Sand III

I headed down a path
but when I turned around
it was gone
So I looked ahead and
kept walking
like a new bride going
down her aisle
A virgin going
into the ocean
into heaven
into hell
into nothing

Fear shells crumble
as the ocean pulverizes them
Crab thoughts skitter
as birds peck their flesh
the seaweed
tangles in heaps of
dreams gone awry

The tide does not discriminate
It will take me out
or the quick of the sand
if I remain too long

Seagull veils
scream their train chant
attached to my back
but I can not understand
their language, their messages

I just keep going
toward
leaving my disappearing
footsteps behind.....


2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Sand II

 

And when my imprint
blows away
will I be ok with that
or will it be like blinking
and during that transient moment
I miss something
as the wind carries away
the now granular memories
of who I was

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Sand I

I fall to my knees

on sand and beckon foam prayers

as I sink within

Rozanna Landavazo 2010

Return

The leaves shutter

and loosed from

their mother limbs

float gracefully

downward,

letting go

of their life

The Aspen tree

poses

in her silver

undergarments

a stripper

tossing shapley

good-byes

A few leaves

dangle like earings

on the Maple

whispering

secrets to

those who

happen by

laying carpet

before

disintegrating

into the earth

to nurture

replenish

Quietly they

drift

departing

in grace

2010 Rozanna Landavazo



Victoria's Secret

2010 Victoria's Secret

So, today I invite my husband to share the precious space where I walk.  A four mile hike along a dike where a family of coyotes, turtles, ducks, caterpillars, slugs, blue herons, frogs, carp, nutrias and an occasional owl or two grace the environment.

Why didn't I recognize the signs from a nurse who had just come off a 5 night, 60 hour run of work, who walked in the door this a.m.  as I was enjoying my first cup of freshly ground coffee, grooving in the fen shui of my home when suddenly and quite rudely am disrupted by HIM shouting in his bathroom that his toilet had overflowed onto the floor.  Yikes, his Ch'i materializes into a flash of tightey whiteys across the living room and as I struggle to ignore this particular reality enfolding in front of me, it dawns on me that I heard the linen closet door close.   As calmly as I can but without a whole lot of success, I literally shrill, "DID YOU JUST TAKE OUR BATH TOWELS OUT TO WIPE THE FLOOR?  A very strong, holding his ground, convinced and determined tone of voice answered back with just a hint of threat, "Yes, I did".  Ok girl, shift down to a normal voice and mirroring his tone of voice, I reply, "do not use our towels to wipe up your floor".  Whoops, he escalates, "WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO USE?"   In a very quiet, somewhat condescending voice ,  "the old ones in the rag bag".  End of conversation.  After he showered, he heads to bed, gives me a kiss and says he is sorry for "yelling" at me.  Cool, apology accepted.

Then he wakes up.

So both of us have been working, me days, him nights and we haven't see each other in a week, so I stupidly, yes stupidly, ask if he notices that I have lost a total of 5 lbs.  He stands there like a deer in the headlights and I am thinking, "oh shit", thinking of course he will say the "right" thing like a simple "yes".  OH NO.....not......negative.  He says, "yep, your butt looks smaller".  Whaaaaaaaaaat?  "What is that supposed to mean?  Do you think I have a big ass?  I thought that was the smallest part of my body."  So I am trying to look behind myself, on either side of me, and in the most evil tone of voice I can muster, I say, "I meant my face or something".  He answers with an itty bitty, "oh".

Ok, we won't let that ruin the day, I am thinking.  Let's go for a walk, it's 70 degrees, the sun is out, not a cloud in the sky.

We get to the dike and to think it was only yesterday that I walked it alone with my pink Orange County Chopper baseball hat and a Gortex rain coat.    It  rained softly, a gentle shower but it was ok.  The air was full of wonderful fresh scents and I was deeply inhaling the smell of wet earth and appreciating how the rain cleans the air.  I don't need an Ipod hooked into my brain, distracting me from the sound of the wind, or the sight of  everything swaying; I don't want to miss a thing.  I get to go to my celestial chatroom to check in on all my R.I.P. buddies, listen to my inner voice, think about people I love, write poems on the  little tablet I carry or even sing.  I love watching clouds.  There were great big voluminous clouds everywhere in the sky and I remember what my friend Susanne told me before she died,  "find me in the clouds, in the trees" so I look.....hard.  I saw 2 people playing leap frog, a lion, a hippopotamus, a sleeping dog, a dog laying on its back, and uh, er, a couple procreating, (I kind of watched that one for awhile).   So basically it was a good walk.

I am known for not leaving well enough alone.  I did not earn my survival badges retreating to anywhere safe.  So we start on the trail and I say, "OK, be specific, exactly where on my butt do you think it's smaller".   He puts one finger on my hip bone near my waist.  I said, "that's not my butt" but he insists it is.  So he tries every which way to say he wasn''t talking about my butt, but this little area and he went into elaborate detail, an almost scientific analysis of this area of my butt.  I scream, "ENOUGH", what about my stomach and waist area and here it comes:

"Well, you must of lost weight there, your boobs look bigger".  I am glad I don't carry a gun.

Victoria's Secret, oh sling goddess of the down trodden, saddened, tired slopes of femininity that once stood at attention and saluted quite proudly anyone who cared to look.  Oh yes, the slings that are made with memory foam, that can contour, reshape, and give the god almighty "support" those tired old girls need to curl up and rest in.

I calmly explained that was not weight loss he was seeing, but Victoria not keeping a very good secret.

The whole time this conversation was going on, I am reciting all of this back to him as if I am writing the blog and he was laughing so hard by the end of the walk our Ch'i energy came back into balance and  peace and harmony was restored.

