OF SPRING AND YOGA

Richard Scarry, dontcha know ...

 

10 of 100

March 20th, Vernal Equinox

Today is the birthday of one of the very best friends of my life. She is not interested in me anymore, hasn't been for decades, but I think about her so often. J is a bit older than I am and I learned so much from her. We were very close for very many years. In my immaturity, clumsiness, and pig-headedness, I lost her as a friend. This is a major regret of my life. 

My Saturday morning yoga class was extra good yesterday. It's always good. This particular class just spoke to my condition a bit better. I don't know that I have ever mentioned it before. In response to the covid shut downs and the closure of our beloved Kava Yoga, one of my fellow pupils in teacher training offered to have class for the other pupils and teachers to have a practice in his large garage. That was almost two years ago. Now it is six of us. I have been less reliable as an attendee, but now that I am teaching again, the Saturday morning class is necessary to help me have some kind of practice as I am not good about a personal practice of my own. Plus, the group has grown very tight and I have some new friends. 

The practice is usually very challenging as I have lost much strength without a regular practice and everyone else, even Cindy's daughter Ashtynn who joins us, is much more flexible and a more experienced yogi. (We seriously wonder if she has any bones.) I do the best that I can. There's also the factor that I am very overweight and 13 years older than the next oldest person. Sonia and Steven rotate as teachers. Their classes are interesting as they were both dancers, but never easy for me. I am working up the mentality to teach a relaxation class.

My own yoga class, taught at the Town City Hall, the very room where I received my best Thespian award in high school, is going well. I cannot schedule anything on Tuesday and Thursdays which are the days I teach. It takes me a good three or four hours to write up a class. I have a small group of students who seem quite dedicated to my class. Some of them were quite dismayed that I am going to be gone the entire month of May. Sometimes I wonder if it is worth it, given how little money I make.   

That's it for today. I am heading to my cousin Christina's to have our Sunday sewing afternoon. Janet is not yet out of bed. I need to make breakfast (at 11:52) before I go. I slept in this morning, but with a purring cat on your head and one curled next to your legs, one wants to enjoy that.

IF I CAN GET BACK

9 of 100 (lots of catching up to do)

March 8

March 19

My Meyer lemon tree is so happy to have more room (took out a rosemary bush) and fed to boot!

These dates do not reflect the number of times I have sat down to write and didn't even get as far as the date.

That said, at least three people this week have said they missed reading my blog. Here I am making an effort, notwithstanding Fox's attempts to put the kibosh on my endeavors by encroaching on the keyboard with his tail. Admittedly, he does have a difficult time managing his tail. Both Janet and I step on it regularly. He and I got in a tangle yesterday when I stepped on his tail and he tried to get away, nearly tripping me. He could be a health hazard. 

My desk is not that big. There is barely room for a paper processing pile, a lamp, and a book pile. Fox finds it necessary to sleep near me, making one area or another quite crowded. 

 

I was pleasantly greeted with a gentle admonition from Sonia this morning that I should at least give some gardening updates. Honestly, I haven't really been serious about gardening for almost two years, since Oona's remains were left on the neighbor's yard, courtesy of coyotes. Fuck you. I hate them. I was very much into my garden at the point and was cheerily on my way to get some evening work in when I was informed by the poor kids nextdoor about my most beloved and still much missed kitty. I think about her every day, even though I love the ones I have now. Some level of my ambition was punctured. I think of it every time I walk out the front door and across to the larger flower bed.

However, as I alluded, I did have the trees dug out from the grass, fed them, and am trying to water them more often. The backyard smells so good, it is probably illegal in many places. After a large crop of tangelos, I will have an even larger crop come autumn or so. The pomegranate has yet to flower, nor has the brown tiger fig, but they both look good. 

The wisteria was quite beautiful this year. I do need to get it trained upon the wall.

I am trying to do a bit of gardening every day, even if it is just watering or weeding a bit. Perhaps I should revisit my writing in this way and see if I can get back into the groove. 

I could write more but it is almost midnight and I don't want to sleep too late. Besides, Vera is sleeping somewhat uncomfortably on the footstool, waiting for me to get into my proper bed so she can get down to her serious night's sleep.

