Families and Tribes

Dealing with death can be draining. If the death is unexpected, shock can overwhelm the emotions and a sense of loss that initiate the grieving process. But when that is not the case, when the death of a loved one is a long time coming, that process is much different. Maybe it's because I'm much older now, or maybe it's because I understand what it means to celebrate life. Whatever the cause I'm thankful that this experience was not traumatic.

We had my Dad's memorial this past weekend. It was a really good time. We had food from his favorite Chinese place, attendees were encouraged to pick out and wear one of his ties as a keepsake, and there were friends and music, and a good amount of laughter. My cousin Mary Helen who accompanied my 80-year old Aunt, put together a great memory board. We had photo albums, his Air Force uniform, and what turned out to be a crowd favorite, the "beefcake" picture by the bar.

Overall it was a great reminder of what it means to be surrounded by friends and family. Later in the weekend, when my cousin from Texas noted how many people we seem to know, I explained to her that we don't have a lot of family here, and what we do have is scattered across the state, so we made our own family. "It's more of a tribe," I told her.

Although the concept of the Urban Tribe became more main stream with television shows like Friends, and Seinfeld, looking back I recognize that I learned the practice from my parents. At the age of 21 and 22 settled in Vallejo, California, not knowing a soul, but they made friends and connections, made careers and made a life.

I realize now, how lucky I am to have had that example. Although my parents were largely square, and played by the rules, no one could ever say that they didn't do brave things. It was a great lesson learned. I just hope my kids will be so lucky.

Death and Taxes

The only two things that are certain in life are Death and Taxes. Or so I am told.

I received my tax documents this week. With a steady resolve, I put them all into a drawer of my recently inherited china cabinet, where they wait ominously.

The thing about taxes is that it is kind of a reality check. I made how much? What did I spend it on? If it's been a good year, I feel a bit scandalized by the amount. If it's been a bad one, I go through a more complex feeling of self congratulations for making it on so little, and genuine fear of not making it at all. I know there are a lot of folks out there who are much worse off.

The death of a parent is another kind of reality check. When your parents start their own decent, it's hard not to notice the issues they deal with. I can't help but wonder what degenerative disease will take me now that I know what risks I have. The risks, make old age just as ominous. Instead of documents sitting in a drawer, I have future visions of myself losing my memories, motor function and eventually succumbing to a degenerative disease.

I know, it's a fate we all face, like taxes, but in this instance my own personal dilemmas seem to be at the forefront of my preoccupations this season. But at the same time I can't help but recognize the current health I have and my desire to have a life well lived.

Always Wanting More - Alfredo Guajardo Morales

In few short hours we will bury my Dad. He died 4 days ago just shy of his 78th birthday.

Although expected, his death was still a bit of a shock especially for my mom who was convinced he would out-live her based on the life line on his palm. When we told her, she kept looking at her palm rubbing her thumb along her life line in disbelief.

Growing up, my Dad was practically mythical. He was involved in everything and exceptionally well connected. We considered it normal to have the Mayor over for parties, to be on a first name basis with judges, and to always be in the 4th of July parade. Even with our own activities, our parents were involved. If there was a project or a committee, my Dad would be on it, making things happen.

His involvement bled over to political arenas where he quickly became involved in many campaigns. I learned my way around, by mapping the streets of my town, walking precincts. He was in service clubs, on boards, and just had this way of making things happen. Once, he organized groups of low-riders for a neighborhood street cleanup to combat their bad image.

Looking back on it now, I realize where I get my own tenacity, because my dad was simply never satisfied. When he went in the Air Force, he was deemed too short to be a pilot, so he took one of the most dangerous jobs he could get on a plane without flying it. He was a flight mechanic on a typhoon chaser out of Guam. After the Air Force, still determined, he took private flying lessons and learned to fly single engine air craft. One of the proudest days of his life I think, was when he flew his own plane back to Texas to see family. I'd never seen him happier.

My Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer's about 12 years ago. One of his doctors called it the "long goodbye." He was right. Sadly, most of my kid's recollections of their grandfather is of him being forgetful, not the man I knew.

Alfredo Guajardo Morales was born in San Antonio Texas in 1934. He lived life to the fullest, and taught me everything I know about always wanting more. Although we commit him to the ground today, all I can think is, "just keep flying Dad."

End of the Year, End of an Era

Even though I'm 4o years old, nothing confirms full entry into adulthood like caring for an elderly parent. When the roles are reversed, and you are thrust into the role of telling your parents what to do, in the same way perhaps that you once spoke to your toddler, it is then that you realize that you are the next generation. You are now a keeper.