Jewels

Hawk@2001
art.net/starhawk/suntree.htm

Sunlight slinking down

tree leaves illuminating

God's jewlery box

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

In Tune

Lily pad flipped up

like a one eared alien

a radar for Fall



2010 Rozanna Landavazo

image:photosanity.aminus3.com

En mama's Cocina

myhomecooking.net

I remember mama
standing at her
kitchen counter
sorting pinto beans

I wrote poetry

She focused intently
removing little rocks
broken beans, dark ones,
shriveled up ones

I sorted words

One bean at a time
examining the little hard oval
as if it were a diamond
with great delicacy
she would carefully, gently
separate the keepers
from the castoffs

My words sat in little piles
waiting..

I'd say something like,
"ma, just thrown em' in the pot"
she would stop
roll her eyes, sigh
and look at me like
"stupid girl"

I  looked under the surface
where poetry is
in the cracks...

Now I stand at my kitchen counter
I watch my hands
doing exactly what she did

These recipes
These poems
Do they make us immortal
Do they make us count
Will we be remembered

Mama
I will pass  on
our creations
to my children
to my grandchildren

it is sustenance
it is poetry...

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Shrapnel

Shrapnel

Stained by you
soaked into my soul
Indigo blue shrapnel

You'll not fade
easily
wounds where
trust once
lanquished

Resurfacing shards
of red
appearing and disappearing
like glass chimes
at sunset


2010 Rozanna Landavazo
Image:AnaRasha_La_Nuit

Hit and Run

She hit him
with her vehicle mouth
flattened him with
semi-truck
logic
a sorry pancake
all syrupy and squished
she ate him

She just got mad
he forgot to agree
so
she talked him
out-debated him
lost him

No good-bye
no look back
no:
beg your pardon
did I misunderstand
let's talk

Left him
to wander
how he ever
got there.....


2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Image:slipobustersllc.com

Lily

Lily pad throw rugs

scattered on liquid jade pond

reflecting boughed friends

2010 Rozanna Landavazo/Ernie Starr

Image:farm4.static.flicrr.com

Duality

deviantart.net

Did I make you up?
I think I dressed you
in a size that didn't
fit me

Was I empty?
Did I fill up on you
did I over need
you
did I beg you
silently

Did I take a glance
from you
inflate it
and pretend
it was a poem
a lyric?

The nerve of me
to open my eyes
and
get mad at you
because you
didn't exist

I had an affair
with deception

You were the prop
neither of us knew
about

Until

the house
burned
down.....

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Fall

Season transition

Welcome to Fall's windy gusts

Come tempt me to change

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Openings

Dad and Uncle

Sometimes and especially when I am walking, I hear from my father, my Papi.  I think it is because I am out in the open and don't have a lot of mind chatter going on.  And I guess I would not say I "hear" from him but rather I "summon" him.  He let me know that he cannot present himself unless I welcome him.  This gave me relief because a person needs their privacy.  Recently one of my favorite Uncle's passed away and before he died, I saw my dad sitting next to his bed watching over him.  They were particularly close and dad would say to me "he's not ready yet".

Today, as I was walking I asked dad how it was "over there" and he said it was great, no worries, nothing to fight about, felt like he was when he was about 30 years old on earth.  I asked how Uncle was doing and he said, "well, not so good yet, he's still mad about leaving his car and things even though I tell him he can't do a damn thing about that anymore, but he'll come around". 

I said I don't know why exactly but this week I am cooking enchiladas with Uncle's chili from New Mexico, beans, tortillas, and Chili Verde and dad said, "well taste some for us".  I asked him if he could come into me like in the movie "Ghosts" to have a taste and he said it was a lot of work for me but invite him sometime and we could try it.  I only did this once and I don't advise this be done when you are driving like I was.  I wanted him to hear and experience a song I was listening to so I "stepped" out and in he came and oh lordy, not good to have an out of body while driving but I was strangely in control and I cried feeling my Papi so close.  He didn't stay long and told me not to do that again while driving.

When Papi first left, I "checked" in on him and his heart was broken to leave his "girls".  I asked some friends of mine who have passed to come and help my dad get adjusted and they did.....they comforted him and helped him heal from his transition.  Dad said mom invites him alot and we agreed she seemed to be doing pretty good but he said, "she don't eat enough" but he's happy my sister brings her goodies to eat and us other 2 sisters mail her goodies to eat.

So now I am out in the open, "woman who runs with ghosts".  I believe we live in a parallel world of worlds and I am just ok to not question or analyze too much my ability to communicate.  I checked this out with the Psychological Doctors a long time ago, several of them and I am ok.  They recited all kinds of ancient beliefs, spiritual stuff, psychic stuff which I did not exactly understand but they assured me I was not crazy.....a garden variety neurotic I believe one said.

My friend Susanne, Pav, and Niven are my guides and friends "next door" and are more than willing to help those that transition.  Hmmmm.  Let's say I am networking prior to my next adventure.  Susanne told me to look to the clouds and trees for her.  Pav and Niven are just there like dad when I think of them.

My peace of mind here depends on my operating out of love and not fear and knowing that I have a friendly neighborhood to go to. 

When I cry and tell dad I miss him, he says, "I know, but don't suffer too much, I am at peace".

Hawk

Indiaphoto.org

Hawk suspends in sky

  like a Tibetan prayer flag

Gracing Witnesses

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

 

Photo Dennis Paulson

The Snake

And it's blame

that snakes its

thready length

around a person's

body, mind, and soul

and when it's nasty

tongue shoots out

the venom paralyzes love

causing retreat to

the shadows or death

And it's blame

that burdens

its owner

its recepient

it is a razor sharp

slash to the

fragile skin of

the spirit

And it's blame

that hides

our sins

from ourselves

and others

blame holds us

hostage

Blame is an excuse

not to look

blame becomes

a habit

a way of life

of never seeing

what we do

think about it...

August 2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Some more about Hospice work...

You don't have to be holy to be a Hospice worker but it doesn't hurt to be full of holes yourself so that you are humble enough not to decide how people should die. 

