Day 36: Sweet Stories

I had a nice memory today. It came about while I was instructing my students on how to write their first essay describing an important event from their lives. Their goal is to write about something significant that changed them in some way or taught them an important lesson.

Believe me, I have many important events that would qualify in this category, but not ones I'd ever share with 14 year olds. Instead, I shared this:

In the years right after my grandpa's death in 1991, I used to visit the cemetery once a month or so. His grave is in a lovely spot beneath an oak tree. In those years, the tears came easily when I thought about my loss. As I sat on the curb next to his grave on one sunny afternoon, a woman came and sat next to me. She had been sitting at her mother's grave up the hill when she saw me. I don't remember the exact conversation, but I will never forget her kindness. She told me she could tell that I was sad, and felt like she needed to check on me. For a few minutes, she sat next to me with her arm around my shoulders. Then she left.

I told my students that even though the interaction last no more than 10 minutes, it has stayed with me for more than 15 years. Sometimes when I'm feeling like the world is a really crappy place, I think of that woman and her kindness. It's a sweet, sweet thought that makes me like the world again.

Day 35: How to Restore

In a weekend that was full of celebration and love, the topic of cruelty should have no place. But, it's an action that has been on my mind several times today. Partly because of a discussion I shared in this morning about the ability of some people to be deeply cruel to someone they love. And, partly because of a story I heard on NPR's "This American Life" as I drove home from Big Bear.

I didn't hear the end of the story (and I'm not sure that I want to), but it was about a group of children who, while playing in an open field, found a man trapped in the bottom of a well. Instead of going for help, the children decided to stay quiet, and over a few days visited the man several times. Once they brought him food and water. They lied to him and told him that help was on the way. Supposedly a true story from the writer's childhood, I'm almost afraid to go online and hear the end (I left the station's broadcast range mid-story).

Maybe it's not possible to understand what is at the core of cruelty--maybe it's ignorance, fear, self-loathing, evil. I end up feeling badly when think on it for too long.

Tonight, during a 90 minute restorative yoga session, I had a realization that maybe, in my own life, it's not so important to understand where it starts. What I need to do is focus on being kind, not nice, but kind. Sometimes, actually more than sometimes, I feel less than kind (refer to my past posting about gratitude). I have to figure it out. It may be the most I have to give.

Day 34: Up above the Grid

Saturday was set aside for gazing at the mountains, celebrating a dear friend's birthday, and doing a little yoga next to the lake in Big Bear. It was a beautiful escape from the Escondido heat; and a respite from all things technological. So, it was my one day down from the 40 days of blogging. Turns out the world didn't end!

Day 33: Not Feeling Good Today

All I can say is, "Oofta!!!"

Day 32: Instincts Firing

I've sitting on my couch, wiped out from teaching, Zumba-ing, and power yoga, trying to write. Some days it's easier than others; some days it's instinctual. Tonight, not so much. Elvis, on the other hand, is paying close to his instincts as a Southern boy. Just three minutes ago, a gunshot went off somewhere in the neighborhood, which caused him to shoot out the French doors in full hound dog bay. I live downtown, so there are often loud noises; but those noises don't always agitate Elvis. There must be something in his DNA, something left dormant from his ancestors who were allowed to hunt, that allows him to recognize the sound of a shotgun.

A few weeks ago, he had a similar reaction to the late-night cry of a coyote (yes, there seem to be some urban-dwelling coyotes in the area). Dogs bark all of the time, and Elvis rarely responds (unless they are walking past the house). Again, his down home country memory bank must know what a coyote sounds like. Instincts are amazing!

Are you wondering why I didn't sound more alarmed at the sound of a gun going off down the block? I've lived downtown for 12 years now....maybe my instincts are better than I thought!

