"NO YOU CAN'T HURRY SAD---

My daughter in-law, who has had several deaths touch her personally in the last few weeks said, "I'm tired of being sad."

I liked it because it assumed that "sad" isn't something you control, or ignore or pretend away.  And it IS something you do get tired of.

We are a culture based on the pursuit of happiness. Literally.  Pursue away, I say.  Grab  big chunks of it. But don't feel obligated to fake it.  Allow room for sadness when it is there.  Allow happiness and sorrow to mix.  Don't push them into "either/or" positions.

Even as I started to write this, I was trying to choose between happiness and sorrow, joy and sadness. Which sad story will I tell?  No, you are tired of sadness, I'll tell the happy story.

My brother may be in the last week of his life.  Sad?
All my kids and grandchildren are coming for a week starting this Friday.  Happy?

Both events have elements of sorrow and joy.
One is not only sad and the other only happy.

Our family visits make us appreciate our kids more and we get sad after.
My brother has had one of the truest love marriages I've experienced.  How happy is that?  And sad to lose it through death. No.  Happy for it anyway.

Stretching  for happiness that isn't there is sad.
Let sorrow take the time it needs.
And get tired of it when you are ready.

You can't hurry sad and you can't manufacture happy.

I live within the extremes of both right now.

I THINK I'VE REACHED A TIPPING POINT WITH FATHER'S DAY!

Mother's Day too.
After years of ambivalence, I've finally tipped to having an aversion to both.

And I am a celebrator.  I make parties out of nothing.  None events become memorable.
Taking my vitamins became a favored ritual with my California grandchildren.  We lined them up by size, by color.  We measured how many sips of water for each.  We played doctor and each girl had their tray of pills for me.  Party out of nothing.  

There is a kind of "Give your aunt a kiss"  (the one you hate, who smells, who gives you the willies)  demand inherent in the day.


I have a loving and expressive family.  We call.  We send cards.  We express our love very articulately.  We text daily foolishness.  We are connected.   STILL, on Mother's Day or Father's Day there is that running tally of who has called and who hasn't.  Or who will call before bedtime as the kids remind one another of what day it is.

And then there is the commercial aspect of it all that still feels like advertising from The Walton's era.  Electronic gadgets out of the back of the Sky Mall catalogue proliferate.  Automatic cheese inserts for hot dogs.  Knee cap slimmers.

We were out and about today and saw so many head down dads seemingly tolerating a picnic or walk or fake Frisbee fun.  Over domesticated.

OK. I've blown off steam.  I'm not really a cynic.  I loved my dad and mom.
I love my family.  I love to celebrate.  So what's my problem?
It must be the mandatory, generic nature of the day.
Makes me and my kids rebellious.

I just sat and thought about what would make the day ring true for me. 
Then I laughed.
It would all be too elaborate and not ritualized enough to actually happen.
All our kids called even if laughing about the pressure to do so.
We did  gifts and cards.
We ate special food

I'm back to only ambivalence.

DEATH IS AS ABOUT AS ESSENTIAL AS YOU CAN GET.

And so is birth.
My head is spinning from both.

My big brother is dying.  From a worn out heart.  Of course, I am sad.
I will go to visit him in Chicago this week-end.
I intend to make him play Monopoly to see if I can finally beat him.
We will remember together--family ritual, food, fights, games, sorrows and joy.
We will laugh and cry.
I will wish he would have another heart miracle.  (He has had two)
He won't.
I will mourn him well.

My newest grand child is robustly living.
She is 3 months old.
I was close by as she went from her mother to the world. 
Now there is a  transition!!
I make up songs for her.
We imitate one another as she earnestly struggles to figure out sounds.  Makes her sweat. (Learning is hard work!)
I will celebrate her living.

Normal life and death.

But up close, both are so profound that I find them disorienting.
So mysterious that time takes on another dimension.
There is a sweet essential quality to both.
To enter into them is an honor and enrichment that shifts me out of "normal" into mysterious.
I'm glad for the mystery and the reminder.
It makes me more alive and gives me more awe to work into the dailiness of
what to cook for dinner.

"Essential" relieves me of the flotsum and jetsam of all distraction.
Pure life.  Pure death. What matters.

WHERE DID THE TERM "TRUTH BURPS" COME FROM?????

Recently, I've been asked how I chose "Truth Burps" to name this blog. Not "what" a truth burp is.  That, people seem to get.  Not what, but from where.
First, how fun to have people care enough to ask.
Second, I so want to hear your voices/burps back.
Someday I'll figure out how to do that.

SO anyway, the term "Truth Burps" got started at work.
I'd be in a meeting going nowhere and I'd ask "Who else is bored to tears?"
TRUTH BURP!
Or talking about how to develop some one's leadership and the conversation was lifeless and I'd say, "Why are we faking this discussion. This person has no leadership talent?"
TRUTH BURP!
Or a conflict resolution meeting when 10,000 reasons for not working well were given, finally asking, "Do you two just make each others skin crawl?"

You get the idea. Sometimes they were helpful, sometimes rude, sometimes funny, sometimes regretful but always a spontaneous moment of truth.
I would semi-apologize and say, "Excuse me, that was a truth burp?"  People began to use the phrase.  

So that's the gist of it. 

But here's something that  just makes me happy at the absurdity of us all. 

I  live in Mexico part of the year and have developed deep friendships there.  Some read English and my blog.  So they told me about the Chaluma Indians  who live in a Tzotzil Mayan village in Chiapas, Mexico.

This is a small isolated village that doesn't allow visitors after sundown.
They practice a mixture of Catholicism and Mayan religion.
BURPING is central to their religious practice.
Burping is considered cleansing because it expels the bad spirits!!
The central church has many altars  with soda bottles playing a central role--especially Coca Cola although Pepsi and Fanta are now used as well. But Coke
produces the best burps!!  What can I say?
They have been doing conscious burping for years. Before Coke it was an herbal mixture called pox.

Look it up. 
Total truth.
Makes my day.
How could anyone not think life is fabulously funny and rich??