I always felt like being a chameleon was the way to go when entering someone's sacred sanctuary which I called their home.  A quiet observer, waiting for an invite.  Sometimes desperate eyes would lock onto me, no words, sometimes fear, anxiety, grief or a strong need to connect when emotions overwhelmed the person, as a woman told me once when her mother was dying, "you are my anchor through this storm".  I needed to understand that that is just who I was to her, no more, no less.  She needed me right now, not forever, maybe not even tomorrow and certainly not yesterday.  This was my place, in the moment, a moment that never returns.  I learned this when I blew a few of these moments by being tired, not emotionally available and thinking to myself, "oh lord, I don't want to open this can of worms, this could be a few hours of conversation, I'll bring it up tomorow".  Only to find that their loved one had died in the night and that moment died with the death. 

They say if you don't take care of yourself, you can't take care of anyone else and yet I watched countless Hospice nurses, Spiritual counselors, Social Workers, and Caregivers work selflessly for others.  A social worker friend of mine who died from a heart attack gave her all to the families she worked with.  She wasn't supposed to die before me as I had it all figured she was going to be there for me when I died.   She stayed in the moment, she ran to the moment, she didn't leave the moment.  One might argue that she sacrificed herself, didn't mind her boundaries, didn't take care of herself.  Well yes, she smoked, took too many pills, didn't mind the Doctors about her health and when I would nag her about this she would laugh like the ancient old soul she was and say, "Rozanna, I am doing what I love and yeah I know I should eat different, exercise, quit smoking but my patients come first".  She was the exception, she was the warm blanket of protection alot of raw people needed.  She appeared to have all the time in the world for her families; she stayed with them late in the night if need be; she cleaned up their loved one if they could not; she was truly there mind, heart and body.  

She taught me to not be afraid of the person dying or the act of dying.  She taught me you can't get close enough but not that smothering, hugging, in their face close, but more that "with" kind of close. 

Alot of times, families would feel it was safe if they knew I was coming to visit to take off to do some errands and one day when I went to visit a lady who was in her bedroom, I noticed her breathing was very shallow so I called the nurse who was just in and had left.  The nurse said she saw it too and knew I would be there soon so she had left to go see another patient.  She warned that the woman might die and asked if was I ok.  I said, "yes".  I pulled a chair up so the woman could see me and all of sudden she got a tremendous look of fear on her face and her eyes pleaded with me to help her.  Well, my instinct told me to just climb in the bed and I spooned her from behind, my arm around her, she relaxed, shuddered and died.  I literally felt her soul leave or I swear I did.  It felt like a "whoosh" kind of wind that I was connected to and I was flabbergasted and in awe and it all felt very reverent,  I talked to our Hospice Chaplain and asked him about this feeling and he validated me with a smile and told me to consider myself blessed and lucky to have experienced this with this woman.  He counselled me on how important it was that I held her and how it helped her to transition,

So you see how honored, honoring and special it is to be a worker in this field especially if you can let go and get in the flow of the rivers (so to speak) of the people you are chosen to meet.

More to come.
2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Space

When I was a child, I liked to lay down on the grass on my back and look at the sky.  I somehow knew then I would prepare my whole life for ascension.  The earth on my back was so warm and comfortable, a cradle.  I would watch the sky, the shape changing clouds, and  feel the wind sometimes.  I was home.

Now I look up at the sky at night at the trees silhouetted against the darkening sky, sprinkled stars and I feel the space all around me.  I can hear the creek and it's just me and the space and everything else goes away, the house, family, friends, and all the things that mother me and keep me busy.

I love this feeling, being alone, not feeling the parameters of my body in this space, in awe of the distance between earth and stars.  Feeling like spirit, I am not afraid.  I am home.

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Charcoal

I am fascinated by hot and cold.  Fire and ice.  Sensations of heat, be it physical, emotional or spiritual.  New love relationships with all the drama, new jobs, new interests, new toys, new friends, etc.  That would be the fire that eventually can stay warm,  go cold, freeze in time, disappear or become ordinary.




Embers
entombed
hiding the heat
the seduction
fooling barefooted
minds passing by
the decoy,
bewitched illusions,
an alluring fire,
provacatively spiraling
hissing and zig zagging
out of control
eventually
cauterized into cindery
cool day to day,
routines,
predictable cremains
A safe rune
of secrets and
gray ashes
lifted away
by
ordinary breezes


2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Holy Tide

Your love sustains me
unravels me
when I bunch

Your gentleness
eases the grating
in my voice

Your honesty
reflects my errors
humbles me

Your compassion
soothes me
when I feel pain

Your fingertips
brush my neck
spiritually

You dive into depths
with me
don't ask
where are we going?
you just trust
my emotional path

You don't want rewards
don't keep track
don't expect alot

You listen
You believe
You encourage
You change me

You don't ask why

You aren't one of those people
who loves love songs
more than loving someone

You hold my life warmly
genuinely
You are my
Holy Tide....

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Good Night

Blue black evening sky
Red sun glow underlines clouds
Nature's love affair

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Day 6

Uh-Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeee look #1

 

This is the look he gives grandma when she's so frustrated with his goings on that she can no longer speak, stares straight ahead and seriously contemplates taking drugs.  He makes the sound of Uh-Heeeeeeeeeeee and grandma's trance is broken and she comes back to life and laughs, belly laughs.  He knows how to diffuse and divert.

 

 Uh-Heeeeeeeee look #2

Spilled seeds:

Seeds Galore

So, before Alonzo leaves the care of his grandma, (no intention of leaving grandpa out but he is gone fishing and camping with a friend) he finds my rainstick, one of those sticks full of seeds.  How anyone can pop the little round disk out that plugs the hole must meet Alonzo.  I heard the sound of what seemed like a million seeds hit the floor and a little tiny voice:

"Sorry grandma"
"did we have an accident?"