Day 31: The Pain and Pleasure of Beginning

It's beneficial to be reminded of the beginner mind--the one that we should all keep no matter how skilled we become at something. I wish I would have remembered this around 11:30 this morning when I was "going off" on my fourth period class about the dismal turn-in rate for their first formal writing assignment. Fortunately for my second period class, my frustration level hadn't peaked, even though their overall effort was rotten. I must remember they are beginners. Many of them did a great job. At the end of fourth period, after a few very long, deep breaths, I apologized for my outburst and explained to them that my response didn't come from a place of disgust, but from a place of frustration and concern. I've been down this same track with freshmen for four years, and each year I try to build in strategies and supports that will keep them from screwing up at the beginning of the year. Maybe they are just supposed to screw up.

On a lighter note, our friend Tom went to class with us tonight--his first-ever yoga experience! Heather and I were a bit nervous for him because the class, though only an hour long, is usually intense. Plus the room is heated to 99 degrees (only 4 degrees warmer than it was outside at 5:30). But, Tom made it through, and even had a big smile--a big, exhausted, sweaty smile--at the end of class. He said he wants to try it again. Now that's a good beginner mind!

I will try to take some of Tom's good-natured beginner energy with me to class tomorrow; my kids will appreciate it!

Day 30: Wordless

My mind is exhausted. Today I spent five hours helping my 9th and 10th graders write their first theme essays. I presented the same basic ideas five times, but had to explain in at least 20 or 30 different ways. I have no words left tonight, except......

Rest peacefully Senator Kennedy.

Day 29: Water Issues

I may be into my third week of school, but tonight it just feels like summer. It's 9:15, my frontdoor is wide open, and I can hear my neighbor's sprinkler chh-chh-chhing across the street. I love that sound. It reminds me of the days (way before water restrictions) when we'd think nothing of running back and forth through the oscillating sprinkler for hours at a time. What a simple way to keep us kids busy, though I'm sure my parents didn't love the muddy path we cut through the lawn. But, we were happy, out of our mother's hair, and still in her line of vision.

Yesterday was one of my official watering days, but I couldn't get to my frontyard until the afternoon. So, sorry water police, but I was sprinkling my landscape at 2 in the afternoon. I felt a bit guilty because I know it's not the most efficient time to water, but it was the only time I had. Plus, my entire frontyard is landscaped with three-year-old native plants, which I only water once every two to three weeks in the summertime. The poor guys seemed thankful for the quick drink. Hmm, could I still get busted my the water police? Did they see me wash the downtown grunge that settles on my porch furniture....shhhh!

Since starting the 40 yoga days, I've thought a lot more about water than ever--and not just because I'm having to wash yoga clothes and towels several times a week. I know I've talked about it before, but I was amazed again tonight at the amount of sweat that can stream out of my body. The class was only an hour long, but midway through I was completely drenched, and each time I bent over, sweat dripped up my nose and showered my mat. Sounds like fun, huh? I'm watery, watery, watery.

Enough water talk, I need a drink......bubbly water, not wine (sigh....)

Day 28: Productive Sunday and More Teacher Talk

Day 28 of yoga is complete, three periods worth of "What's My Purpose" paragraphs are graded, my dog is washed, and half of my frontyard is pruned back. I'm happy with my Sunday effort. Now I get to look forward to having dinner with Fred, Heather, and the kids! It's the only place on this planet where I have a Wii avatar!

Tomorrow I will need all my energy because I'm taking my kids into their first formal writing assignment. To me, working with students on the writing process is the most exhausting part of my job--but the most worthwhile. After reading three classes worth of paragraphs, I'm hopeful that many already have the basic knowledge of how to write a sentence. But, there will be a few, or more than a few, who will be struggling with those basic skills while at the same time tackling critical thinking and literary analysis. I'm sure they'll be more frustrated and exhausted than I will be!

