It’s been way too long

My dear sweet friend,

My apologies for not finding the time to write.  Business has been crazy busy.  But now that we’re all going through this corona virus together, I must stay in touch and I will make the time to write.

California has been cold and eerie.  I’ve been dating a wonderful man and he drove down the night SF was shut down last week.  We went for a hike in the Angeles Forest yesterday.  Absolutely wonderful.  It felt so good to have a sunny day and to be out amongst the trees, breathing fresh air, listening to waterfalls galore and the sound of birds – music to our ears.

LA has been enforcing strict social distancing.  Red lines six feet apart outside to get into the store and on the floor in the stores designating where one must stand as you wait in line to check out.  The lines outside are often around the block (for Trader Joes) as they let small groups of 10 in at a time.  nice to see corporate giving seniors an opportunity to shop early both at Whole Foods and Costco…and I’m sure others will follow.

It’s a difficult time for many, but especially for our elders.  I call them regularly (I miss teaching them meditation during these social distancing times) and they are so lonely.  Many are locked in their rooms, not even able to see each other…food being delivered to their doors.  It brings me great sadness thinking about them.

It’s a time of great reflection and the reminder to connect and be in immense gratitude.  Bill has been super patient with my current living situation.  I live in a 500 sq ft 92 year old bungalow, with a kitchen the size of your closet AND I’m running my business out of it.  Deyhdrators running 24/7.  Business is booming with all that is happening.  I make organic plant-based probiotics and prebiotics with functional benefits using upcycled ingredients (like the pulp from almond milking) …I’ve been offering white glove (and face mask) delivery to your door.  Customers put out their coolers on their porch, I put muun chi in, ring the doorbell, and then run back to the street.  They wave to me from afar.  I’m glad I can be of service, and have great awareness of the possibility of the virus.  I FaceTime my 92 year old father, afraid that I might contaminate him in case I’m a carrier.  Bless his heart. We miss each other.

We’re on this journey together, and perhaps one of the many blessings from all this.  Families are spending more time together, cooking real meals.  I saw lots of friendly faces on our hike, strangers going out of their way to say ‘hi’ six feet away, suddenly didn’t feel so strange, that somehow we were all sharing something in common.  I do love to see that we’re all having the awareness that our elders are precious, more vulnerable and deserve the respect and reverence we are now giving them.

sending so much love and gratitude, mama muun manette

I feel closer to you today, and miss you greatly.  thank you for taking the time to read my note.

I’ll be posting what I’m making in the kitchen daily as I journal about this moment in history.  Perhaps you’ll want to try a recipe or two, and as we share, I can think of you in your kitchen.  Please let me know what you’ve been cooking!

http://www.muunchi.com

Probiotics, happy gut, and a balanced chi

My dear sweet friend,

So much has transpired since last I wrote.  I’ve been busy listening to the universe, creating as I allow myself to grow.  I am now making Kvass and Kefir as part of my muun chi company (www.muunchi.com).  It’s amazing how the universe whispers to me.

I was driving to visit my dad one day back in August, and I stopped at the market to buy some Kefir.  I’m not sure why my body was asking for this probiotic, since I’d never even tried it and barely knew anything about it.  All I knew, was that it was good for me, and my body was looking for something that would give me energy and a sense of renewal.  It was late in the day, and I needed to refuel.

When I got to the refrigerator section, I could not find a vegan Kefir that didn’t have any processed ingredients in it.  So I purchased a dairy one that didn’t have any added refined sugars and decided to make my own vegan version.

I worked for weeks, refining my Kefir making technique – I love it!  It is such an art because the Kefir cultures are live, and they grow and become heartier over time.  I found myself making muun chi Kefir all the time and friends and clients kept asking for more.  It actually helps cut sugar cravings!  While making the Kefir, I found that I was generating lots of good vegan whey, and because I don’t like to waste, I started making a vegan Kvass – another amazing probiotic good for the gut, heart, liver and blood, made from beets and my upcycled ingredients, and requires a whey starter.  The universe spoke to me again, when I received a call from a client asking if I knew how to make a vegan Kvass.