Alonzo and his mother swept and picked up the seeds, put them in a measuring cup, and put them back into the rainstick.  My daughter complained about the lint coming off the floor with the seeds.  sigh.

Babysitting Alonzo

Cottonwood

One of my favorite trees is the Cottonwood. Love its leafy, fluttery ways. I like the ways the leaves change color depending on how the sunlight hits them and the sound the leaves make when the wind is blowing.

Iridescencey

Cottonwood leaf melody

Tourmaline ballad

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Some Things About Dad...

Flavio Landavazo August 8, 1924 - June 3, 2009

My dad died one year ago on June 3, 2009. Even though today is June 2, I feel my emotions, mind and spirit building up to this day 1 year ago. I remember very well this evening, sitting up all night next to his bed and holding his hand, listening to his breathing. My husband, a nurse attended to medications for pain and I will forever be grateful to him as he tirelessly made sure my father did not feel discomfort or pain, made sure my father was clean by tenderly washing him when needed and reassuring me constantly that my precious Papi was ok. I wrote the following and shared it at dad's Memorial Service:

Dad was about love. His 60 years plus of loving his wife Mary Jane, his daughters, Rozanna, Sharon and Jennifer, grandaughters Gianna and Felicia and her husband Doug, his son-in-laws Herb and Ernie, and his great-grandson Alonzo. And that is only the beginning of the list. He loved his brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, cousins and their children. He loved his father-in-law John DiPaolo, rest in peace. Some of you that he loved dearly are here today and you know who you are.

Snuggling in Rozanna & Ernie's home

Lincoln City Oregon, one of their favorite coastal towns

Dad loved mom's cooking and was totally spoiled by his favorite meals prepared by her. She took care of him, ironed and selected his clothes to wear each day. He was her King and she was his Queen.

Dad singing a love song to mom

Dad loved golfing, bowling, music, walking, talking and was famous for his stories about his life and experiences. He loved tinkering on his cars and was a mechanic. Dad loved looking for parts for his somewhat vintage cars and did not buy a new car until 2003. Dad loved to play and tease folks and had quite a sense of humor. Dad loved dancing with his wife Mary Jane. They were like Fred Astair and Ginger Rogers. Anyone who had the good fortune to witness those two dance would never forget it. Dad loved going to Reno with mama. They tell the story of how one of them would wake up late at night and decide they needed to go to Reno and away they would go.

Cloverleaf Family Bowling Team Dad had a very special love for his brother Paul, who is now the only surviving son out of 9 children. They have lived in the same community of Fremont for several decades now. Dad lived a life of loving and he passed away surrounded by love. It was an honor for all of his "4 women" and his "2 good son-in-laws" as he called us all to take care of and love him at this time.

Dad and Uncle Paul 2007

A picture dad took over the So. Pacific WWII

United States Air Force Dad in his Bomber suit, 18 years old

Dad served in WWII in the 5th Air Force, Jolly Rogers, 90th Bomb group, 400th Squadron referred to as the Black Pirates. He was a Flight Engineer on the B-24 Liberator plane and flew over 50 missions between 1942-1945. He received 4 Air Medals, a Phillipine Liberation Medal, an Asiatic Pacific campaign medal and 5 battle stars. After retiring from 25 years of Air Force service which included stations in Saudia Arabia, Okinawa, Florida, Alaska, and California; he retired in Fremont, CA in the early 1970's.

Flavio was a man of honor and integrity and was respectful, caring and patient with others. He loved his life and loved living and he did not complain....except about food not cooked by mom! We all enjoyed watching Flavio and Mary Jane love each other, always flirting, always giving each other "goo goo" eyes as mom called them. Flavio's only teasing toward Mary Jane was that if she did not "behave" he would take the check book away from her and then they would laugh and laugh.

Even though dad's body grew older and sicker, his spirit did not. Thank you Papi for all the love, caring, and understanding you gave to me in your life, rest in peace; we will carry your love in our hearts forever.

Buried at the Sacramento Valley National Cemetary September 25, 2010

A special thank you to all of the staff at Fremont Hills assisted living for the over the top support you gave to my parents and family and of course to Odessey Hospice for your guidance and support.

Blades

I love to walk but what I love most is what I get to look at. Today the tall grass caught my attention. I walk on a path next to a dike, takes almost an hour. There used to be an owl that greeted me but seems s/he moved on. Now the ducks are swimming around with their little train of babies behind them. So, a poem came to me and I didn't have my little writing pad, so the last 10 minutes of the walk, I was memerizing my own poem and when I got to the car, got my tablet and wrote the poem on the hood of my car as I was doing my stretching . The gentleman in the truck next to me sort of looked at me but I just smiled.

Blades

Tall grass peeking ferns

Nature's slender green salute

Goes to seed and back

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Shawl Sisters

I just had a really fun visit with my sis from Minnesota. I got to thinking about us and our special relationship and about shawls and how I have shared a sister shawl with her for a few decades now. I thought about the Native American shawls, the Spirit Cloth, the Buddhist Kessa, the Jewish Talith, the Family Healing Cloth, the Mantra Prayer Shawl and on and on and it's like we have shared a sisterhood shawl forever. I picture the different types of shawls sisters can share depending on their relationship with one another. Some relationships are of course started in birth families and then some later in life with the women we refer to as being like a "sister". Here's my attempt at expressing some feelings about this in a poem.

Some shawls are light and lacy
some keep the sun out
and keep the dark in

Some share a gardening shawl
with string bean fringe
lettuce frills
radish baubles


Some share church shawls
no farting, snorting, belching
be your nasty comfortable self cloth
but piety trim
finger interlocking prayer
smokey incense
Rite Aid perfume mingled
with Chanel
religious yawn
quiet linens
choir fibers that transcend
and transport us to
church ceilings
angelic vapors, holy silks

Some share mourning shawls
hiding in the damp
folds of the heart
whispering sips of light
brushing by shadows
tucked in, ironed in place
for awhile

Some share silly shawls
My shawl is prettier than yours
Mine cost more
The design was inspired
Yes, well mine was
delivered from Lilith
Oh, sister, don't cry
Your shawl is prettier than mine
but mine smells better..

