That Which Started As a FB update and Ended as a Blog Post

This is my last day of work before two weeks of vacation. One of the first things on my vacation to do list is to throw away all the strange growing things from the refrigerator. Then I will try to clean out my papers - do I need to hold onto my divorce papers after 27 years? I am just afraid that without them someone will declare me married again. I have worked harder at not being married that I have at staying out of jail. Fortunately, I have avoided jail, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have happened.

Then I want to sleep a lot. But my fear is that it will make the time go by fast and on October 17^th I will be cussing at myself for sleeping my way through two weeks of vacation. The deal is – if it is raining, I am going to take a nap or two. If the sun is shining, I am outdoors on my bike or in the woods. That sounds like a good plan.

I also have writing and knitting plans. But my plans are usually what the Universe finds so freaking hilarious about my life. Which reminds me – lately I have been finding myself in situations where I am convinced that someone set me up for a YouTube video that will quickly become viral. Wacko elevator doors, strange things stuck to my shoe, my hair in such a state that aliens must be responsible, and a declining fashion sense.

The next two weeks are full of exciting things. I teach my first public yoga class at Ohana Yoga next Wednesday, take a Shamballa Reiki class, spend 4 ½ days with my friend, Joyce, in Maine, and attend the Boston Symphony to see and hear Yo Yo Ma. The most important thing is that I don’t make any demands on myself, that everything I do adds to my life in some way and does not take any energy away. In fact, the goal is to replenish my energy until I overflow and am able to return to work with renewed balance, commitment and joy. I think that is what my vacation should be about.

Random Pre-Hurricane Musings

I just finished giving the apartment a once over so that I can enjoy being housebound while the hurricane makes its way through New Hampshire tomorrow. It will probably start out as a Category 1 and ease down to a tropical storm as it moves on through. I don’t fret. I actually have a sense of anticipation that is akin to looking forward to Christmas or a birthday. I have high hopes but am usually disappointed by the lack of fanfare when it finally does arrive.

Given that the east coast had an earthquake and some minor aftershocks this week as precedents to the hurricane, the evangelists and extreme right wingers (often one and the same) have declared that God has contacted them personally to issue the warning. It seems that Pat Robertson (my personal nemesis) and Glenn Beck (a minor minion of the right wingers) are stating that the various natural disasters and the effects thereof are signs of God’s wrath due to something we have done. Given that the Republicans are holding power in Congress, I would place the blame directly on them if I was one to believe this shit. I am sure, however, that blame will continue to go around in large doses as time goes on.

I do, however, believe that the Mother earth needs to be treated better. In the same way that our physical body reacts when we don’t treat ourselves well, Mother Earth is prone to react to what we do to the environment. There are also earth changes that would be taking place whether we were here or not, so let us not get our knickers in a twist too much about the omens. Mother Earth is showing signs of aging. We should be taking better care of her.

On that note, my back has been out for over twenty four hours and this creates a lot of internal amusement and pain. It is at times like these that I am so glad I am not on a reality show with a camera around 24/7. It took me four tries to pick a hairball off the floor this morning. During one of those tries I was stuck in a semi-squat while I tried to balance myself against the door. I think I heard a chortle from Boo, but then I may have been mistaken. Getting out of bed takes at least three or four tries and I am forever grateful for my four poster bed. Between the post and the wall I was able to pull myself up enough to gain momentum. Without them I would have fallen back and left flailing around like an overturned turtle.

The hurricane is making me nostalgic. I have been viewing the news websites for Norfolk, Virginia and remembering back to the hurricanes I experienced while living there. The first one I can remember is David. That was in 1985 and I had been ambivalent about evacuating because I couldn’t take my cat, Patty, with me. I was about six blocks from the shore of Chesapeake Bay and it was pretty exciting. There was another hurricane during which I spent a good portion of it in O’Hara’s Bar in West Ocean View. The back door of the bar went directly out onto the beach and when the waves starting hitting the door the owner decided that all of the sailors and locals needed to go back to our homes and decrease his liability. I am amazed that the beach is not littered with drunks after the storm is over. Maybe a good portion of them are just washed out to sea.

I remember one storm during which I walked up to the parking lot near O’Hara’s and held on to the railing about the dunes as the wind and rain and sea tried to blow me back home. I loved it. I remember laughing into the wind as my wet hair flattened against my face and my clothes became soaking wet.