MANY LEMONS LATER

8 of 100

30 January

"Yet it seemed indulgent to wake one who slept so peacefully. He wondered at the simple human trust in sleep: how easily it was betrayed. One was consigned there to a world which derided far more than the laws of time and space. Again and again one encountered morally dubious — tricksters and faithless lovers who rejoiced in the old anarchy of things. So often one fell asleep Hell and, waking, dared not sleep again."

"Louisa wondered how far this man was victim to his own career. What would he have been like, for instance, if he had been put to sea rather than the cloth. Switch his canonical black for a captain's blue and he might swagger to devastating effect. Either way, he was clearly not himself yet."

"If history shows anything it's that a great deal more than memory is required to avoid the recurrence of calamity. It requires — I think you will agree — some spark of insight into the darker operations of the human soul. And for that we shall need a more luminous exercise of the imagination than your naive materialism has on offer. Speak to me from your best self, dear heart. Recall your glassy essence."

— Lindsay Clarke, The Chymical Wedding, Jonathan Cape, Ltd., London, 1989

The cats! The cats! On the positive side, I woke up to a purring Nina tucked into my arm and nestled against my face purring her contentment this morning. Vera was comfortably stretched out on my side. This is an excellent way to doze your way into wakefulness [']]]]]]['p; (that was Nina on my keyboard) until you finally have to get up. Cat cuddling can set the mood for a decent day.

Not so much for me however.

I am in a bit of a meltdown over my brother's visit (welcomed) for my mother's birthday (95) and a bit of a needed get-away to Palm Springs (desperately). But this means that besides my usual trying to run around and keep things together I need to up the organization and stuff ante. 

Yesterday, Patrick and I moved a friend out of the mountains in Wrightwood down to the cool beach city of Ventura. The hardest part of the day was all the driving as D had her move entirely together so packing and unpacking was easy. We had a lovely Mexican dinner (California style) and a great drive back through the Santa Clara River Valley just at magic hour. The hills were all green from the January rain. The citrus trees were laden with fruit, just like my tangelo. The Meyer lemon has plenty of buds so there will be many lemons later.

A REASONABLY COHERENT INDIVIDUAL

 7 of 100

29 January 

At least I am reading again. This does not mean that I am able to pay attention and get through one thing at a time. At least I am turning to an actual book more often than the last several months. My book group met on Thursday. I did not manage to get my critical disdain for Jonathan Franzen's Crossroads adequately expressed as Sh mounted a worthy rebuttal to anything I was trying to express. After a while, pressing my points nearly seemed unkind, so I kept my critique to myself. And we picked Zola's Nana for our next book. It has been a few decades since I last read it, so I am looking forward to it.

I went to dinner last night with R & L. Their son J even hung out with us quite a bit, which was extra nice (at 17 he has a busy social life). Unlikely our usual carousing evening, we kept it look key. L was pretty burnt out after her week (she's an architect), and I was so tired from not having slept the night before that I nearly cancelled an hour before my scheduled arrival. We don't see each other that often, so I rallied. Quite lovely and I got home early enough to be able to get up for yoga this morning.

I have been a will-o'-the-wisp today, unable to focus on much of anything save for watching bad tv with Janet. If I get hooked into a cycle of home repair shows, I can get lost for quite a while. And although it was not a particularly nice day, Janet was game for her walk this afternoon. So, there are two of three accomplishments for the day. Perhaps posting will be the third.

I took a bath this afternoon, although that is usually a progress-stopper. I pulled out The Chymical Wedding from the shelf, something I had run across a review for in an old New Yorker and subsequently purchased (several years ago). It's not as if I don't have five or six books "under construction" but I do like to be in the middle of something so that when I finish one I don't have to get into another one; I am already there. Very mythologically based. I had no idea that "the chymical wedding" was something related to the Rosicrucians, another group I know almost nothing about. 

I am not far into it, but I am already enjoying the writing and language, something ABSOLUTELY lacking in Franzen. There is a certain John Fowles, The-Magus,-The-French-Lieutenant's-Woman-vibe here which suits my current mood. This book won the Whitbread Prize for Fiction in 1989 so it is likely not trash. 