Sorry, this yoga blog is turning into a teaching blog. It can't be helped in the first few weeks of school. If you'd like to hear another person's perspective on teaching high school, there is a great article in this week's San Diego Weekly Reader. I haven't read it in years, but I saw the cover story when I was leaving Trader Joe's and had to pick it up. The title: "I Was a High School Teacher Dropout." It's written by a professional playwright and ex-teacher who left the profession after only a few years. Her insight is spot-on: http://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/2009/aug/19/cover/

Day 27: Gratitude

As we went into this morning's practice, Lizette suggested that we carry an intention of gratitude with us into each of the poses. It's a feeling that I haven't put much energy toward this last week, but it only took her small reminder to help me focus on all that I am grateful for; so, here it goes:

I am grateful for my family and friends. It is a wide circle, but I never feel my love for them is spread too thin. Even the ones that are rarely in my line of sight are always in my heart. I am loved by many people, in different ways, and there is no better feeling.

I am grateful for the opportunity to teach (even in this difficult period). It is exactly what I am meant to be doing...for now. It might sound like I've drunk the Kool-Aid, but teenagers really are amazing. If you are in a point in your life where you do not have much contact with teens, you should find a way to be around them (probably in small doses if you aren't used to them in large quantities). If you keep the right frame of mind, it's possible to feel the truly sweet energy they possess--even when they are surly, nasty, and at their most annoying.

I am grateful to own a home. A sweet, little, funky home that keeps me and my little troupe (Elvis and Buddy) warm and dry.

I am grateful for my mind and body (flaws and all). I've struggled with the things they can't do, but I'm constantly amazed at the things that they can continue to do, or are just learning. After 27 days of yoga, I'm finding renewed openess, strength, and forgiveness.

I could go on for days, especially in my current good mood, but I will end with one last piece of gratitude. This is a tough one that I don't feel more often than I do: I am grateful to the people in my life who have caused me or the people I love pain and turmoil, and the people for whom I feel animosity, anger, or disgust toward. No names here, but there is a list. I often find these people to be my best teachers (when I let myself let go of the negative feelings I hold toward them). If I were my best Buddhist self, I would release all animosity toward each of them, but I settle at this point for moments of forgiveness and acceptance.

That's it for now. I'm off to help a friend keep a crazy group of 17-year-olds in check at a Slip-n-Slide birthday party! Oh gracious!

Day 26: Short Practice, Awful Movie

Tonight the studio was closed, so Heather and I practiced in her livingroom. It was the shortest practice I've had in 26 days, but it was nice to go easy after a very busy week. The short class also allowed me to get home early, lay on the couch, and watch a movie.

If you are looking for a recommendation, I recommend NOT renting "Art of Travel." The scenery was pretty, but the writing was AWFUL! I used to get angry about wasting time watching awful movies, but now I consider it research. A friend of mine and I have been pushing around a film idea for quite awhile now, and it's good to see examples of what we don't want to do.

More on the movie writing later.......

It's Friday night, 9 p.m., and I'm going to bed....no, not alone....Elvis is curled up right by my left foot.

Day 25: Looking Past the Ick

Tonight, I actually felt like my body and my head were both present almost continuously during the practice. Surprising, since there are many worries lurking around me these days. I hate sounding so ominous and dark, but it is hard to ignore during the day--except when I'm focused and working with my students.

But, as the 90 minutes of yoga works its way through my body, I have at least a moment of separation from the stress. A chance to catch my breath and realize that it isn't going to get me. It seems like it's going to get some people that I love dearly, but even they will survive. It will make them stronger.

Day 24

I don't want to be afraid of doing the right thing, of standing up and taking risks for people I believe in.

Day 23: Prediction

There is no way to be sure, but I have a feeling that a year from now, my life will look much different than it does right now.

I'm not feeling the urge to write extensively these past few days...I think thoughts are brewing....

Day 22

I'm sorry. There's nothing tonight.