During Isabelle back in 2003, I decided to stay at the domestic violence shelter where I was working so others could get home. I lived closer that most of the staff so it just seemed right. We made sure we had plenty of non-perishables and things that didn’t need to be cooked. I spent a good portion of the time watching the water rise in the basement and listening to the trees creaking outside the window. I was relieved by another staff member late that evening and I drove home in the storm and saw power lines falling into the road.

I guess from all this that you could gather that I have a tendency to be stupid during storms. That may be correct. I would even say that although I would shake my head at surfers who would be trying to ride the waves of the storm, I can’t promise that if I was a surfer I wouldn’t do the same thing.

When the powers that be were handing out common sense I was probably standing on a cliff edge wondering if I could learn to fly or winking at pair of brown eyes across a crowded room. Maybe that is why my life has been a series of hurricanes, literally and figuratively. I really wouldn’t have it any other way.

CNN Interview with Boo

Piers: Hello, Boo. Is that your real name or is there some other name you wish to be called?

Boo: I am actually Princess Bodacious Persia, but my person insists on calling me Boo. Sometimes she calls me Boo-Boo and that just makes me want to scratch furniture until she screams. I prefer to be called Your Highness.

Piers: Well, then, Your Highness, what is the best thing about living with your person?

Boo: She feeds me regularly and seems to be pretty trainable. I have had to make some extra accommodation because the poor girl seems to be a few mice short of a full meal but I know she means well.

Piers: Rumor has it that you have a tendency to be a little pushy. I talked to your person earlier and she said that you actually have been known to herd her towards the kitchen when you are hungry.

Boo: Excuse me. I do not consider that being pushy. As I said earlier, she is getting forgetful and I need to have ways to remind her that I need to be fed. I do not hunt for my food. I expect to be fed at regular times.

Piers: Well, your person also complained that you don’t do anything around the house. In fact, she stated that she suspects that you spend most of your day sleeping. Is this true?

Boo: Excuse me, but I thought we had agreed that I would not be talking about what I do when my person is not at home. That is private information.

Piers: I don’t think we had any sort of agreement. I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want to discuss this.

Boo: Sir, I believe you are being rude.

Piers: I just asked the question. I thought I asked it in a gentlemanly way. I didn’t realize this was such a volatile subject for you, Boo.

Boo: Ahem. Your highness!

Piers: Excuse me. Your highness. Well, then can you tell us then about the burst of activity that you have every night after your person turns out the light. She says that there is a lot of running and meowing and jumping on the bed. She also said that you have been attacking her feet at night if she moves in her sleep.

Boo: Hahahahhaha!! The woman is crazy! She imagines these things. You should see her in the morning. Her hair looks like something I hacked up on the carpet. I have told you before she is a few sardines short of a tin.

Piers: I was thinking that maybe since you are able to sleep all day that you have more energy in the evening.

Boo: I thought we agreed……. You are being very rude again. I will not talk about this. This was not the agreement. I had other things I could be doing tonight. I was going to sit on the ottoman and stare at my person until she brushed me and there is a bug on the wall in the bedroom that I need to talk to. I don’t need to be here.

Boo walks away with her tail raised as an exclamation point. Her faithful, although thoroughly chastised servant follows along to provide comfort. Boo swears to never allow herself to be interviewed by a British talk show host again unless Javier Bardem is also there. She wants to sit on his lap.

Sunday Morning Body and Soul

It is peaceful here this morning. There is the low hum of traffic in the distance layered with the voices of the birds in the trees behind my apartment. Everyone once in a while I hear a rooster crowing. Given that he is a few blocks away I find him charming and I listen for him each morning. If I lived next door to him, though, I would probably be reviewing old recipes. I wouldn’t kill him or eat him. I would just give suggestions to the neighbors. I guess that wouldn’t work either. Bad karma can come from encouraging the killing of another being, too. For now, I just take his crowing as a sign that all is well in his world as well it should be in mine.

Taking life slow this morning is my only goal. I have things I plan to do today, but there is no rush. I just take on each task as it comes and spend time breathing. My body aches today, but not in a bad way. It is the gentle ache that is the result of completing over twenty-five miles on my bike for the MS Seacoast Ride. It was wonderful to be a part of team and to train to complete something so worthwhile. It was amazing to see my teammate, Jenny D., complete the ride even as the symptoms of MS challenged her body and spirit. Jenny’s strong spirit won out and she came across the finish line to a crowd of well-wishers all wearing the “Team Jenny D” t-shirts. There was a lot of love and gratitude in that moment and I saw tears on the cheeks of Jenny’s mom.

