Defying gravity

I envy my 6-year-old son. As I sit, actually more like half-lying-down-in-an-amoebic-sort-of-way, I sense that the pull of gravity is at least ten times greater than normal. "Normal" for me being a pull of gravity roughly 5-6 times greater than Earth's normal pull. Seem familiar? When the muscles in your body feel as though they consisted of lead? And you futilely try to recall the last time your eyes could open fully without strain?

Compare that to my son. My sweet, adorable shrimp with his toothpick legs and visible rack of ribs. He doesn't walk; he runs. Yet when he runs, his stride is as silent as a gazelle's. When he throws himself up onto his hands, it seems effortless. The best thing we ever bought was a trampoline (complete with safety net, mind you). There he can spend hours devising his own stunts, each one more daredevil than the last.

He's utterly fearless and exudes 110% confidence.

Cut - back to me: sitting, sorry half-lying, stuck like a tetraplegic amoeba. Happy to be breathing (that's always something!). Wondering if I'll ever be as awake and/or as alert as I once was? When my reflexes were sharp as a knife, and my thoughts were crystal clear.

A time when I, too, honestly believed I could do anything?

Mirror lake

In Sweden "All Saints' Day" falls on this Saturday and is celebrated much in the sense that Catholics celebrate "All Souls' Day". It is a time for rememberance.

For tomorrow's yoga class, I was hoping to come up with a theme that would be suitable for this poignant holiday. I wish there were some way that I could incoporate the subject of death in a yoga class, but I know that there are people who have experienced terrible tragedies, and out of respect for them I don't want to belittle the gravity of what they've been through. Still Death is the only "guarantee" we have in life. Without Death, there can't be Life. Just as there cannot be Happiness without Pain, at least at some point. You cannot Succeed if you've never Failed. You can't experience Love if you've never been Hurt.

So even if I wish it was socially acceptable to talk openly about death, and even though I have lost people that I have cared for deeply, I have neither lost a child nor a partner. It's easy to be rational when there is some distance. I doubt I could be as rational about Death's inevitability and our inability to control our fates should anything happen to anyone in my immediately family.

Still trying to figure out what to base tomorrow's theme on, I came up with something while I was in the locker room after today's Body Balance class. Remembering those who have touched our lives requires quieting our minds. Creating stillness is sometimes a bigger challenge than pushing ourselves to the brink. If we want to see our reflection in the water we can't be making waves.

Making the waves subside may take some effort, but when we manage to find that peaceful room then maybe the reflection of whatever we need to see in ourselves will finally get the chance to show itself on its own.

Picture from Google

Crappy day

Which is better?

Admitting to oneself that one is, in fact, having a crappy day and thereby allowing oneself to wallow moderately in self-pity? Even to the point of indulging in comfort foods in the form of a Snickers bar? Writing it down for all to see while simultaneously wrapping one's cold fingers around one's wrist to soothe the burning sensation from splattered grease while making dinner? Furrowing one's forehead until the wrinkles become so deep that you wonder if your face might actually freeze that way? And wondering if the headache that accompanied the wrinkles will also become permanent?

Is it OK to despise the fact that one has to go out into the dark, cold evening in order to unpack one's car, re-pack one's car, so that one can leave for tomorrow's appointments at 5:30 A.M.?

All this, even though I know how much I should instead be feeling grateful for?

Or should I just hold my breath and wait for it to pass? And hope my mental lungs will hold out?

pictures from Google

Saunas & icebergs

Lots of thoughts today. Easy to make a short story looooooong.

Around 4 P.M. today I was really getting cranky. I needed to get out but couldn't decide what to do. Got in the car as it started to rain. As I got closer to town I decided to drive to the community sauna that was open for ladies until 5 P.M. I hadn't been there for years. In my absentmindedness I made two wrong turns, and honestly, 45 minutes isn't really much time to spend at the sauna. Screw it, I thought, I'm going anyway. I had to.

Parked the car and got out. The wind had picked up, and the choppy water was hitting the rocks as the rain peltered me with its small, cold drops. Something about being that close to nature's elements does something to me. Just as lowering myself, naked, into the 43 degree (F) water has a profound effect on how I feel about myself in relation to my enviroment. The contrast of heat from the wood burning furnance to the numbing effect of the water, me being stripped of not only my clothes but my ego as well, well, that might make you think I become extremely selfconscious and nervous.