Sometimes sisters throw off
their shawls at the ocean
exposing their darling
baggy selves
little wispy chinny chin chins
fluttering about in the wind
tousled hair exposing roots
splashing in ocean verse

Sometimes shawls get torn
the fabric wears away
and nothing is left
but to bless the
memory and let it go

Sometimes shawls become wounded
wet spots from tears
stained spots from remorse
soft spots from forgiveness
thin spots from pulling, tugging

Thank you shawl sister
for the quilt of love colors
for the design
for the patches, the changes
the shape, the size
for it is huge
it covers our worlds
and all those in it.....

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Lobo

Howling Lobo whiff
wolf paws down on forest duff
predatory aim

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Recession

Sometimes
grief wells up
and bursts
from the seams
of your soul
and sprays those
nearest

Sometimes
grief sneaks out
like fine mist
a fairy kiss

Sometimes
grief goes on
stage and
acts as if

Sometimes
grief is torrential
and hails on
those nearest

Sometimes
grief just keeps
flowing behind
wet eyes

Sometimes grief
ambushes you
like a sneaker
wave

And then
recedes
into it's own
private
cavernous pool....

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Defiance

Riotous bamboo
untamed perennial growth
reveling roots sprawl

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Conductor

Willow tree hair swoons
Cherry tree pinks undulate
Wind orchestrates all

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

What are we doing here...

I worked as a Hospice social worker for 12 years. I went to people's homes and witnessed their final breaths, heard final wishes, heard unresolved heart aches that sometimes went with them if not released before leaving. When I first started working in this field, I thought somehow I might know something about life and be able to counsel people. I wanted to be this neat little package of goodies that entered their lives. I found out real quick that counselling a traveler who was ending every reality known to them and me goes beyond the comfort zone of treating grief pathology with the intellectual, professional detachment usually used with a "patient".



Welcome aboard to the world of countertransference. A psychological term, defined in a book called "When Professionals Weep", published by Taylor and Francis Group as "... a concept that actually beckons the helper to look at their humanness in the face of dying, death, and bereavement, rather than avoiding it". This description fits the context of End-of-Life Care and a professional's powerful reaction to their work. Unlike the days of Freud where this reaction was considered an obstacle, it is now considered a natural, appropriate and healthy therapeutic tool and is the basis for empathy and a deeper understanding of ourselves and the patient.

As a social worker in Hospice, I was graced with being invited into homes to witness, share, listen and assist. Nurses have a easier way in as they are tending to symptom management and pain control and are necessary. People would have to like me to let me in because it was their home, their domain and if you were anything other than a "comfort" or of some use, you were kicked out. So I offered myself, my willingness to interact and my emotional response became a tool to understand and explore their world while being mindful and aware of my responses that could potentially interfere with their dying process. I learned to believe in the person and their ability to find purpose, to continue living even though they were being forced out of their physical body because of an illness. Right here you can see that I believe in the soul, our inner self and that our bodies are containers of that spiritual self. That belief is mine and I am aware of it; it is not something I ever tried to foist on a patient but I would explore their beliefs if allowed. I learned to focus, to listen and not turn away, not distract, not avoid, not deny, and not abandon the person when I became uncomfortable by what I saw and heard. I believed that each person had a right to do their dying business according to their individualistic style and yes I did hope the person could be graced with dignity, integrity, hope and even possibly with peace. I say possibly because I have witnessed the opposite, the inconsolable, broken hearted, angry, despairing death also. These are the ones that test your boundaries the most. Sometimes life beliefs, attitudes and emotional states culminate when you are close to death and there is not time to resolve all of that which may have been dormant somewhere in that person's psyche and surfaces at this vulnerability time. This is where I felt my work was at. This is where I would ask the dying what they needed to do or have done before they died (in case they needed permission to ask). Sometimes it was as simple/difficult as locating a son or daughter who for their own reasons had nothing to do with the patient. When I made the call, sometimes it meant reunion, forgiveness, completion and sometimes I got to hear the harshness of words like, "I hate that fucker, he raped me when I was young". Right there, I had to check any countertransference I had going on about molestation and move on to help the patient to identify and perhaps seek self-forgiveness with help from myself and our Spiritual team.



So many times I watched the nurse, bath aide, or volunteer try to fix the dying, try to do home remedy psychology on the person. I had a big problem with a particularly loud, insecure,"Praise the Lord" nurse I worked with who was convinced her religious beliefs were the way for people to find peace and resolution before they died. My theory was she kept up all that noisy religious stuff so she could not hear or feel her own loneliness, fear, and avoid recognition of how harmful she could be to a vulnerable person who was too weak to fend her off. Countertransference gone berserk. That is where I would enter the picture by advocating for folks and reminding staff of boundaries, inappropriate behavior on their parts, etc. I was not the most popular with the "less mindful" workers who ultimately made themselves feel better by playing hero. This nurse was a conscientious experienced nurse albeit manic and to me she had her place with the less cognitively inclined population who didn't give a damn what she believed or who she praised. I remember we kept her working in the nursing homes because she was given the boot quite frequently from the homes. So, the Hospice workers are not perfect and choose the work for many many different reasons and no matter who or what they are, they enter an arena, the dying arena that most people avoid. We had to face our mortality on a daily basis not when we had a moment to ponder the meaning of living and dying and so we had to have our countertransference issues in check at all times.

I will be sharing vignettes of what I witnessed and experienced and learned in this profession in this blog.

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Doubt

The fog
spreads
her transparent
billowy night gown
across tree tops
leaving an elusive path
for those who try
to follow
teasing
she looms and
evaporates
creating doubt she's
been there
only to reappear
Coy puffy angel
winking
promising dewy kisses
but
this impish wisp
transforms etherealy
and the doubt
is for sure....