So today is left to smaller tasks. Laundry, reading my assignments for yoga teacher training, visiting the ladies at the knitting guild meeting this afternoon, taking the post and seat from my bike into the shop to be fixed (riding on a swivel seat is interesting, but I do not recommend it), playing cello, working on the novel, or maybe taking in a movie. None of these are on my list as a “have to.” I will have none of that today.

My body and I have an agreement – I can push its limits as long as I take time to be gentle with it and allow it time to recuperate. I wasn’t this kind to my body in years past. I would push it and abuse it. I didn’t communicate with it at all. It was just something I partially occupied. I put it in situations of danger, ran it into the ground, poured alcohol into it, ignored it, overfed it, and then complained when it tried to tell me something.

I used to feel I wasn’t fully in my body. I always felt as if I was right of center, as if I was a glove that had been put on a hand halfway, a couple of fingers left out. The more I read about trauma, the more I realize that psychically this may have happened when I was a toddler and was burned. The pain of that experience and all that ensued afterwards may have knocked me out of my body a bit. It wasn’t until I started doing yoga and meditation that I started to move slowly back into my body, reaching into each arm, hand, finger, and foot. Even with the pain that I have caused my body over the years it has welcomed me in. It is helping me learn to manage emotions that I have ignored for years and helps me breathe through any stress or tension. I have learned that its favorite foods are fresh clear oxygen and pure water. How can I not give it what it deserves?

Now I move onto the next task – a quiet one. I will light a candle and study quietly to the sound of birds.

Last Day of July Musings

Ah, this month is finally over. July always seems so much longer than any other month due to the heat. August can be hot but it is more bearable knowing that October is that much closer.

I rode 37 miles on my bicycle this weekend – divided into 12 miles yesterday with Jenny D. and 25 miles today with Elizabeth, Eric, and Karen. I think I over did it, but then it gave me a great excuse to spend the afternoon on the bed with my fluffy cat, Boo, reading Elizabeth Berg’s The Pull of the Moon. Elizabeth Berg is my new favorite author and I think I have read at least eight of her books in the past month. Most of her books are about women in their fifties and the joys of friendship and the losses that occur with age. I feel like I could be friends with a lot of the women in her books. There are some others, though, that I would probably want to thump on the head and say “get over it!” That is the thing, Elizabeth writes about women you can imagine as living in your neighborhood and you are not going to like every single one. And, the best part, her endings are not predictable nor do I feel that she is trying to make the reader happy. The endings are realistic. None of her plots are wrapped up with pretty pink bows. They are real.

The only word I can use to describe the luxury of spending the afternoon reading is delicious. It is something I often find myself wishing I could do and today I just did it.

This is totally off track, but I keep having this memory. I live down the road from a milk processing plant and every time I see the truck I think about the milk we used to drink when I was in first and second grade at St. Agnes Elementary School. We would walk down to the basement of the school to have our milk break in the same place we would need to go if someone found out the Russians had launched a bomb in our direction. I remember the “fallout shelter” sign next to the large stainless steel milk machine with the little levers on the side that dispensed milk into our paper cups. The milk was so cold that occasionally I would see little ice crystals on the top, but the best part was the foam. I don’t think milk tastes this way anymore. I think we have homogenized, processed, and fortified milk to the point that it no longer has that fresh cold taste that it had during those milk breaks in second grade. It is sad to think that my grandchildren have never tasted milk that good.

Another musing of late is wondering how many of us are actually doing what we wanted to be when we grew up. How many of us are doing something that wasn’t even a job back in the 50s and 60s? I know I wanted to be a teacher and, at times I am, but when I was growing up no one talked about domestic violence, sexual assault, and child abuse, so I didn’t know I could be what I am now. And would it have been something I would have wanted to do back then? Or did I have to grow into it, have my own experiences, meet the women I have known, and then be drawn to it?

I think about my granddaughters and their dreams for the future. Katie is sixteen and has wanted to be a veterinarian since before she could pronounce the word (she used to say “pet-inarian). She has spent part of her summer job shadowing at an animal hospital. Molly is fifteen and wants to be a teacher. She has spent her summer as a counselor in training at a day camp. I am so proud of them. Caleb, at nine, has not declared what he wants to be yet as being nine is enough for him right now. He is taking full advantage of his boyhood. Lizzie is five. I am pretty sure she will be something that no one has thought of yet. There will be a choice for her that doesn’t exist right now in the same way that personal computers and the internet did not exist when I was five. That is exciting and frightening at the same time. It would really be nice if there was no need for my job when she is grown. Some days I hope and other days I am not so optimistic.