But the truth is that quite the opposite occurs; I sense an overwhelming feeling of oneness with my surroundings. I'm still reading my Happy Yoga and have reached the part that discusses the need to rid ourselves of our identities and the duality that follows in order to realize that we and everything around us is God. Pretty deep stuff and not that easy to grasp much less realize. But when I go the sauna, that is exactly how I feel.

After the sauna I went to practice some yoga. Spent some time in child's pose as I didn't know where to begin or what I should focus on. With the lights dimmed, I surrended my mind as well. I chose to mix it all up and just accept each moment for what it was. I used an iceberg as a symbol. I pictured the enormous mass below the surface that melts into the earth. I imagined the atmosphere surrounding the peak above the surface, representing lightness and breath. I enjoyed each element the moment I was there and let go of it just as quickly when I got to the next. I executed my forward folds almost effortlessly, which is not something I am used to.

When I was on my way home, I contemplated my need to consider my husband as being part of my oneness; then maybe I wouldn't be so quick to judge him. As I walked towards the front door, I noticed in the darkness that once again he hadn't thought to turn on the outdoors light for me. That's OK, I thought, I'll just try to ask him as nicely as possible to do that some other time.

When I walked into the kitchen, I was greeted by a table set with my dinner and (can you believe it?) candlelight.

Wishing you the best...

...and hoping you know how I feel.

Phone calls

Today I will be doing the same thing I do every October 21st; I will call my baby sister Marianne and wish her a Happy Birthday, just as I did on October 21st, 1996.

We grew up in a rural part of a small town in a small state on a small street where most of the families had small children in pretty much the same age group. So it wasn't unusual that my friends had siblings who were friends with my siblings. Such was the case with the Celli family, where John was my best friend and Lynette was (and still is) Marianne's.

What I'll never forget about calling Marianne this day 13 years ago was that she happened to mention that Lynette had told her that John would shortly be leaving for Saudi Arabia. For years John and I had kept in touch by exchanging letters, and with his birthday being on October 23rd, there was a birthday card on its way to him from me.

But he was leaving for the Middle East, and the card I had sent wouldn't make it to him in time. So for some reason I decided to call his mom to get his phone number (this was when it was unbelievably expensive to make overseas phone calls), and for the first time in years I phoned him so that I could wish him a Happy Birthday before he embarked on his trip.

His fiancé, whom I had read about in John's letters but never met, answered. I told her who was calling, and her response still resounds in my head as clear as a bell, "Judie-judie?!" Excited she gave the phone to John, and I remember how happy I was to talk to him, and how happy he sounded talking to me. It was just a number of hours before he would be leaving for the airport.

Three weeks later, my best friend was killed in a car accident. A few days after his death, I received one last post card from him in the mail.

On Friday he would have turned 40. I think often about this chain of events and what a coincidence it was that I had called him and got to talk to him that one last time. It comforts me immensely, in the same way I felt comforted while standing by his grave the day after his funeral, and I literally felt his invisible embrace while the tears poured down my cheeks.

"I still miss him insanely," I think with fresh tears running down my cheeks. I will never forget him and what he means to me. I love you, John.

The picture I have kindly been allowed to publish was taken by Jeanette Lebedies-Nord

Flu gratitude

Last night I turned the lights off at about 10:45 P.M. A little after 1 A.M. I'm dreaming about the wheelchairs I have to try out in the morning and am telling myself that I have to keep sleeping seeing as how I'll be driving for seven hours as well. Suddenly I start to wake up, and it dawns om me that there's a reason for me not being able to sleep soundly. The bulge in my stomach and bad taste in my mouth told me that getting sick would be inevitable.

The rest of the night was your basic stomach flu nightmare. By dawn and after my fourth Immodium I was down for the count, but at least the worst was over. All that was left was to cancel my appointments, today and tomorrow (After all, who wants to meet someone with a stomach bug?), and situate myself in my bed, too tired to do anything.

What could I possibly be grateful for? A few small, but incredibly important things.

We live in a small village in Sweden. Small enough that my 10-year-old daughter can walk her 6-year-old little brother home after school. As I saw them approaching through the window on this gorgeous, sunny fall day, I was on the phone with a neighbor who wanted to know if she could do anything to help? Not having to be out on the road tomorrow means I will even have time to finish my presentation, that's way behind schedule, without having to stay up halfway through the night.

Does fate really work in this mysterious a way? I think so.

Picture depicts Nurse Meow, on one of his longer breaks...