My parents have been in decline for years. It's part of the reason I moved back to California. In the year 2000, my father was diagnosed with Alzheimers. Back then he was just very forgetful and would get confused from time to time. Today he knows I'm related, but often doesn't know my name or exactly who I am.

My mother has been caring for him during most of his decline, and my sister and I helped her as much as we could as we struggled to raise our own families. About a month ago, it proved to be too much for my mother to handle any more. Not just caring for my father, we were already helping with that a lot, but just being with him. Her decline, which started about 3 years ago with a stroke, was followed by a diagnosis for Parkinson's disease. After that instance, our involvement in their care has been increasingly involved.

It seems that rise has crested now. My father was recently admitted to a Board and Care facility for those who suffer from memory disorders, and my mother who's health has rapidly declined in the past month will also go to a facility where she can receive the 24 hour attention she now requires.

I don't know which is more significant: that they no longer feel like my parents, or that it's beyond the abilities of my sister and I to care for them. Either way it's a poignant way to end the year, that leaves me wondering what's next.

Preoccupied with Occupy

Let me start out with saying I support Occupy Wall Street and it's many sister movements. I'm happy that the term 99% now has a resonance throughout the country. I hope that it is a permanent part of the lexicon.

But, now that participants of Occupy encampments are being evicted across the country, I worry that the message is getting lost. As the battle becomes more about occupying a space I can't help but think that space is irrelevant.

For those who want change, myself included, it is good to remember that being preoccupied with occupying a space isn't the same as preoccupying the mind with an injustice that effects all but 1% of us.

Getting beyond the Hippies who Occupy Wall Street

There's an old curse that says "May you live in interesting times." When I was a kid growing up in the Bay Area in the 70's and 80's I couldn't help but feel I had missed out on such times. The Summer of Love was just shy of a generation before me, and my parents were mostly squares committed to being good Americans.

But, I saw glimpes of interesting things when we visited my uncle in San Francisco. He was a Harvy Milk generation gay man living in the Haight at that time. His life and friends seemed romantically exotic, and it was from my visits there that I got my first archetype of a Hippie. To me they were funny, and happy, and artistic and with some higher purpose (pun totally intended) that was beyond my own existence. So to me, old Hippies were more like a favorite uncle. And I'll admit that as a result of those encounters, throughout my teens, I secretly mourned that I was born too late to be a Hippie.

It wasn't until Burning Man that I started to have a disdain for Hippies. You see, at Burning Man we have this ethos that is led by 10 principles, one of which is Radical Self Reliance. After several years of systemic preparation for my annual trek to the Playa, I began to grow weary of those who would rather rely on another Burning Man principle, Gifting. In fact it wasn't long before I started to despise the phrase, "the Playa provides." To me this was code for "I'm a hippie, you're suppose to take care of me." Almost overnight, I found exaggerated dread locks, drum circles and the smell of patchouli to be annoying. What was even more annoying was the notion that I was somehow lacking as a person for not living such an unconventional life.

When the first reports of Occupy Wall Street appeared in mainstream media, I recognized the embodiment of the movement, and that created a momentary conflict for me. The statistic used to measure who has most of the wealth in this country was something I was already very familiar with. Thus, my disdain for Hippies had to take a back seat to my sense of social justice, which I ironically acquired in Catholic high school.

Now, as the Occupy movement has moved beyond Wall Street to include union members, airline pilots and veterans, I can't help but think one of two things: either somebody, somewhere cast a curse upon us for interesting times, or at some point in the early 80's I wished too hard to be able to identify with Hippies.

Burning Man - What we build

As predicted, with just days before I leave for the Playa, I am in a state of heightened anticipation, and a flurry of preparation.

I've said it before, for me, the the Burn starts with the prep. I make lists, preconceive, search, clean, buy and pack. There is something increasingly satisfying as I imagine the needs I will have for my time on the Playa and construct a personal infrastructure to meet them. Shelter, check; food, check; equipment, clothing, gifts, creature comforts, check, check, check.

What I do is simply a microcosm of what the community does as a whole. Right now, as I plan my remaining days in the Default World, friends are on the Playa, probably already at work realizing another preconceived plan that will support a community of 50,000. Later that population will flood the city, each camp with it's own plan.

Many are there to contribute in very significant ways; others maybe not so much. But, despite that, we will build a community of creative expression.

What strikes me the most about the process, is that given an opportunity, people will contribute to making an amazing community. They will create infrastructure and even institutions that benefit both themselves and others. It's what makes a community work.

With that in mind, I have to wonder about the motives of those currently trying to deconstruct community infrastructure in the Default World with tax cuts. What are they trying to build?