"But once you've stepped out on to the wire it seems paltry to think of the net below."

"...escape-artist of the moral universe..."

" 'But such a day . . . . such a day," he sighed. "Time has no business here at all.' "

"Like most of my generation I'd grown up with a dangerous illusion: that once you were adult you were also, by a kind of evolutionary osmosis, a reasonably coherent individual. A person, no less."

— Lindsay Clarke, The Chymical Wedding, Jonathan Cape, London, 1989

I HAVE BEEN LIKE YOU

 6 of 100

Abuliton flowering maple that I planted in my front garden patch two years ago.

"Good writing is always about things that are important to you, things that are scary to you, things that eat you up.

— John Edgar Wideman

27 January

Today is Hallelujah's birthday. She lived next door to me in the dormitory my first year at UCSC. Laurie, her real name, was a two years ahead of me. Her older brother had been in the first graduating class of UCSC which just opened in 1966. Laurie was a French major as there wasn't a formal thing called Medieval Studies, although she could have invented one there. I was always amazed at the piles of real French books in her room. She was once subjected to repeated listenings of one side of Europe '72 when I either left or slept through leaving the arm of the stereo in the position wherein it repeated indefinitely. I think I scarred her for the rest of her life.

Responding to the word scuddle, my friend Sonia wonders  "Is there a word for being busy with things that are continually undone? Like building sandcastles too close to the water..." I thought dishwashing might be it. 

The weather has been nice here. I am not doing much to enjoy it given that I sleep through many daylight hours and then spuddle around. Productivity time today will be even shorter as I have book group at 4:30 (it is 2 now). I can see the cats enjoying the overgrown backyard. Wish I could give you all some tangelos as I have many.

Another night of not sleeping for hours. I can doze just fine, but as to falling into a deep sleep, it takes hours. There I was waking up at the crack of 11. Although I staid in bed with my iPad, I did some emotional support work with two friends that are going through some tough times. I don't think that counts as spuddling.

My friend Laura in Texas is facing the loss of her first kitty who she found on the eve of her wedding. Sully has ended up being a part of my life, too, as Laura has posted many pictures of him. He has developed a cancer of the mouth and even I can see from the pictures that he is not getting better. Having lost more than my fair share of beloved felines, my heart really goes out to her. 

Another friend is breaking free from an ungrateful and abusive relationship. I have enlisted the truck and help of my friend Patrick to get her moved. She was fortunate to have a reasonably priced apartment fall into her lap with none of the usual rigamarole of credit check, first and last month's rent, and such. She has been trying to get out of the relationship for awhile and the stars lined up to grant her an easy transition, as easy as these transitions get.

Black tulip magnolias, tree planted last year.

You Think This Happened Only Once

and Long Ago

You think this happened only once and long ago?

Think of a summer night and someone

talking across the water,

maybe someone

you loved in a boat, rowing.  And you could

hears the oars dripping in the water, from

half a lake away, and they were far and

close at once. You didn’t need to touch them

or call to them or talk about it later.

— the sky? It was what you breathed. The lake?

sky that fell as rain. I have been like you

filled with worry, worry — then relief.

You know the wind is sky moving. It happens all the time.

— Marie Howe, The Kingdom of Ordinary Time, Norton, New York, 2008

SPUDDLING ALONG

 

5 of 100

January 26th.

Know the feeling? I have a constant low grade episode of spuddling going on. I mean well, but just not getting very much done. What I am really enjoying these days is sleeping way too late, nearly every day. And when I do get up, I don't get active for quite a long time. There are newspapers to be perused. There are games I need to play. By the time I am sufficiently awake, it is 2:00 and therefore time to get Janet dressed and on her way to our daily (almost) walk.

Rather than belabor my failures, I will share that I have been sewing, albeit, not well. I made rosemary asiago cheese bread. There are fresh Veneto tangelo cornmeal cookies with dried cherries filling my mom's belly. I began to reorganize and take stock of what is going on in my bedroom closet. The room is still a mess, but I didn't really get focused on it until this evening.