2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Tiger Lily

This is a poem about my mama's life.  She was a tough little kid and a fighter.  She grew up during the big Depression and my grandfather, a single father did the best he could to raise her up.  This is a picture of her wearing his watch.


Covered in coal mine dust
buried 3 times
grandpa raised his girl
she watched for him
at night, alone, 5 years old
his headlamp lit up
more than his path home
Motherless mama
hair shaved off
kerosene oil
drowning the lice

What did he think
while buried, contorted
like a pretzel
breathing
through a pipe
did he cry
did he pray
did he swear
he never said he was afraid

When he guarded
the company store
atop the roof with a rifle
would he have killed
the thieves..
this proud man who
came to America
from Italy on a ship
alone, age 17

His food went to mama
the whiskey to himself
she sat under his barstools
with her dolls
and waited
Closing her eyes
when he fought

He laughed
when she came home
with a doll instead
of a dress
She wore his watch
when she was scared

She was Tiger Lily
she fought the teacher
who refused to excuse her
who put her face
in her puddle of urine
grandpa took a shovel to the woman
her husband a knife to his throat
a long scar on his chin
gave testimony

She was Tiger Lily
she fought her grandmother
who yanked her by her hair
did not bathe her
tossed her leftovers

Grandpa, a werewolf by drink
An angel by sober
A musician, a singer, an artist
A gardner, a dancer
A cook
A coal miner

Toddy, Tone-geech, Goom-pa

Tiger Lily hid under blankets
she never came out from
she cried out from her sleep
for "mama" her whole life

Black lung
hacked him to pieces
his sins hidden deep
in his heart of pain

He left his little girl/woman
his head lamp extinguished
his penance over

His song
loud in his family's memories......


2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Hoo

The owl chants to me
soft archaic idioms
Instinct on a limb

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Spring

Candy Tuft pearls spill
Lilac sirens beckoning
Dormants awaken

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Blackbird 1

Blackbird speaks to me
Guttural throaty singsong
Murmuring trickster

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Getting there

The caterpilar glides
A fuzzy testimony
to metamorphosis


2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Renunciation

What am I supposed
to do
juxtaposed between
living and dying
between a sheet and a shroud

The Dr. blew the whistle
it's the:
End of the line Madame
Game Over
Checkmate
Stopped dead in my tracks
Comin' to a screeching halt
kickin' the bucket....

Where shall I wait?
in bed
on the couch
perched in a tree?
Can I drink beer
eat blue cheese

Who will keep me
company
as I hallucinate
shit morphine dreams
nirvanically stare

Who will
believe my visions
hear my sins
wipe my
dribbling secrets

Who can Witness the
switch off

I wait
in the privacy
of myself
stripped down to essence
revelations
silenced
by weakness

Gaping out the window
that has been cleaned
and polished
I watch on all fours
for my wolf...

2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Zany Bananny

One of my best friends died in May of 2004. She died of a very rare form of blood cancer. I put her in the category of one of the wildest women I ever met.

My girlfriends have never been one type but one thing they all have in common is courage, strength, and grit. Some of them are very spiritual, some are seekers of who they are and are brave enough to look at themselves, some aren't, some are extremely liberal, some very conservative, but no matter what they believe, they know how to think and most importantly, laugh. Oh lord, could we laugh. You know, that snorting, pee your pants, can't breathe think you are gonna die kind of laughing. They have challenged me, pissed me off, pushed and pulled me where I didn't want to go, taught me, loved me, and have been very honest with me. It hasn't always been a dainty tea party but what a ride I've been on with them.

Susanne and I called each other pet names like Rozanny Bananny and Suzanny Bananny and Zany for short. Susanne loved to call me Baba Yaga.

Baba Yaga is a fearsome witch with iron teeth who eats kids and leaves their bones surrounding her hut. According to Russian folklore, she was also known as Baba Yaga boney legs. She lives in a hut deep in the forest and has no power over the pure of heart. It is said that a lot of screaming, wailing spirits follow her. She also plays the role of helper and wise woman. The Earth mother, wild and untamed. She is all knowing and all seeing to those who dare to ask and could be very kind. She is the Guardian spirit of the fountain of the waters of life and death. She is a nature spirit bringing wisdom and death of ego and through death.....rebirth. Baba Yaga is the Arch-crone and Goddess of Wisdom and Death.

Susanne was very involved in the metaphysical world and I met her at work in the 1990's. She deliberately interviewed me before deciding to take me on as a friend. She said she needed to find out if I could out smart her.

Susanne was like an art form conversation wise, circling around, meandering, hinting, a dash of bald face truth, retreating into secrecy, back at ya with humor; you had to pay attention. So Susanne decided one day as I was sitting on her couch after she finished one of her colorful descriptions of a particular struggle she was having, said, "you, you are good, you are the one for me". There I was all picked out, her Baba Yaga. I was her witch with iron teeth who flew in the night, the spirits screaming in the deep woods. From my twirling hut with windows that served as eyes, I watched Susanne but I didn't eat her; she was pure of heart. She told me all of her secrets, what tortured her heart, everything she did right and wrong. We witnessed each others sins if you will and we confessed more and more as time went on. We weren't the best of mothers but we weren't the worst either; we tried hard to make up time with our kids but of course they would have no part of it, children don't forget or forgive easily. We helped each other make it all liveable somehow. We didn't eat our young, but we nibbled.

Susanne was a horse lover. She cleaned horses stalls, pitched hay, brushed down the horses and worked in those boarding barns taking care of "rich" people's horses so she could afford the keep on her own horse. Susanne said she liked the smell of horse shit. She didn't know it then but when her feet started going numb, she didn't feel in control of her horse and she lamented when she became afraid. It was the start of her end. She cried and cried that the scent of fear was breaking up her love affair with her horse.