Day 21: Sweet Reminders

I like it when I get little reminders that there is great goodness in our world. And, those reminders can be little. Tomorrow, Heather and I are both using a music video from the DVD/CD Songs around the World: Playing for Change in our classroom. To begin a discussion of purpose and theme, we will have our kids watch the video for "Stand by Me" and then discuss its purpose. The video includes different musicians, dancers, and citizens from all over the world performing the classic tune by Ben E. King. If you aren't familiar with the Playing for Change project check it out at http://www.playingforchange.com/ .

Back to my little reminder. This morning, as we moved into our first downdog, the instructor turned on the stereo and out came the opening lines to "Stand by Me" from the same CD. One of the other students had brought it to class to try out as background music. It's not the traditional music selection for yoga, but it made me smile. It made me happy. And it me remember that the number of people in this world trying to do good must be larger than the number trying to tear it down. I truly believe this.

Day 20: Do Tortoises Understand Fractions?

I wonder when our species first acknowledged (or created) the significance of the half -way point. The 50% mark. Was it a mathematician? A physicist? A cavewoman who realized she had exactly half a woolly mammoth skinned and had only five hours to do the second half before it was time to start dinner? (Okay, I'm not sure if woolly mammoths and cavewomen existed at the same time,and I'm pretty sure the term cavewoman is inaccurate and possibly pejorative, but I like the imagery.)

So, today marks the half-way point of my 40 yoga days. Some days I have felt like the woman skinning the ancient pachyderm (not even sure a woolly mammoth is a pachyderm), some days I felt like the skinned beast, and some days I just feel like me.

This challenge is a good thing to do for my body, my resolve, my heart and soul; but I also realize it ain't no big thang. I am facing no true sacrifice. Neither I or anyone I know has had to endure 140 days imprisoned in North Korea, or three days walking on dirt roads to get antiviral medication for a dying grandparent, or month after month not knowing if a missing teenage daughter will be found and brought home safe. People are sacrificing and enduring unbelievable situations across our world.

Just trying to keep things in perspective.

One last item: I have the most amazing parents! Last month, my dad and I started building a new outdoor enclosure for Buddy Jefferson, my 12-year-old tortoise. (I'm proud of the fence panels I nailed up, but most of the credit has to go to Dad). This morning, while I was at yoga, he came up and finished off the project by attaching the gate. It's beautiful, and Buddy seems quite excited--almost giddy! Elvis, on the other hand, is not very thrilled being denied access to a section of the backyard. Get over it!

Thanks Dad!

Day 19: Missing Class...But Not Really

Not sure what happened, but I got to the studio for the Friday night class, and I was the only one there--no teacher, no other students. So, I came home and did an hour of yoga--with only a few interruptions by hound dog, Elvis. I don't do much home practice, so he was a bit confused. It was actually a nice way to end a hectic week.

Occasionally, I have nightmares that school has started but I can't get to my classroom. I know this is a common dream, but now, instead of being the student I am the teacher. Either way, it's not a fun dream. And, I am the expert on not-fun dreams!

Day 18: Taking a 10th Grader's Advice

Yesterday I told my one class of 10th graders, which I have toward the end of the day, about my yoga challenge. I've known many of these students since last year, so I didn't mind sharing this piece of personal information. I told them because I might need their words of encouragement at the end of a busy school day, when I'm beat and am tempted to go straight home and to my couch, rather than to the yoga studio.

So today, midway through reviewing the class syllabus, "Kevin" interrupts and says, "Ms. Jennings, don't forget to go to yoga!" That made me smile. Over summer, I got very used to not having teenagers in my life; but in the last two days I remembered how interesting, funny, and amazing they are. Yes, they are also frustrating, exhausting, and sometimes rude and annoying. That's part of what makes them so amazing. They are so young.

I made sure to take "Kevin's" advice, so day 18 has successfully come to a close. I felt a slight shift in my body tonight--at least I hope it's a shift. After more than two weeks of near-constant soreness and stiffness, it looks as if areas of my body are starting to open (at least a small bit). I'm not yet able to get my shoulders behind my knees in a standing forward bend, but at least it's no longer sounding impossible!