And, in the spirit of trying to get to sleep earlier and hence getting up earlier, I will make this missal short.

WE CALL IT AGING

 4 of 100

To carry on the codger conversation of yesterday, my whine of the day is groceries. Specifically, why are not baggers routinely given even a cursory lesson in bagging groceries. Common sense is the main principle to be considered. The nice fellow who was ostensibly trying to help me chose to put wet and heavy and things in a paper bag when I had a canvas shopping bag equally convenient. I had to ask him to rebag things, which he was willing to do, but he still managed to botch that. See, this shows how old I am. And also crotchety and likely to remain so.

I seem to have sleeping sickness. I turned out the lights around midnight, falling asleep, readily enough, to Cocaine and Rhinestones. I woke up at 11:25. There were telephone calls and texts, but I have amazing dreams in the morning as I am sleeping most deeply then. And it feels so good, particularly on a grey rainy day without Sol's inspiration to move. 

Not much got accomplished today, but I did get Janet out for a walk, notwithstanding the cool temperatures. I did some reading and a couple of smaller chores, but I need to stay on the progress-making path. Getting my reading mojo back is one of the larger goals of the year. Looking for those small victories.

Meanwhile, Big Bang Theory's laugh track echoes through the house.

"Beneath the surface, the progressive sixties hid all manner of unpleasantness: sexism, reaction, racism, and factionalism. It wasn't surprising, really. The idea that drugs, sex and music could transform the world was always a pretty naive dream. As the counter-culture's effect on the mainstream grew, its own values and aesthetics decayed. The political setbacks of the coming years grabbed the headlines while the dilution of ideals happened more quietly, but nonetheless vividly for those who noticed."

— Joe Boyd, White Bicycles: Making Music in the 1960s, Serpent's Tail, London, 2006

Yep. And just look how all of that peace and love turned out.

IMPERFECT

The gradual wearing away leaves us alive

but unintelligible. We call it aging or growing up,

ruined by love, broken and marooned by sex.

Seeing a resemblance to the three-speed Raleighs

that are the best bikes of their kind ever made,

but the factory’s closed and the ones that turn up

at the Goodwill are so rusty I decide against them,

continuing to desire and grieve. Time runs out

for the objects of my longing. We are out of focus

and we are fresh. Like the eroding wonderful kore

which more and more looks like something natural.

My boyfriend asks why I am laughing (as if I had

done something unfitting) and I have to explain

that I am happy to be painting the river

and dipping my brush in it at the same time.

— Linda Gregg, The Sacraments of Desire, Graywolf Press, St. Paul, MN, 1995

WE NEVER GO MAD

3 of 100

 "It was only lately that she had become so absent minded and she struggled to cover up her forgetfulness. It was hard work being old. It was like being a baby, in reverse. Every day for an infant means some new little thing learned; every day for the old means some little thing lost. Names slip away, dates mean nothing, sequences become muddled, and faces blurred. Both infancy and age are tiring times."

— Elizabeth Taylor, Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont, 1971

This is certainly true of Janet. 

Is this too much of a bummer with which to start a post? You've all probably stopped reading by now. But it has the ring of truth. My memory is still pretty good, but I do have more trouble finishing my sentences and quickly recalling the names for things. Part of that is likely due to not having enough opportunity to interact with humans, or at least different humans. The cats don't care what I say as long as I don't call them late for supper. And the real motivator there is the sound of dry food hitting the bowl or the sweet sweet sound of an opening can.

Fox is in here with me in my very messy study. I think in another world, he would like to sit on my lap, but we are rarely in sync on that. Right now, I am perched at the end of my desk chair, so there is no lap to speak of. Meanwhile, he is china-shop-bulling around the room looking for a comfortable and inappropriate perch. David reported that both Fox and McCoy cuddled up with him on the couch when he would get up at night to watch tv. They want him to come back.

My current state is not really depressed, but somewhere on the grumpy and dissatisfied spectrum. Earlier today, I was even in a good and enthusiastic mood as my cousin and I successfully modified a pattern to fit her better. This cheered up the both of us and hopefully sets along a productive sewing path this year. It is much less frustrating to work with her. 