Wooded sanctuary

My journey into the world of meditation is just as gradual and winding as my journey into yoga. When I lack the discipline to pure self-practice I seek out opportunities to either go to class or create a situation that "forces" me to follow through with a practice session.

Life is still moving at 300 mph (down from 500 a week or so ago). The difference this week is that the fall foliage is peaking here, and foliage waits for no one, not even stressed out women doing their best to keep their heads above water. So if I am to enjoy the beauty of fall (I happen to love this time of year), then I have to get myself out of the house; I have to get outdoors.

Enough said, this morning I took my second walk of the week. Huge gusts of wind greeted me as I wandered towards my wooded path by the stream. What I love about walking meditations is that I can't give up in the middle of a session. If I walk to my special tree, then I have to walk back now, don't I? And once I crawl into the shelter of the towering trees, it's like I've entered my own sensual sanctuary. The blustery wind can be heard in the swaying treetops, but like a huge comforter the trees offer shelter from the cold. The lazy stream stretches itself from around the bend. And then I reach "my" tree, the tallest one in the woods. So tall that it leans slightly forward, sort of as a giant would in order to greet someone much shorter than himself.

I stop in front of the gnarly trunk and place my hands on the rough, uneven bark. I move my feet back and bend at my hips until my trunk is parallel with the ground. After aligning my thighs, pelvis, abdomen, trunk, and head, I stand here in a modified downward dog as I lose myself in a wonderful sense of presence.

It only lasts for seconds, but when it's done, I am a new person.

J + P

An irresistible urge to go through a dusty box filled with old photos this afternoon led me to a card I apparently had given to my husband on our wedding day, October 11th, 1997.

Here's what was written in the card that I don't remember ever having bought, much less where I could have found it to begin with:

My husband, You are my forever love

Your friendship and love, and all of the wonderful things that they bring to my life, are like nothing else I've ever known.

My heart is complete with the love we share, and our love grows more beautiful each day...

As long as I have you, my husband, I have everything I need. Moments of success may come and go, and material things bring us momentary joy. But you are with me always...in a smile, a touch, a memory, a feeling, or a moment we share.

Friends enter our lives, sometimes only for a short time, but the friendship we share is deep and secure. Even if everyone else suddenly left me, I know I'd still have you as my best friend.

We pass through different phases of life with all their changes and challenges, and one day turns into another. But through it all, our love is constant.

You lend me strength when I need it most, and give me a precious gift each day by loving me just the way I am.

I don't know how you do it, but in your own special way you fill my life and heart with a wondrous joy that will always be present. You make my life complete, and I love you. - Linda Sackett-Morrison

To this day, I stand by every syllable.

Stupid pride & small blessings

Pride isn't always stupid. It's a great quality I wish more than anything to instill in my kids (along with compassion, empathy, and self-worth/love). Owning a sense of self-confidence is crucial if you want to get anywhere in this world, be it within one's work, lovelife, or journey towards self-discovery.

But I've noticed that lately my pride is limiting me. Since my pride whispers to my ego that I can do it all, I've been trying to live up to that myth, leading a S&M lifestyle (with more M than S), and now I can admit that the harder I try the worse things are getting. My priorities have been kids and work. I think I've managed those pretty OK under the circumstances. I haven't been as good at taking care of my self (deliberate splitting of word myself), house- and gardenwork, or my husband. There's simply no time nor energy left for that.

For years I scoffed at the idea of hiring a cleaning lady (or why not man in worn Levi's, barebreasted - no, wait, that's the poolboy fantasy - sorry...). Now, it's a no brainer. Just like paying for a babysitter tonight so that P and I can go out for dinner.

But those were easy choices to make since I a) had no other solution, and b) nobody has to know about them but myself (although I guess I screwed up keeping my inept weakness a secret now, huh?). It's hard sometimes to be honest, and writing this little blog forces me to scrutinize myself, both the good and the bad. I try my best to be honest (although it's not 100% possible to write all thoughts down for public cyberviewing) and include the good with the bad.

What's interesting is that when I reach out and humbly admit to my shortcomings, the responses I receive are always surprisingly positive. So by reaching out I gain strength, and sometimes it comes from the most unexpected sources. Instead of feeling weak and stupid, I end up feeling humble, warm, and like I matter. If I hadn't reached out, then no one would have had any way of knowing what was up with me, and I would never have gotten any reaction.