Day 17: The Teacher and the Barking Dogs

By 2:45 today, I was seriously considering how I might be able to separate both my feet from my body without bleeding to death. This had nothing to do with yoga, and it had everything to do with the eight hours that my feet spent bound up in my black boots with the narrow toe and three-inch heels. Not necessarily the best shoe choice for the first day of school, but they were the only ones that would allow me to wear my new "back to school" dress pants that I didn't have time to hem.

In the front office, I used my pain to teach two students the meaning of the term idiom when I exclaimed, "My dogs are barking!"

During the 9 weeks of summer, I may have worn high heels 5 or 6 times, and I know for a fact that I had not zipped up those boots since spring. My feet spent quite a happy summer relaxing in my Reef flip-flops. I know them quite well--these funny shaped little feet of mine--and they prefer the light of day, the freshness of a soft breeze. But, the first days of school make me want to formalize. Tailoring my looked to a more tailored look helps me transition back into "Ms. Jennings."

You might be thinking that after my first day of school (and after greeting 180 freshmen and sophomores), I'd have more meaningful topics to discuss than shoe fashion and foot pain. Well, you aren't inside my brain right now. If you were, you'd realize that shoes is as far as I can go right now.

I'm sure I'll have some insights and anecdotes by next week....

Day 16: Too Much to Write About

When logic does not prevail, may there be something higher that knows what the hell is going on.

Day 15: No More Silence

Our students don't arrive until Wednesday, but spending the evening with 900 parents and students at freshman orientation tonight reminded me of something: yoga studios are quiet, high school campuses are not!

I'm predicting (and I hope I'm wrong), that the next week of blog entries will be brief and possibly unintelligible. Let me apologize in advance....

Day 14: Sweet Silence

Sunday practice is silent.......shhhh........................................

Day 13: Thank You John Donne!

I came to the teaching of English with a formal background in journalism and communications; not with scholarly training in 17th century metaphysical poetry. I'm not very familiar with the work of British poet John Donne, and I definitely don't go near it with my freshman students. So, I found it interesting that in two separate instances yesterday I was presented a single poem by him, "A Valediction Forbidding Mourning."

The first introduction took place during the final session of my week-long teacher conference. Using Donne's poem, the instructor presented a strategy for helping AP students deconstruct and analyze difficult text. Yes, 17th century metaphysical poetry is difficult text!

Then, last night I watched "Wit," a lovely movie written by Emma Thompson and Mike Nichols. In the film, Thompson plays a university professor and Donne scholar who is diagnosed with stage four metastatic ovarian cancer. The movie weaves her theoretical appreciation of Donne's favorite subjects--spirituality and death--with the realistic acceptance of her own mortality. As she says in the film, "There is no stage 5." In one scene, she recites part of the valediction poem from her hospital bed in the isolation unit.

Why do I go on about it now, this dense poem about romantic love and spiritual immortality? I do because in class today I found myself stiffening, tensing, and stewing over something that I could not let go. After the first 40 minutes, a word from the poem settled in my brain, and it alone helped me release. The word was EXPANSION. I realized the thought I was grasping so harshly could be pushed out if I allowed for expansion of my breath, my heart, and my resentful brain.

Donne's poem is in fact not about yoga (though the rhythm mimics the human heart beat). He wrote it as a reminder to his wife not to worry about him as he departed for a long journey. In the 1600s, travel was dangerous. He wanted to reassure her that their bond ascended the human world and the inevitablity of physical death. I'm not sure I can recall the last time I received a poem like that.....hmmmmm.

Here are the words he left her with in hopes of easing her heart:

A Valediction Forbidding Mourning

AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears;
Men reckon what it did, and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

Day 12: Afternoon Back Rubs

I don't remember the brand name, but there was a talcum powder that my grandpa liked me, my older sister, and cousins to use for his afternoon back rubs. We were smaller at the time, so it wasn't uncommon to find two, three, or four of us crowded around him on the double bed he shared with my grandma, his back bared between us like a game board, a quarter awaiting each us after our task was complete.