And, all in all, it was a productive week for me, punctuated by visits with Karen who was in town. My goal is to do three things a day (maybe I mentioned that in my last post), and I was sufficiently accomplished in this. Last night, I made some Moroccan Stew and Chipotle Brownies. Both came out well, but Janet was not a fan of the soup. Fortunately, I can share with Patrick so I won't have to get tired of it. 

Food-wise Janet and I are on different palate planets. 

And I finished reading my second book of the year. I have been so far away from the reading habit, I feared it could not be re-instituted. Mrs. Palfrey was not much of an upper, but a good read nonetheless.

My biggest accomplishment was finishing the Wednesday New York Times Crossword Puzzle with no help. I had just assumed that all of them were too hard for me, but maybe not. And I did make it to Saturday Morning Yoga.

"By the mid-sixties, America was experiencing the 'generation gap'. Parents whose kids returned from school or college with long hair and a rebellious attitude often went into shock. Children were disowned, 'grounded', locked up, beaten, shorn, lectured, or sent to psychiatrists, military school or mental institutions. In Britain I visited pubs where earringed boys with long hair stood drinking a Sunday pint next to their dads in cloth caps. Neither seemed the least bit concerned. Americans were so unsure of their often newly won status that they could not comprehend the next generation rejecting what they had worked so hard to achieve. The British seemed to feel that little was going to change, no matter how long their child's hair grew. My egalitarian American impulses were unnerved when comedians or pundits referred to some working-class parents' reluctance for their kids to be educated 'above their station', yet much of British society seemed happy and content compared to status-anxious America.

— Joe Boyd, White Bicycles: Making Music in the 1960s, Serpent's Tail, London, 2006

Among some of my friends, there is an ongoing thread about the "march of history" as we experienced it. And this does explain a bit why there was such a volcanic rift, or so it seemed to us, in the 1960s. Whatever greater insight on this topic that I once had has since fled (it has been a couple of weeks since I marked that passage to quote) but I found it worth including.

THE NEGATIVE VIRTUES

loneliness

is a luxury beyond the reach

of those who have no privacy left

and live in the hope

of its constant invasion

but to those

who have always been alone

it is a friend

poverty

gives us a sense of direction

when we don’t know which way to go

and when we walk 

on the edge of its cliff

we never go mad we can’t afford to

fear

like courage and charity

begins at home and expands in circles

rocking all the boats it touches

and bringing in its wake

the last of the negative virtues

maturity

which is not what we wanted

but comes anyway when we realize

that the things we feared

as children

can no longer hurt us

and that we fear them no less

— Richard Shelton, The Bus to Veracruz, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburg, PA, 1978

SO I WILL TO IT

 2 of 100

January 12 10:44 pm

The smell of baking banana bread is permeating the house. I am about as far as I can get from the kitchen, but it still smells great. And I don't even much like banana bread. There were, however, bananas to be used and other people seem to like banana bread a great deal. The recipe was interesting (and easy) as well, sort of a riff on chai. Janet is amazed at the baking going on. I figure I should just go for it. I don't over indulge with what I make as I readily give the goods away. I just like baking. 

Now, bread would be another story.

So this means I accomplished my three things today. That was another of my NY resolutions: do three things that need doing every day. The bar may sound as if it is set low, but we live in amorphous times where days can be spent rewatching all of Downton Abbey in a couch potato trance. I dropped off the vacuum cleaner to be serviced, got the oil changed in the Fit (although, troublingly the engine light is on), walked Janet around the block, cleaned the kitchen, AND BAKED. I am surprised I am not out of breath.

Janet and I have done a block walk probably six or seven times this year. I am truly amazed at how much progress just a bit of walking has accomplished. She is steadier and more sure-footed, she walks faster each time we go out. She doesn't even complain or balk at my getting her out, as long as it is relatively warm and dry outside. 

Here's the real win of the day, though. I did the New York Times Crossword puzzle all by myself with no hints from the outside world. I have never ever completed one. The big puzzle requires a subscription and I finally succumbed so that I could play other games. 