What greater gift is there than knowing that others care about little, old me?

Clarification

If there's one thing I have little patience for, it's modern day martyrs! I am not a victim. I have made conscious choices that have fortunately enough taken my life in a direction towards my dreams. Jobwise, this past half year has been utterly amazing.

But I guess even amazing comes at a price, which is why I am tired. And since I don't want to keep staying tired, I write down my thoughts in order to try to come up with some sort of plan, as well as trying to see what it all means.

Please excuse if anything I've written can unintentionally be seen as a self-indulgent pity party. That's just so not who I want to be...

Way out?

It's time to break the pattern. Like the radio ad says,"The wheel is spinning, but the hamster is dead." If the hamster is my brain, then perhaps I'm not clinically dead, but I could use some serious life support at the moment.

Or maybe I'm the little duckling from my entry a week or so ago... But even though I got through the storms of September, I wasn't ready for the rapids in October. So while I don't have any huge projects pending for another few weeks, playing "catchup" while simultaneously holding down the fort is just not working out. I am fogetting things. Mind you, that isn't at all unusual for me, but usually I eventually remember the important things, even if it's often at the very last minute. Now it's like my short term memory has been deleted, erased, wiped clean.

I have a Yoga Journal magazine at home that's been been waiting to be opened for more than two weeks. I'm waiting for the perfect opportunity when all is calm, and I'm coherent enough to lose myself in it. But I'm not there yet.

Escape plans: 1. Call cleaning lady - DONE - she's coming to give us an estimate next week. At this point I'm like, "TAKE MY MONEY - just please help me out here!" 2. Don't forget the fabulous friends you have - DONE - had a wonderful evening with a girl who besides offering food, drink, and wonderful conversation, alway gives me an intellectual and creative vitamin injection as well (Tack, Jeanette!). 3. Consider backing off with teaching at the gym...this is a tough one, since teaching forces me to stick to some sort of exercise routine. However, this is where I've unintentionally been screwing things up since I haven't been able to be there on a regular basis anyhow - WILL DISCUSS 4. I have last month's issue of YJ in my suitcase - try reading it for 5 minutes before passing out on pillow - WILL DO!

After all, there's gotta be an emergency stop button somewhere on this damn hamster wheel, right?

Eight entries

How's your Cyprus presentation going? The TV's not working; can you look at it? Can you read to me? What's for dinner? Can you go to A's school for his appointment with the nurse? What's the square root of 81? What year did the battle at Gettysburg take place? What's the chemical symbol for potassium?

Eight entries. That's all I managed to write during all of September. I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life's high-paced tempo lately. Trying to figure out if something can be crossed off the list. It's probably not healthy to push myself like this. Eight entries. That's a sign that I've already sacrificed much of the free time that I usually use for doing NOTHING, seeing as how that's when I get a chance to reflect.

What's the payoff of having too much to do? The most obvious reward is that we make more money this way; and I'm really looking forward to our Florida vacation in December. On a more subtle note; since I have managed to keep my head above water and every project I've participated in thus far has been successful, well that means that despite my exhaustion I reap the rewards of satisfaction which makes my efforts seem worthwhile. I end up enjoying myself, as long as everything works out.

But eight entries. It's not only my blog, mind you; it's also a sign that literally, I'm not present. If I don't have enough time for myself, then I don't have enough time to just be there for my kids. Like this morning, for the first time in what seems like ages, I was greeted by my son who came into my bedroom (as I was writing this) to say good morning and crawl under the covers. With Mr. Meow on his tummy we chatted about the Tom & Jerry comic book we read last night. Soon he was off to play Playstation when my daughter stepped in and crawled under the covers for the same good morning procedure. Now she's watching cartoons.

Seeing as how no matter how much I plead, a day will for all of eternity only consist of 24 hours, I have to figure out how to make things work. And somewhere in the midst of it all I would like to eventually figure who I am so that I might finally gain some insight into how I should prioritize.

But for the moment, the plan is to enjoy long, leisurely paced French toast breakfast with my two angels.

The kid's a genius

I try so hard to not fall into the cliché of saying that I don't have the time to (choose one of the following): work out, blog, meditate, go for a walk, bake, clean, act like a sex kitten, etc, etc.

I think about a little thing I read in the newspaper years and years ago. A five-year-old was asked to explain what "time" was. He answered, "Time is time. Kids have more time than grownups."

Did I hear someone mention a Nobel prize?