting with zest and vitality, 

Never experienced before all this

Death and decay.

I welcome new flavors and savor familiar delights.

I enjoy sharing the abundance

In the simplest of ways.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Cultivating Lightheartedness

Laughter is the best medicine.

Even before menopause, I would run incredibly hot during sessions. I figured it was just nervous energy, but I needed to discover how to channel it. I learned to wear slip-off shoes even in winter, to send the nervous energy through my feet into the earth to be grounded. 

Then I heard about Reiki, the passing of energy for the most beneficial good, and instantly became intrigued. It has been an amazing adjunct, whether combined with hypnotherapy or as a modality on its own. Developed by Dr. Mikao Usui in Japan during the early 1900s, Reiki is one way to tap into universal energy.

When I enrolled, I expected to learn some techniques much like learning massage. To my surprise, what we really did was about fifteen hours of meditation. After being attuned, we were taught how to facilitate the flow of energy and the release of negativity. 

I had a profound vision during my Reiki I class, which included being deeply in service to Jesus by washing his feet with my hair, cleaning his wounds, and assisting him. Now, I was not brought up Christian; if anything, my parents are militant agnostics, so this was very unexpected. 

After this class, I was qualified to perform self-Reiki, to pass energy through my own body to facilitate relaxation and thus the healing process. I also noticed a new relationship with animals - cats in particular come running up to me in the street, a phenomenon I like to call Rei-kitty.

After a year of practice, I went for Reiki II in order to learn how to assist others. Another fifteen-hour meditation ensued. Once again, I set my intention to be in service, and this time I saw myself before Mary Magdalene, washing her feet with my hair, wiping away her tears, knowing my role is to offer comfort and compassion to those who have suffered loss and grief.

Another year passed, and I decided to go for my Reiki III, the ability to do distance healings. It was a period of conflict and inner confusion, so I set the intention to experience clarity. On the last day of our attunements, nine students circled me on the massage table, the last one to receive the Reiki energy that day. One student laid her hands on my temples, another on my ankles, and the others formed a linking bridge to continuously pass energy through my being. “Clarity, clarity, clarity,” I chanted in my head, “Clarity, clarity, clarity.” When Jim Carrey appeared…

Yes, Jim Carrey, snorting like a crazy man, a bottle of sinus medication in one hand, laughing at me, saying, "Clarity? You want Clarity? Try this for clarity, Kayla. Try lightening up!"

Yes, how to stop taking myself so seriously, cultivate lightheartedness, how to see humor in my situation, how to inspire through the ultimate medicine, laughter. 

I have a deep respect for Reiki and practice every day. But I always have a secret smile before we begin, blessing the situation in the name of Jesus, Mary, and Jim.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Quest for Vision

 

I had been wandering for hours, blind, barefoot, lost in the forest, no water, almost sunset. How could this happen? It all started with a quest for better vision.

 I first began wearing glasses in sixth grade, and like most people, have seen an increase in my prescription over the years. I switched to contacts in tenth grade and wore them consistently for the next twenty years. Indeed, my motto for a long time was, “Home is where the contact lens case is."

I decided to go back to wearing glasses full-time about five years ago. I went to my optician for a new set, feeling that I was having a hard time reading. The doctor said my prescription had changed so minimally that it was not worth getting a new one, but instead they encouraged me to simply stop wearing my glasses when reading, as I am nearsighted.

Part of my Ph.D. program included a six-week course in Integrative Vision Therapy. Much like the aromatherapy class, I knew that this was something I wanted to use for myself right away. As soon as I started the unit, I began taking my glasses off in earnest. I beaded an eyeglass chain to make it easier for me to switch back and forth from my prescribed vision to “naked vision.”

This was a mindfulness exercise. I started with fifteen-minute increments, usually while studying, and gradually increased to a few hours (cumulative) a day. I began to challenge myself more by walking the half hour to my dance classes with no glasses on, observing my internal state as I negotiated streets and crosswalks. I noticed feeling internally softer as I experienced the blur, as well as a softening of my facial muscles. I felt like I was not wearing my social mask, but instead felt really relaxed and unconcerned about other people and their perceptions of me. I also found myself less worried about the mundane details of life (paying bills, returning calls, picking up kids, etc.) and more enjoying the moment, discovering how much more I really could see than I had expected. I felt safe and grounded, never in any danger. 