Janet just hollared at me that the baking banana bread smell was keeping her awake. She also vowed to eat a lot of it. We will see.

Earlier today there was a lot I wanted to muse on, but, as experience has told us, late night is not necessarily the best time for me to write. 

My friend Karen and I went to Ikea yesterday and if you were wondering about the supply chain breakdown, Ikea is proof that that is real. There were very few people in the store (good), but many of the shelves were empty and there was very little that was appealing. We actually had a mission to find specific things and were partly successful, but it was rather depressing. These are those times.

Just checked on the bread and it has a while to go. The bottom was not crumbly at all, so the top will likely be verrrrry toasty, which is fine by me. 

Tomorrow, one of my tasks will be to try to find a three-way bulb for my beside lamp that the damn cats, particularly Fox, like to knock over. And that random statement came from me needing to read instead of watching something before I go to bed. As I have mentioned, I can have a very hard time falling asleep which delays the waking day.

In the meantime, I think tooth care will help me into bed sooner, so I will to it.

AND SO IT HAS BEGUN AGAIN

1 of 100

January 8th already.

A month has passed since I wrote anything. I plan to do another hundred this year, but not trying to shoehorn them all into a little over three months. 100 in a year is likely enough to keep me motivated and not just post for posting's sake.

For the first time in more than a decade, I did not reach my annual reading goal. I generally try to read a book a week, but I barely made it past 3 books a month. I found myself reading most of a book, then trailing off in disinterest or "couldn't be bothered to renew." This year, I am committed to four a month. We will see how that goes. My friend Patty usually reads closer to 100 and only made it to 23 last year, (although that was still over 5,000 pages.) 

I am so out of whack, I scarcely know what to do to get me in whack. I find myself falling asleep, sober, around 11:00, scarcely able to keep open my eyes. Then, just before I fall into a deep sleep, I am awakened by a panic attack, usually about my projected life of destitution, and have trouble getting back to sleep. Then I sleep pretty darn late, about 10:00. By the time Janet is coffeed and oatmealed, and I have caffeinated and perused the papers, it is noon when I am not inspired to take on any large projects. 

That said, I have been good this week about trying to dig out of my physical morass. Patrick and I did two runs to the dumpster with rain-ruined furniture, and two trips to donate things. Of course, one has the regrets, but I know my time here gets shorter by the minute and Janet's passing will not be made any easier by the burden of having too much stuff to deal with. Even on my worst days, I try to set a small goal, so at least one step is taken.

Another resolution was to actually use my cookbooks or get rid of them. I have maybe moved along about 10 and there are still very many to go through. Last night I tried a new recipe that I need to finish today along with taking Janet for a walk (as soon as my hair dries a bit more), do last night's dishes, finish tonight's dish, and make a batch of cookies from one of the aforementioned cookbooks. I don't need any cookies as we are still working through the cookies I made for Christmas but didn't get around to handing or sending out. 

Janet is doing pretty well, although one of the Domineers, Jimmy died in December as I wrote in my last post. He was very nice, so he is missed even by me. Janet doesn't make it to dominoes very often because of our sleeping in issues. Are we just hibernating? Meanwhile, she came home from dominoes on Thursday to inform me that the host, whom she sits next to, had a terrible cold and did not inform anyone nor cancel the day's activities.  No bueno. So far she is fine, save for powerhousing through one of her Christmas boxes of See's Candy. (She received several, for which thanks.)

In order to make sure I read today, I took a mid-day bath, which is my usual wintertime place to read.  miss the literate and literature obsessed me. I found some choice quotes or thoughts to share.

"What we like is "relatable," whatever that means, while what we dislike or makes us comfortable is "depressing." What hope is there for our species if narcissism governs us even when we are reading?"

— Michael Hoffman, Introduction to Elizabeth Taylor's Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont

"She was alarmed at the threat of her own depression."