Grandpa had deeply tanned skin on his upper body, especially his forearms. He was a worker at heart, and his skin wore that toil. He also liked to sit for hours on the front patio, often without his white t-shirt, drinking his coffee and smoking his Camels. It was the 1970s, so no sunscreen for him.

As he napped, we would spend half an hour or more working designs into his back, four to six little hands going at one time. One of us would sprinkle and healthy dusting of the powder all over his back, and I'm sure a good deal onto the bedspread. Sometimes we'd pretend to bake bread, and other times we'd fashion a vegetable garden, plowing rows through the white, chalky soil with our fingers, and then pinching, pinching, pinching his skin as we pretended to plant seeds in the neatly drawn furrows. It's been more than 30 years since this ritual occurred, but I can remember sharp smell of the powder as it briefly clouded the air between us before settling onto the work surface. I can still recall the feel and look of his back, they way the skin on his shoulder darkened and creased in small diamond shapes as I squeezed it tightly in my hand. Sometimes, I notice the skin on my own shoulder react the same way.

Today, while we relaxed in final resting pose, the teacher, Cat, gave each student a gentle adjustment and neck rub. Before she started, she dabbed an essential oil on her wrists. (Her small offering of aromatherapy to help us deepen into our relaxation.)

The moment she pressed her hands to my shoulders, I smelled it--my grandpa's talcum powder. It was summer, I was seven, and my crew had 30 minutes to plant our garden and collect our 25 cents. The sense of Grandpa--everything that was strong, funny, and deeply loving about him--was instantly with me.

Grandpa died 18 years ago, in the same bedroom where we used to rub his back. In his last days, his strong forearms, back, and shoulders weakened and paled by his sickness, maybe someone opened a bottle of his talcum powder and gently rubbed his failing limbs. And, maybe the sharp scent of the powder brought some of these sweet memories back to him. I wish I would have thought to do that. I wish I could do it now.

Day 11: F-f-f-f-e-a-r

My body gives me many reasons for why it holds back in certain poses: my heels don't touch the floor in down dog because 10+ years of walking on my toes led to shortened calves and hamstrings; I put too much pressure on the crown of my head in headstand because my neck is so long that it reaches the floor before my forearms; my back doesn't flatten in seated forward bend--also probably caused by years as a toe-walker. See, my body has many reasons. Fully explainable and defensible, at least in my mind.

There is another way to look at it, though. Most, if not every, block may have some physiological justification, but the true culprit is fear. This is not a new concept, and not one that I devised or discovered; but it is not always easy to figure out. How and why I hold fear in my body is mystifying--even after years of tai chi, yoga, and therapy. And, now the old fears that I warehouse want to make room for new fears--the fears of a body that is getting older, that sometimes feels fragile and worn out.

Tonight, we practiced with a pose that forced me to invite fear over for a cup of coffee, to bake it cookies, to curl up next to it on the couch. Tonight was 25 minutes of handstand practice, most of it done nowhere near a wall. In concept, doing a handstand is not dangerous like skydiving, rock climbing, or kissing cobras. There is no complicated equipment. The body never actually leaves the ground. For goodness sake, there are millions of seven year olds across the world flinging their feet high into the air above their heads with little or no provocation.

Basically, all I'm required to do is put my hands where my feet usually are, raise my feet where my head usually is, and then just hang out for awhile in harmonious alignment. NO BIG DEAL!

Instead, as we practiced different ways of coaxing our hips to stack up above our shoulders while balanced on outstretched palms, I tried not to fixate on snapping an ulna, dislocating a shoulder, or rocketing my ass through the full-length mirror three feet in front of me. Rached showed us several techniques to help us progress to a full and controlled handstand, but one simple instruction eased the fear more than anything: "Every pose has a specific drishti, or gaze." In preparing for handstand, it is necessary to keep a soft and steady gaze focused on the floor between the hands. Each time I attended to this prompt (and told myself, "Hips higher"), my breathing calmed and the fear dissolved. It usually came back quickly, as did the pictures of my rocketing ass, but I felt the progress. Eventually, with more practice and a steady drishti, maybe I will be able to get fear off my couch, see it to its car, and wave to from my front porch--all while I'm holding a perfect handstand!