We used to go line dancing at a huge bar full of cowboys and cowgirls. I bought some pointy toed boots and borrowed some of her country western clothes. Susanne was gorgeous, blond, tall, slender, light blue eyes. I would watch how the men stared at her when we went dancing. I asked if she ever noticed but she didn't. She was hell bent on line dancing.

One time I went shopping with her and she was crazy, impulsive, and focused and didn't let anything get in her way and if it did she would mow it down. We were in one of those very small, quiet, upscale type boutique stores, the kind with one lady in it watching your every move but smiling. Susanne saw a blouse she just LOVED so she simply took off the blouse she was wearing and while standing there in her bra calmly put the new one on. I was shocked. The woman working there looked concerned and so I told her my friend had just gotten out of one of those mental places and that she was just fine but having some transition issues. I could hear that Susanne giggling and snorting at how I was trying to save her from being arrested for indecent exposure. I have to hand it to that woman because she was so graceful when Susanne paid for the blouse and I had the giggles so bad, I looked the absolute fool. Of course, Susanne had to look at me quizzically and somehow the whole situation reversed itself and I was the one who looked like she came out of a looney bin.

When I went to see her several months before she died, she was living in her little apartment up in the trees. There was quite a flight of stairs but it reminded you of a tree house and she lived by herself in her wonderfully decorated apartment. She had a real flair for decorating in that shabby chic style. White cottons, light sage greens, the 5 foot mermaid made of some kind of white stone that laid on her side, her tall bed with comforters and eyelet pillow cases, her beautiful silver bracelets and torquoise jewlery laying around. We had a wonderful visit and went to dinner and a play about wild women who were friends and we laughed and laughed and she got exhausted and she told me "I'm afraid to go to sleep, I'm afraid I won't wake up". I massaged her feet with oil until she dosed off.

I talked to her on the phone about 2-3 weeks before she died. She was all pissy because her sister had given away a pork roast that was in her freezer while she was in the hospital. She fractured her pelvis when she fell asleep sitting on the edge of her bed and fell off . We talked for about an hour, something she had not done with me for a long time. Most of the time, depending on her pain, our conversations were very short but this time was meant for us and so she cried about her roast and she told stories about her friends and she grieved about her daughter who committed suicide several months before and so I told her stories and I made her laugh and she told me she loved me and that I was still her Baba Yaga. I was her Arch-Crone, her Goddess of Wisdom and she my wild and untamable friend.

Her sister contacted me a short time later to tell me that Susanny was in the hospital and only had two to three days left to live because her pain was out of control no matter what the Doctor gave her to relieve it. She consciously had to make a decision to be put into a coma so she would not feel the pain while she died. I wrote Susanne a letter from my husband and I saying good-bye which included a Native American poem about transitioning and asked her sister to read it to her for me. (I was caring for my parents and couldn't be there). I try to put myself in her place at being forced to make that kind of decision in that existential but necessary moment.

Her ashes are scattered in the mountains surrounding Sacramento, California. Susanny comes to Baba Yaga during the times I walk on a nature trail. She tells me to look up in the tree tops, she's there, to look up into the clouds, to look up, look up. She's comfortable now and says she can't describe exactly where she's at, that she no longer has a form but becomes form when I think of her. When she first died, I kept seeing her in misery and fear and I asked my friends that have crossed over to help her and they did. This transitioning isn't always a bed of roses and angels and pearly gates and magical mist seems more of a hollywood version. It looks like alot of work dad and that ole flirt is liking her just fine!

Suzanny

What if you had

not disappeared

into the sterile

sheets

What if you had
flipped out of
your shell shock
and donned
a curly health crown

What if you
had stolen the show
with those glinty
eyes and that
huge slit of a smile

What if God
could twitter
would she
tell me?


2010 Rozanna Landavazo

Nobody's ball of fur One morning she woke up and her air was clear no man smell... no lurching in her chest just silky licks of peace up one side and down the other of her soul The wild tangles in her hair gone... her brain free waving like colorful scarves She stretched her body languidly like a cat and and rubbed up against herself and hissssssssssed Shaking him out of her fur she coughed and sent the hairball to hell Swishing her tail claws retracted she rested waited....

