Christmas 2019

Christmas eve, into Christmas morning, 2019

The kids and I decided to break from tradition this Christmas. Still a little apprehensive to be on our own, we went to Hawaii instead of our wintery haven in Santa Fe. We had been to Santa Fe and Taos in July, but I’ll tell you about that later. So instead of luminarias, farolitos, and our snug home where we put the dog on the sled down the unplowed road, tonight we are listening to the water, and the wind, and the flapping of palm leaves. There is a terrific storm, but no snow. It’s all warm water. Still, it’s late at night on Christmas eve. I should be asleep. Another tradition to wrap, reflect and write. Some other traditions are intact. I made the stuffing tonight. I’m jet lagged, so I almost didn’t, but realized that another break from tradition just didn’t feel right. Prior to that I brined the turkey and made some awesome Christmas cookies. I think we’re on track here, though I overheard Nell saying earlier it doesn’t feel like Christmas, but honestly, I think that was part of our plan. We are safe in Hawaii from the ghost of Christmas past, who would break my heart, frankly.

There are so many things to tell and really it would bore us both. The list includes my job jobs (I had 3) my performances (I had 2 singing, plus 1 film), my writing (I did some), my directing (documentary in the works), my remodel (including dream bathroom downstairs – please come over and take a bath), some small victories (leaving a job I hated), some utter failures (bad judgment about taking that job in the first place), my current job (a B/W film adaptation of the Scottish play), my totally perfect children (only a couple of minor defects: the quantity of screen time and making their mom feel inadequate here and there). See, I think I covered it all in about one sentence. You may not even need to flip the page this year.

I have a bunch of new friends: Vicki, Terence, Gaby, Arye, Delia, Ryan and the Law Clinic at UC Irvine (google Vanessa Marquez Cyndy Fujikawa). Delia is not speaking to me at the moment. Long story (google Vanessa Marquez Cyndy Fujikawa). I guess I could stop beating around the bush and really get to it. Tell you what’s really going on right now.

I have a new boyfriend. He’s not the most handsome guy but I think he is pretty damn special. His name is Adam Schiff. Recently he has had to endure a lot. He is very good at his job, but gets bullied at work – like on a daily basis —

https://www.newsweek.com/donald-trump-adam-schiff-deranged-human-being-maniac-nato-summit-1475436

but he has hung in there and stayed strong for me, and for all of us. Even for some people who don’t even appreciate it. He brought me one of the best Christmas presents this year. (Begins with an “I”). My man.

I am trying to think about what really happened this year to me. So much, and yet time stands still. I dreamed recently that I was trying to marry Dennis again (which happened at his bedside at the hospital, incidentally). I was in the past in my dream. I can’t remember the details but he was very alive. And when I woke up, I came upstairs, and saw the new blue couch and the giant new windows and the canyon gleaming at me, which really seemed like the real dream. And then I remembered that I spent the life insurance money on a remodel and that the march of time and my progress was staring at me in the face. That my life ahead is upstairs where the light and the spectacular view comes in. But down in the bedroom where the clothes still hang and his vintage wingtip shoes still adorn in the closet, that is my guilty pleasure. Two steps forward, one step back, as they say.

People ask me how I am doing. “How are you?” It is code for have you recovered? And I say “I’m ok” which is code for it continues. There is no quick fix. There is no full recovery. I have to move ahead and I choose to stay stuck both. I’m living my life. Making mistakes. Continuing to do as much as I can, and perhaps too much. And I make time for, or rather make no apologies for, my sadness.

As for the kids, I think they are pretty happy right now. Except when they aren’t. Their lives are also very full, but it rears its head (notice I didn’t say ugly) without warning. But I believe they move through it with the resilience of youth. You can ask them yourself.

In July, we did the last of our symbolic rituals: the scattering of Dennis’ ashes. The chosen spot was the Rio Grande up in Taos, New Mexico.

In the late 1980-early 1990s Dennis did a lot of river rafting. When Dennis and I got together in 1998 he took me on my first whitewater rafting there in Taos (the Taos Box to be precise.) The Box comes with several sets of Class IV rapids. Our day on the river was a day to remember. On that trip, in the middle of the biggest rapid on the Taos Box, and after explicit instructions from the guide not to fall out of the boat, three people including the guide flew out of the boat. The girl in front of me went right out and was bobbing around in the whitewash and rocks. I clung on for dear life, but Dennis reached across me, and, without holding onto anything or anyone, he grabbed her life vest, and yanked her back into our raft. And that was it for me. I had found the man who would be my partner in life and the father of my kids.

On July 4, 2019, we gave Dennis to the river. We were in 2 rafts. On this adventure was Dennis’ oldest son, Chance and his wife Emma, our grandchildren Carter, Ellis and little Honor; Dennis’ second born, Ryan, and his wife Marie. And us: me, Sam and Nell. With the river guides, we filled two rafts. I had brought along yellow roses (Dennis brought me yellow roses on our first date) and a palm sized sack of ashes for each of us. We hiked down the gorge with mules carrying our rafts, and entered the river at a remote spot. We were on the river for the entire day, including a stop for lunch. Perhaps 4 hours elapsed while we enjoyed the spectacular scenery, the water, and the wildlife, including an otter splashing around.

Our guides tethered the boats together when the time came. I handed out the little pouches and flowers. Although Nell was in the other boat, she was next to me on the flotilla. Sam was in my boat on my right. Nell put her father’s ashes in the water. I turned to my right and Sam was staring at his pouch. Everything became quiet while we sprinkled Dennis’ cremains in the Rio Grande, along with flower petals and our tears. I started to put mine in and dropped the sack. The ashes got all over the boat, and some onto Nell. The sack sank. This was not how I wanted this to go. But anyway, the ritual continued. I turned back to Sam and he was now not only staring at the sack, but also at the rose, which he held in his other hand. I said to him “It’s ok. I saved some ashes.” Nothing. He was not ready. Finally I said “you don’t have to.” And he put his sack and the flower away.

It was perfect. It was imperfect. I remember moments later I was rowing. We rowed in sync with each other. We were crying, breathing, and paddling, our bodies engaged, the 10 of us. We rounded a bend and this bighorn sheep was staring at us from a high angle on the side of the gorge. His eyes followed us as we floated away. If Dennis had a totem, this year, that was it. He stared and we stared back. We were confined at the bottom of a canyon with water and wind and our feelings, and our bodies. We were together. We were alone. That night there were many tears. It was disharmonious. The day had been perfect and very imperfect. Life, and death, are messy.

And we continue.

gorge

Best wishes for 2020 for love, harmony, forgiveness, acceptance.

Cyndy Fujikawa