Day 10: The Transition

Heather and I decided that last week was a fabulous luxury because--for the most part--we were free to schedule our days around our yoga (and not the other way around). Isn't that a fun treat!

This week we are attending a teacher conference each day in San Diego, so we consider last week the official end of our summer break. Except for having to go to the studio in the evening rather than the morning, scheduling has still been easy.

Can you hear the breaks.....the screech.....the rude awakening? Because it's just around the corner. One week from today, Heather and I each invite 180 new teenagers into our worlds. By September, all will be okay, but the first several weeks are excruciatingly hectic and exhausting. There is no way around it!

Embarking on the new school year in the midst of 40 days of yoga will be an interesting experiment. I'm working hard to sound positive about this! Instead of ending the afternoon by retiring to the cool shade of my patio with bread, cheese, edamame, and WINE, we'll...well...you know where we'll be!

Stay tuned to find out what the reality will be.....

Day Nine

Hmmm....inspirational doldrums....yawn......good night.....

Day Eight: Get that Junk out of the Trunk

If yoga is about humility and abandonment of ego, then I got a dose of both this morning! I was feeling light, lithe, and long until one of the final seated poses--forward bend. It comes right after backbend and is meant to counteract the intense stretch to the spine. To prepare for forward bend, one sits with his or her legs together straight out in front. The next instruction is to pull the flesh away from the sit bones, so that the spine and pelvis are grounded to the floor.

These are the directions I usually follow, but today, as I came down from backbend, my stomach lurched--I'm not sure if it was the heat or the lentil stew from the night before. Anyhow, I needed to sit still for a few breaths and let everything settle back into place. Rached had something else in mind: it was my turn to be adjusted. Hastily, I flung my legs out in front of me, and before I had the chance to adjust my own sit bones, he squatted down behind me, grasped my hamstrings, lifted me a few inches off the floor, and redistributed the flesh (and I do have some!) on my backside up, out, and behind me.

The adjustment--or the big scoop as I recall it--took only a second or two, but it left me feeling less than lithe and light. In that brief moment, I lost all focus on what my body was able to do (and not do), and could think only about how it looked.

I did what many of my sex do--I fretted over the size of my ass. Then, fortunately, I realized that my ass at that moment was nothing in size compared to my ego!

Day Seven: Where Are My Feet?

Early this morning, I dreamt that I chopped off both of my feet with a guillotine. Ouch! Maybe that's why I couldn't find my center in the today's balancing poses. Ha ha ha! Actually, it had nothing to do with my feet--it was the 56 thoughts running through my head. Eventually I settled down and got my head into being quiet. In addition to being heated, Sunday morning classes are silent. Rached quietly calls out the pose and when to release, but nothing is said in between. It was a lovely way to finish our first week!

Day Six:

Although my body may not agree with me today, I am blessed to be in a position where I can devote this focused time on my yoga.

But I'm not interested in talking about my yoga today. My thoughts are on the numerous beautiful, strong women in my life whose daily yoga comes in a different form--motherhood. Their daily practice revolves around taking most of the strength, flexibility, and fortitude they have inside and using that to take another being (or multiple beings) through the day (and often late night). And they do it every single day (for more than 40 days in a row). More than anyone, these women deserve an hour a day in a quiet yoga studio--but most of my friends don't have a posse of nannies to take over the unceasing responsibilities of raising young children. I will hold down the fort until they do have the time...smile!

So, my hope is that each of the mothers whom I love so dearly can be blessed with a few extra minutes in the shower or over their morning coffee to be quiet and still.