Now my Kefir and Kvass are in high demand.

Listening to the universe continues to change my life and  I am so grateful.

It’s time for me to move into a commercial kitchen.

 

Little gestures touch my soul

My dear sweet friend,

Over the weekend, I was treated to a relaxing vacation in Half Moon Bay.  If you haven’t been, I highly recommend it.  It’s a sleepy little beach town, 45 minutes south of  San Francisco.  Oh my, it was beautiful.

While my friend and I were sitting at a cafe enjoying a cup of tea, an older man in a wheelchair came by to enjoy the shade just as a young man carrying a National Geographic magazine walked by going in the other direction.

“My favorite magazine!”  declared the man in the wheelchair.

“Mine too!  It’s the latest edition too…”  announced the young man walking in the other direction.

I saw the young man look at the magazine in his hands as he walked down the block.  He turned and ran back.

“Here, I want you to have it,”  the young man said, as he handed the man in the wheelchair the magazine.

They proceeded to have the most touching conversation about the old man’s past and how he would collect National Geographic magazines and comic books when he was young.

“That’s what I do now!” exclaimed the young one.

I sat there and cried.

 

Finding Purpose in Life

My dear sweet friend,

I wanted to let you know that my father is doing well. Not easy to find a purpose for living after having lost your best friend of 64 years. Yes, at first there were days when he would do nothing but sit in front of the television and watch Fox News over and over again with the volume on high, oh dear. We would try our best to get him out and busy, playing ping pong, swimming or taking a walk around the neighborhood, but it seemed he was losing interest in living.

A couple of months ago i encouraged him to follow through on a dream he had for walls outside his windows- his new project is giving him a desire to live, to leave a legacy for his children and grandchildren. I hired a wonderful young woman who loves to hang out with him on weekends, on days i can’t. Lexi’s helping paint the window wells outside his windows, and the project is transforming view and his life:)

He has a sunset, a sunrise and then a field of poppies. Instead of blank walls when he looks out, he now sees beautiful sceneries that remind us of our mom.

I have a feeling my mom is smiling from above 🙂

In the quiet of the butterflies, I feel my mother

My dear sweet friend,

I have so much to be grateful for.  This past week was filled with butterflies.  Everywhere I looked I could see them flying north, like tiny stars twinkling in the middle of the day in the bright sun.  They were just beautiful and so quiet in their journey!  There was no noise, just the flitter of their wings, as they made their way to their new home.

And of course I thought about my mom.  How she loved caring for her flowers, listening to the birds, and watching for the quiet landing of a butterfly.

I thought about how quiet and peaceful she was during her final years with us as she made her way to her new home.

It’s moments like these – these unexpected reminders that she’s still with me, in all her beauty – that give me such joy and gratitude.

Sharing the personal loss of someone you love

Dear sweet friend,

I received a beautiful call from my son yesterday.  He was calling to let me know he was thinking about me….that he had just realized that I had lost my mom.  In his personal grief, he was immersed in missing his grandma, and thinking about how grandpa must be so sad…that he was making the effort to check in with grandpa but hadn’t zoomed into the fact that I must have been hurting too.  So immersed in his emotion, he didn’t realize until two weeks had passed that I had lost my mom and how sad he would be if he had lost me.

I love how open and honest Tai is.  He went on to share that he always associates me as the one who is there caring for his grandma and grandpa, and that my central role during this past month, has been to care for grandpa’s state of despair.  Our defined roles in relation to our selves is how we often experience the world.  It’s when we can step into the other person’s shoes that we have a true sense of the whole experience because their relation to the situation or the person is very different from your own.

As I sit here experiencing the waves of emotions, my feelings of sadness and gratitude weave in and out of me.  There are many moments that I get so wrapped up in feeling the pain of my father, that I forget to acknowledge the pain of my loss too – the special relationship I had with my mom, just the two of us.  Sometimes I feel like I’m underwater searching for air, and every time I come up for a peek, a wave hits me and I’m down on the bottom again thinking about the pain my father must be experiencing.

After I hung up with Tai, for the first time in a long time, I actually wanted to pick up the phone and talk to my mom about what’s been brewing inside me – something I never did, because the relationship I shared with my mom was that of successes shared, not of broken times.

She wouldn’t have been proud of me if I shared any failures, and I wanted her to be proud of me so I could be loved.  And that’s a story for another time.

 

The Language of the Heart

Dear sweet friend,

There were so many incredible moments during the weeks we spent as a family while my mom transitioned.  These moments were filled with lessons from above that moved me and my siblings to a greater understanding of my mom and dad.

They grew up in China, and only knew people of Chinese background.  They also had come to learn that America was a land of opportunity.  When they arrived in America in 1949, both the Chinese and African Americans, along with other minority groups were not well regarded, nor treated with respect.  They only knew what they had been exposed to and to fear the unknown.  They wanted to more like the ‘successful’ Americans, and not like the ones who were being mistreated.

They had never been exposed to African Americans and so I can understand now how they had developed a mistrust and judgement of them as a people, but at the time I could not understand why my parents didn’t like blacks – Hay-zens, my parents would call them.

They tried to hide their prejudices by hiring our first and only babysitter – a thin, elderly black woman named Mary Washington.  I loved her.  She would listen to me practice my piano everyday at 4 pm.  She’d stop all her work, and sit and listen.  And when I was finished, she’d let me sit on her lap and she’d hold me.  Looking back, I understand why my mom and dad had hired her.  My mom was a chemist at a local hospital, and my father was just starting off at his first job as draftsman at a reputable local architecture firm.  Money was tight, and they could afford to pay an elderly black woman.  In their act of being frugal, they taught me as a little girl, to trust and love everyone, no matter their color.

But their prejudice against blacks became obvious when my niece chose to marry a black man and she was expecting a baby.  My father cried, “I’m going to have a black grandchild…!  What are we going to do?”

“you’re going to love her, dad,”  I would tell him.

Our very first hospice nurse was a black woman named Diane.  She was kind, quiet and loving.  But my father would have nothing to do with her.  He wouldn’t allow her to touch my mom.  As much as we tried to reason with him, he refused her care.  The next nurse they sent was another beautiful black woman.  And our spiritual counselor sent from hospice was a tall, soft spoken, wise black man.  My father had no choice.  He listened and learned and over the course of just a few days, he changed.  He began to see the beauty and love that he was to learn from people who only wanted the best for our family as my mom made her transition to another place.

And my mom got to feel the loving care her hospice team provided.  These angels were of all different colors, but of the same beautiful heart, and they all spoke the same language – the language of love and kindness.

Sunrise, Sunset

Dear sweet friend,

We made our weekly visit to my dad’s village in Northridge, where I teach meditation to a bunch of 90 some year olds.  I love these friends of my father and mother.  I treasure every moment I can with them.  They are filled with wisdom, stories, and experiences and as I get to know each of them, I’ve come to understand why I like to read multiple books at a time.  Each one of them is like a book.  Each has a story s/he to share….they just want to share that story with someone – someone who will listen.  And I love to listen.

The letter of the week was ‘S’ and my father chose to share about the word ‘sad’.  He said he felt guilty that his wife was no longer with us.  And that his children had made her leave the hospital without her feeding tube.  This, of course, was not true, but this was his perspective.  If he chooses to blame his children so he doesn’t have to believe that it was her decision to go home without the tube, so be it.  The thought that he wants to blame his children hurts, but I can also choose not to let it hurt me.  Instead I can try and understand his pain, and how it must feel to know that your wife chose not to keep on living.  As much as she loved him, she chose to stop running the marathon – she chose to rest and stop pleasing him, she chose to no longer be in pain.  Bless her heart.

The session closed with him playing ‘Sunrise, Sunset” on his harmonica- his way of expressing his emotions.  We sat there drenched in tears listening to his pain, and his acceptance that life does go on with her spirit by our side.

Dear sweet friend,

I’m making some time for myself – sleeping in my own bed, back to my routine of yoga and meditation first thing in the morning, cooking in my kitchen and gardening in my yard.  I’m starting to surface and find the air I’ve been missing.

The month of February just flew by, beginning with Feb. 1, taking my mom into the doctor’s office due to her rapid, raspy breathing, only to discover that her heart was racing at 167.  My poor mom had been running a marathon all this time, trying her best to be there for my dad, who just could not see what life would be like without her.

“You can’t leave me, mommy!  Please!,”  he begged,

as she lay there hooked up to machines.   I could feel her slipping away so I asked her to squeeze my hand if she wanted to go home without any tubes.  She squeezed just as hard as her little body could.

The palliative care doctor told us that it would be a matter of a few days, but he didn’t know my mom.  She stayed with us without any tubes or machines for 16 more days, allowing us to gather around her everyday to sing, play music, share stories, cry, laugh and express our gratitude.  Odin was scheduled to visit Feb. 16th, so she hung on.  She was a woman of strength, determination, and love.

yes, my father was a wreck.  We tried our best to have him focus on telling her stories, playing his harmonica and singing to her, and when he did, you could see his love for her.  But when he wasn’t in the mood to share, he was in a place of fear, begging her not to leave.

They had known each other for nearly 70 years, and I guess if you only know life with someone in it, it’s hard to imagine what life will be like without her.  Even though he could see the pain she was in, he just refused to let her go.

I tried to prepare him for the inevitable.  We all did.  The spiritual counselor, Earl, had seen this before, but nothing this severe.

“You’re giving up!  Stop talking like that!  she’s permanent!!!!,” he yelled, walking away, hitting the air as he did.  He’d never heard someone believe that a person could be ‘permanent’.

Denial is a powerful force that keeps our hearts from opening and experiencing the truth.  Perhaps it’s our way of staying in control.  It allows us to keep living the dream, telling ourselves the story we want to believe.  In the end, when the truth can no longer be blocked, the lie we kept wanting to be reality, finally dissolves.

Acceptance is a beautiful place where we no longer have to be tortured.  Acceptance brings us peace and serenity.  It is here that we are finally aligned with the universe – that which is just as it is.

 

Transitions

Dear sweet friend,

We can think we’re prepared, for whatever the event may be, but until you actually experience it, one never knows.

My mom was beautiful.  She taught me many lessons.  Some positive, and some not so positive.  Her lesson of love and listening the last ten years of her life were profound and everlasting, and for this I am so very grateful.

Her choice to leave the hospital and all the wires and tubes and beeps, gave my siblings and me, time with my father to sit with her in peace as she transitioned to the other world.  We sang songs, listened to stories, shared memories, and told her how much we loved her and thanked her for all she shared with us.  She heard it all, and at times would be able to open her eyes or raise her eyebrows.

I’m still processing it all, and find my head underwater as I walk robotically through my day.   My hearing became muffled on the day I took her to the hospital for her high heart rate.  The voices around me became muted much the way I remember the sounds as a little girl playing tea party on the bottom of the pool.  I can imagine what people are saying, but the clarity isn’t there.  Perhaps it’s from the many years of trying to understand my mother, who began to lose her ability to talk 8 years ago, and it’s my mind’s way of holding onto the memory of her beautiful ability to listen and her heroic efforts to communicate.

Thank you for your patience as I find my way, dear friend.  You are so kind.  I am so grateful for all the support you have given me throughout the years as I tried my best to enjoy every possible moment I could while she was still here.  She will be with us, in our hearts, always.