— Elizabeth Taylor Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont

I can heartily relate to that. I have been pretty depressed this week. The political turmoil in this country had (has) me despondent and actually afraid. I think war is on the near horizon, if not simply from internal combustion of the (at least) two Americas, then from the growing conflicts in Russia and other parts of the world. This all reached a fever pitch on the night before January 6th as the pundits and left wing hawkers spelled doom for the anniversary of the insurrection. I had to severely curtail my reading and watching of the news on the 6th as the weight of it was personally unbearable to me. I have lightened up just a bit since I have curbed my intake of media. 

"In spite of long practice, she found that resolution was more difficult these days. When she was young, she had an image of herself to present ..."

— Elizabeth Taylor Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont

Right? For those of us who been eased out of professional life before our intended time, and all of us sequestering to avoid Covid-19, who will we present if we ever get the opportunity again? As you might recall, this was causing me some agita afore I went back to New York. 

January 11th

Several days and another batch of cookie baking later, I still haven't posted this. The news is that two of Janet's domineer pals have tested positive for Covid. I've little idea how they are doing. I suppose it it to be expected in some ways. So far, and we are on day five from exposure, all is well. Janet is just bored. But I have been able to get her out walking every other day or so as the weather has been nice and she has been compliant. 

MANY INTRICATE PLANS

November 30th

I am having a hell of a time calming down and focussing enough to work on my yoga class in a mere three hours. The force of procrastination is strong within me, as are the spirits of the existentialists who cause me to wonder why be alive? why do anything? I am trying to motivate myself by remembering why I wanted to teach in the first place: to share my pleasure and the benefits of yoga, as well as to supplement my income when I get Social Security, if the United States Government exists in any form by the time I get there.

So, having recalled my purpose, I will give that lesson plan another shot. Thanks for your help.

December 9th

That first class was a bit shaky as they kept changing the room on me. I had planned to do things at the wall but we ended up in a room where that wasn't possible. I was fairly dispirited that day. I continued to wonder why I thought teaching yoga would be a good idea. Then I recalled that I had a studio and a good regular practice that provided me with the confidence and inspiration to teach. Without that, it is a bit harder.

As a point of fact, I should be writing my class for tonight now. I have begun to sketch out some ideas. Last class was fairly easy to write and even better to teach because only three people showed up which gave me plenty of time to give everyone adjustments and so forth. One woman was impressed enough with the one class she took to bring a friend and they have to drive 20-25 minutes. That is a bit ... daunting. But a shout-out to Sonia, Susan, and Karen whose encouragement I feel when I get stuck.

Today is sprinkley and very grey. Janet and the cats think it is very cold. I do have on a sweater and slippers, so there must be some merit to their argument. Adding to that sadness was this morning's news that one of the Domineers, Jimmy, passed away this morning. Although he could be a pain, given his volubility and penchant for rhyming everything, he was very good-natured and quite an enthusiastic yogi. 

Of course, I cannot tell how Janet feels about it. She is generally sanguine about these sorts of things. The difficulty comes in trying understand if she is wise and just pushing away emotions, for which an argument could be made that that is wisdom as well. I, however, see it as more of her obtuse, pushing away her emotions.

Nina is driving me crazy with her thinking she wants to be outside. I have made the grave error of letting the cats out the window next to my desk. Now they think the laptop is part of the thoroughfare to the outside. I know if I let her out, she will only want to come in again, as is their way.

I, as is not uncommon, am sad, not only about Jimmy, but the grey day. And my usual musings about how to process and grieve what you didn't (and did) do with your live as you head into the last (hopefully) quarter or so. I am working hard on identifying places to let go of things and to understand that I am unlikely to do the things I thought I would do when I hit permanent unemployment. (Retirement is for the intelligent planners and successful.)

I cleaned my oven yesterday and hated every second of it.

Nina pretending to be a good kitty.

ORDINARY TIME

A Thursday — no — a Friday someone said.

What year was it?

Just after the previous age ended, it began.

And although the scientists still studied the heavens

and the stars still blazed — and if the evening wasn’t cloudy —

what happened did not occur in public view.

Some said it simply didn’t happen, although others insisted they knew

    all about it

and made many intricate plans.

— Marie Howe, The Kingdom of Ordinary Time, Norton, New York, 2008