Not that I’m ready to drive without glasses, but this was certainly the proverbial eye-opener as to the extent to which my glasses felt like a crutch. As I navigated the paths in my softer vision, I found it easier to visualize the steps I needed to take to decrease my stress levels in other aspects of my life. This seemed to flow with the assertion that nearsightedness is a message of being afraid to see what’s out there, of pulling with, and to begin reaching out with a clearer purpose and to take risks, as well as to use relaxation techniques that allow “being” more than “ doing.”

I found myself using naked vision more and more, during lectures, meetings, and times when I didn’t have a need to be completely focused (i.e., in control), such as hanging out in a café or having dinner. Breaking my morning habit of reaching for my glasses had been difficult, but I now I could trust that no gnomes had moved the coffee-pot in the middle of the night, and I found it easier and easier to delegate my lenses to the realm of something that I need to drive, much like my keys, rather than something I need to clingto all day long.

Time passed, and I finished the final exam for the course, and I knew sushi would be somewhere in the picture as a reward. It was still fairly early in the afternoon, so I chose to start with a hike up to the Land of Medicine Buddha, a retreat that was close to my office in Soquel Village. 

Just driving through the redwoods felt relaxing. I parked my car about a half mile away, planned to walk up to the retreat, do a brief walking meditation around the prayer wheel, and be back in about half an hour, if that. 

I took my glasses off as I moved along the road, finding my rhythm and feeling my stride. As I crossed a little bridge, I noticed how much noise my shoes were making, and I decided to slip them off. I popped them by a tree trunk, putting my car keys and glasses inside, so I wouldn't have to carry anything either. I felt light and easy in the moment.

I had been stressed all month, combined with allergies, and had seen a return of GERD and asthma as a result. "What steps do I need to take for my health?" kept going through my head as I reached the Prayer Wheel. I gripped the handle and began walking, closing my eyes and letting the wheel guide me. I thought about how many feet had stepped on this circle before, how many prayers for peace and to be released from suffering had been chanted. I noticed the shadows and golden sunlight dancing on my eyelids as I went slower and slower.

After some time had passed, I felt complete. Jauntily, I set off down the path feeling better than I had in a long time. After a while, the path started to veer sharply up, and I came across a gate with a "No Trespassing” sign. 

It should say "No Stress-passing," I thought, realizing right then that I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. "Okay, " I mused, "Here's this adventure." Well, four hours later…

Some who wander actually are lost. I had to laugh at myself, for pretty much I was experiencing my worst nightmare - no idea where I was, barefoot, no glasses, the sun starting to set, getting thirsty. And I was fine. Of course, I started to imagine more and more dire situations - by the time I did find the bridge, what if a squirrel had stolen my car keys? I took some deep breaths and reminded myself to be calm, be mindful, use my senses, tune in to nature, my nature. 

I paid attention to the moss under my sore feet, the feel of stepping on soft, dead leaves, the quiet rustles, and inconsistent bird calls. This was no vision quest, the finding of a spirit name. It was a trust walk, as in I could trust that I could find my way back home. I turned a corner, and there below me in the blurry distance was the bridge with my little blue car parked far below. I wound myself down through the purplish dusk. Never have I felt so thankful to slip on my shoes, jingle my keys, tuck my glasses safely behind my ears, and be able to focus clearly. And I tell you, that was the best sushi I've ever had in my life.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Rag Burning Ritual

 

Thirteen moons had passed since my last period. I contemplated the red bundle in the middle of the woodstove in its nest of kindling. For over a year, it had sat on my altar, a red linen ceremonial cloth from a menstruation ceremony now tied over a plethora of bandannas, glad rags, scraps of paper scribbled with names, dried lavender, and rosemary from the garden. 

It took time for the bundle to catch fire, and much longer for it to burn completely to ash. I let these cool, then scooped them into my little iron cauldron. I walked down to the church located at the center of the circles on the West Side of Santa Cruz and began to walk a labyrinth through the streets and neighborhood. I would stop at trees and sprinkle a pinch of ash and a blessing, slowly, deliberately, intentionally. Spiralling out from that holy ground, blessing my neighbors, my home, the ocean, I felt more and more release until I was as empty as my cauldron.

Now two years have passed, and I contemplate doing this ritual again, with the sweat-soaked rags from the ripped-up cotton sheets that have become my new favorite mopping tool. Simply setting the intention to be able to say, “This too has passed.”

What’s in your bundle? How will you release it? Remember to be mindful, be intentional, and be joyous.

Blessed be.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone}