Thursday, April 5, 2012

Good-bye to Elena


Our friend--the whole town's friend--Elena Shoemaker died this morning.  To think we will never hear her voice again--laughing, singing, instructing--seems impossible, but it is true--we'll have to remember it each in our own way.


She began to fail after a long fight with diseased organs subsequent to heavy mold in her home a few years ago.  Her spleen, kidneys and liver were compromised, she got treatment from time to time in the states (her two brothers are physicians), but she kept this to herself, continuing to perform her music, to teach many people to play the piano and to sing their hearts out, even if they'd always thought that singing was impossible.


During the last month a group of friends have gathered to do whatever needed doing, getting her into and out of the hospital, and when it became clear that further measures were futile, hospice was called in and took care of her at home.


One of her brothers became touched and not a little curious about why we were all so feverish in our activities to help her, why so many went out our ways to do whatever small thing we could.


I wrote to him:


"Your questions reflect good insights into what's going on in our joint-effort wave of activity for Elena; it's often what happens in foreign-land-ex-pat communities--families form within certain neighborhoods and groups and overlap into others, because our birth families are in the states or elsewhere.  

That interactive, adoptive familiarity constitutes who we become when we move here--someone needs something, somebody else scrambles around and comes up with it.  Sight unseen, in many cases.  We know we'll be taken care of too, if we've participated in this way (and in many cases even if we have not).  

So that's San Miguel (or Vera Cruz or wherever) for you--we stick together naturally.  But this brief bit of exposition doesn't complete the story here.

In the case of helping Elena in any way we can, perseverance and magic emerges and flies in all directions from the experience each of us has had with Elena herself.  She loves life, loves people, loves the world every day, all the time--she loves us fiercely and we reciprocate the feeling.  She exudes joie de vivre in the smallest encounter.

Elena'll fight for the underdog, fight for justice for people she doesn't even know, fight for lives of stray dogs, children, plants and the birds in the parks.  That's contagious, but it's also affected us personally.  

When we're down, she won't let us stay that way. She's a music teacher par excellence, because as Kathy said, she makes people feel they CAN do it--they can do anything--they can succeed and love it if they try.  

Elena is an artist at living her life fully, at helping other people, just in casual conversation oftentimes, to live their lives fully.  If somebody's sick, she's sympathetic but she won't let them stew in it--she'll give them the sheer will to step up and out of that illness or hardship, and into gratefulness for life.

Everyone needs an Elena in his/her life.  By example she shows us the way things can be--good, good, good, all the time, even in the face of pain and trouble.  Experiencing her friendship she holds us up and entertains us at the same time.  Life's passions are the most important part of life:  Elena demonstrates that all the time.  She's one of a kind.

As an artist, the feeling of a piece to her is the main part of it--conveying that feeling, telling that story--and in that way she's even a conduit of truth for the composer.  She makes the notes into visions, experiences, of reality.

That's what makes this particular group effort special...and in many ways it's just another group of friends and neighbors helping out in a crisis.  

But the essence is to give back to--to take care of--Elena.  The way she has given to and cared for us. Even in her pain now, she shows us we are all works in progress. . . worthy of reaching for sudden insight, sparks of interest,  delight, no matter who we are.  

Being a work in progress in Elena's singing group has meant more to me than many high-flung classes--and it's been far more fun.  We love her--she's our friend, sister, teacher, champion. To champion her during a hard time--right to the end--means the world to us."

Monday, March 26, 2012

Woody Tiki-Tavi


So we're preparing to get Michael all set for hernia surgery on Tuesday, packing up some things and getting the extra dog food for our helper Ana to feed them, getting simple chores done.  A-OK.  No drama, right?

Right.  So Sunday, Mike was driving home and called me on his cell to open the big garage doors for him--I said sure, and went out there, but WOODY the DOXIE escaped from the patio into the carport, which is a no-no--he's a bolter.  So I unlocked the gate and then shoved the latch closed so I could grab "bad dog" and get him back into the house before Mike came in and the doors had to open.

I turned around to pick him up, but Woody had discovered a HUGE GRAY SNAKE behind a plastic garbage bag against the stone wall of the garage...HUGE.  Major snake.  3 feet away from moi. I went into a sort of mild panic and backed away as Woody and the snake were going at it--Woody was doing damage but the snake was trying to bite him too, and how did I know if it was poisonous, you know?

So from the yard, I'm screaming WOODY!!  COME!!....he let the snake go, but kept circling and the snake was HUGE I'm telling you...and kept striking at him...after I screamed 10 or so times, Woody came to me, and I carried him to the front of the house where I didn't have the key to get IN....but along came M in the car, and I screamed, flagged him down, waving my free arm:

"THERE'S A HUGE SNAKE IN THE GARAGE--THERE'S A HUGE SNAKE IN THE GARAGE!!"

Mike noticed I was hopping around tippy-toes on the porch so as to avoid any other possible snakes in the area (there never have been).  So Mike rushed around the corner & parked, got a big stick, examined the HUGE SNAKE and put it over in an empty lot--it was dying from Woody's having taken care o' biz--poor snake, but honestly!  

Mike said it was sort of a country snake, gray, and non-poisonous...it prolly came into the garage escaping from some construction a few houses down, from a once-emply lot.

So after he'd removed the intruder, Mike opened the front door for Woody and moi, and I hobbled, one shoe one, one still in the garage, into the house and Woody made a bee-line for the garden gate to see where the snake was--it was gone but he stood sentry for a long time.  

Of course I was shaking and hysterical but not nearly as much as I would have been had I, rather than Corporal Woody, discovered the snake behind the bag. I was planning to move it as soon as Mike got the car into the garage, as I wanted it--a bag of old clothes--in the car trunk.

So we're calling our dear dog "Woody-Tiki-Tavi" now.  I'm still seeing gray HUGE snakes everywhere, but it'll be ok.  Am going to buy some "snake away" from Costco if I can find it.

Meanwhile, there's surgery to take care of, right?  Never a dull mo'--------------we are actually looking forward to a night in the nice hospital.  It might be quiet there.  

The End