Daffodils waving their yellow heads crazily Spring's disco dancers Rozanna

...and she left me standing there

Mom and I having a "goofy" moment Mom and dad had a rough couple of years before mom had a stroke. Mom broke her arm and had to have surgery. Shortly after that, dad had another heart attack and had to have open heart surgery. After that, mom had a stroke This is a story about the time I spent with them following mom's stroke. I was with them and helping the other times too. I was sleeping upstairs in their condo in California. I had their Master bedroom because mom couldn't go up stairs anymore since her devastating stroke. I was in that twilight area between sleeping and waking up, my mind yawning and my body wanting to stay under the blankets but I came to as I heard a soft little voice calling me, "Rozanna, Rozanna, I have to go to the bathroom". I said, "coming ma". It was 5 a.m. I went downstairs and there she was with dad in their bed in the living room. Her little head poking out of the blankets. Dad was still asleep. "Good morning sweetheart", I said to her. I love it when my mother first wakes up, she is so sweet and warm and cute. It sure as heck changed as the day went on but I savored this part of the day. First of all I would put her tennis shoes on; she needed that kind of support as the right side of her body didn't work so well. Next I swung her legs around to the edge of the bed as I put as arm behind her back to balance her as she sat up. Next I put a gait belt around her waist so she didn't slip away from me. She was known as a "pusher". This happens to some folks who have strokes, they have an instinct to push away from. This got tricky when I was trying to transfer her from bed to bed side commode (wheelchair didn't fit into the downstairs bathroom) I had to be very careful with her right arm too as she had a shattered her upper arm less than a year ago and had no range of motion. I squatted in front of her, put my arms around her and on the count of three pulled her up to a standing position. Now this is where she would push back from me and I would say, "come on mama, dance with me" and sure enough she would start shaking her butt back and forth and giggling. Oh yes, there was a time or two when we both fell on the bed, after losing balance, Dad would wake up and say, "what the hell?". He said that alot those days. Mom and I had our routine down. I would arrange the bedside commode so that when I stood her up, got her britches down, and pivoted her until she sat down. When finished, I would transfer to her wheelchair, put a lap blanket on her and make her coffee. After she got her cup of coffee, I would go back to bed and sleep for another 2 hours. I usually woke up hearing mom and dad having their morning chat. Sometimes I would overhear their worries. "What are we going to do when Rozanna has to go back home?" It was time for breakfast. I cut up their fresh fruit, poured bowls of cereal, made my style of coffee, 1 tablespoon of coffee per cup. We would talk about what to have for dinner and I would encourage dad to call his brother Paul to go out somewhere. All I can say is my Uncle is a real special guy! Dad would call him and say, "hey boy, come and get me, I got to buy some coffee at Raley's". To which Uncle would reply, "what do you think I am, your fucking chauffeur". To which dad would respond with a litany of words like "pendejo, chingada, cabron ,etc". Pendejo means coward, jerk, silly, stupid, irresponsible and last but not least the hair over the pubis and groin. Chingada is pretty simple, fucking hard, screw and a bloody nuisance (somewhat British eh?) and cabron - a bastard, bitch, asshole, cuckold, billy-goat and of course one who consents to the adultery of his wife. After this exchange of endearments between old men, Uncle would show up, delicately kiss my mother and say, "come on you old motherfucker" and off they went, cussing away and anxious to get to the mall to do their walk but mainly to look at women's butts and boobs. Paul was open about his admiration for these bodily parts of women but dad always took the safe route, "I can't see 'em, I'm blind" but it didn't stop him from damn near breaking his neck trying to look! After they left, I would give mom a bath while she sat on her bedside commode. I would place her feet in a container of hot sudsy water, cover her body with towels to keep her warm, turn up the heater and get to work, washing her hair, her body, and her feet, drying her each step of the way so she didn't get cold. Then I would put lotion all over her and she would finish by using her powder puff to put her beloved talcum powder on. Then she would pick out her slacks and blouse to wear. She did her own make-up. We would then wheel over to the table for her daily Physical Therapy exercises for her leg and arm. One of mom's big accomplishments while I was there was to kick out at me. (I was never so glad to get kicked!) Then we did her Speech exercises and what I called "mind" exercises. When people get brain damage from a stroke, it takes therapy to rebuild sections of the brain and to relearn things. Mom had the most fun saying the words she was supposed to say and shaping her mouth; sometimes it was hard to keep her on track because she would get the "sillies" and then I would get to laughing at her and much like I tend to do when somebody thinks I am funny, I can't seem to quit clowning......so it was off to the races of silly, goofy town with mom. It was a particularly beautiful day in Northern California. The sky was clear blue and it was warm. Mom and I decided we should go to the local park by their home and take our lunch of disgusting (to some) liverwurst and onion sandwiches. (One time, my sister Sharon chided me for taking a liverwurst sandwich to the first day of a job I took; she not only said this lunch was politically incorrect but that my sandwich was a "stinky"). On with her straw hat, lunch on her lap, and her squawking at me the whole way to the park because I only had a learner's permit for driving a wheelchair! Once we found a tree to our liking, we brought out our lunch and ate quietly. I watched mama look at the trees and the children playing and we made sometimes not very reverent comments about the people walking around the park. Sometimes, I would turn my head and cry silently. I never thought anything could take my mom down. She used to have such awesome energy, took care of my dad completely, did all her own housekeeping, shopping, cooking and even renewed her license recently. Now, she was dependent on others, could not even wipe her own rear anymore but she always had a way of dealing with the harsh times.....she just kept going and paying attention to what was in front of her. She did not mourn her loss until much later when she realized she was not going to get back her ability to walk and use her right arm. She always said, "I will walk again". Then she had another mini stroke and she never said it again. After our afternoon of bonding over "stinky" sandwiches, I brought her home for her nap. When we got back, dad was sleeping in his lazy boy recliner and when he saw his wife, he'd always say, "hello my honey". She would grin and flirt back. After mom was settled in bed, dad and I would go for a walk in the same park. My cousin lived at the other end of the park and we slowly worked dad up to walking to their home. They have a mansion of a home with a beautiful backyard with a swimming pool, comfortable lawn furniture, a restroom, a putting course and if dad was lucky his niece in-law would be home and dad could visit with her. They were friends and loved to talk. She was kind of a sister to me. She took care of me while I took care of my folks. She held me when I cried, she counselled me, made me laugh and she gave me the strength I needed to keep going on some days. Well, this particular day, we started our walk and dad was feeling real confident and talking about how he never thought he could walk this far and that it felt good, etc. etc. Well, I had to use the restroom, so I found a nice curvaceous tree for dad to rest against while I went to the bathroom. Great idea huh? Only I totally forgot about him when I came out of the restroom and went a different direction to complete my walk. There I was enjoying my "break" from care giving, making calls on my cell phone and then when I saw someone with their elderly parent, a light bulb went off and I screamed, "OH SHIT". I was 54 years old then and I started running (something I am not used to), called my sister and told her what I had done, got hysterical, could not run for sure, in the middle of a field, bent over trying to get my breath, saying my mantra of "oh shit" the whole way, getting fits of giggles and finally arrived to find my dad still leaning up against the tree and him cussing me out, "where the hell have you been, shit, I'm about to fall over". When I saw him cursing at me, I for sure could not quit laughing and apologizing at the same time and he's saying things like, "you crazy girl, how could you forget me? I tried to explain I had a "brain fart". Every explanation I tried to give him was met with his response of "oh bullshit". He was so pissed at me that he walked with a big huff and we made it to my cousin's with no problem. Not so good a day.....sorta.