Chill pill

I don't exactly enjoy sounding angry and/or irritated, be it when I write a blog entry or when I find myself nagging at my kids and/or husband (who sometimes disguises himself as an overgrown kid...). I have always had a temper, something that has been handed down from generation to generation in my family. It has literally taken me years to go from being the kind of type-A personality who would always lightly pump on the gas when stuck at a red light to allowing myself to put the car in neutral instead, realizing that a fraction of a second's difference in my reaction time isn't going to make any difference in how fast I get from A to B, but it may very well spare me from high blood pressure and heart failure later on down the road.

While I have enjoyed much more balance by being in better control of my reactions, I still have issues with my temper and hence my mood swings. Of course, by having a temper I have an inbuilt stress barometer, so it sort of helps bring clarity to how much stress I am experiencing. I chose the term "experiencing" instead of "exposed to" since my reaction isn't always relative to the stimulus. I can be calm, cool, and collected while one of my kids is barfing all over me while the same "me" can be on the verge of a coronary should someone forget to wipe down the kitchen counters after doing the dishes. Fun, huh? Even more fun is not always being able to predict when the Mr. Hyde part of my personality is going to make itself known.

Now that I look back at my latest entries, I must continue to maintain that, yes, my little sea of hormones is having some sort of not too subtle impact on my moods. It has spread to differents of me like a rash, so on top of having basically NO patience and NO stress-threshold, my face is peppered with zits, my head feels like a zit in desperate need of being popped, my throat feels tight, my appetite's gone, and an invisible rock has made itself at home on my chest.

What to do, what to do?

Be patient... Take a shower.... Try to relax... Get to bed early enough so that tomorrow I can get up for a walk first thing...

Once again I am lucky to have a husband who knows me well enough to let me be.

Imagine if there was such a thing as chill pills. How great would that be?

Provoked, Part II

The bitch is back.

And tonight I am playing the following card:

The "it's my blog, and I'll rant if I want to" card.

Celebrity-wannabees have no business showcasing themselves in cheesy B-magazines trying to come off as experts in fields where they are obviously complete novices. The girl in this picture is a world class ballroom dancer, but she is not a yoga instructor. So why is she standing there, clueless and/or ingnorant to her utter lack of technique as well as insight, irresponsibly sending the worst possible message to the readers they are trying to "inspire"? Doesn't she realize that this only diminishes her image, by agreeing to do something completely out of her league, when she instead could have shared with others what it is that has made her excel in her own field?

The only people who should be depicted in these kinds of articles should be of a caliber that they are capable of instructing instructors - nothing less. At least in my opinion. Show some respect, people, for yourself and your followers.

While I'm on the subject of respect, I may as well take this opportunity to vent a little more. Yes, I know that I am very clearly revealing my weakness of character by allowing myself to get all riled up, but I'll just remind you of the card I decided to play at the beginning of this entry ;-) .

Anyhow, here goes: if you are a yoga student/yoga class participant who has no interest in listening, learning, or allowing me to suggest, guide, or teach you: WHAT ARE YOU DOING COMING TO MY CLASS??? Seriously, I just don't get it. I hope that whatever journey you are on, you'll eventually start opening your eyes, mind, and heart, at least if you're going to keep coming to my class.

Like I said, I know this says just as much about my own shortcomings, but I'm dealing with those outside the blog. For now, I'm using my blog to unload.

And I'm blaming my mood on PMS.

Here's what Warrior II should look like:

Top picture from aftonbladet.se
Bottom picture from yogajournal.com

Provoked

The old chin is coming out, but I can't help it. My blood pressure was boiling yesterday, and all because of a NOVEL that I am in the process of listening to while spending my days out on the road again.

Usually I really enjoy novels that depict longspun, intricate relationships; this one about two women and their lifelong friendship with all its trials and tribulations is no different. However, I have had it up to here (hand at chin) with "The Average Middle-Class American Woman" character whose grown life comes down to years of self-imposed victimization and martyrdom - especially when said character has made a conscious choice to become a housewife.

I am in no way belittling the hardships of being a full-time mother. I, for one, am not cut out for it. Regardless, however, of the choices one makes, I am not about to believe that a woman who has dedicated her life to caring for her family and home is incapable of caring for her own soul or determining her own fate. I got so incredibly aggravated as I listened during a three-hour drive yesterday to this fictional woman's thoughts and beliefs that her dreams could never be realized, that her husband would always secretly desire her best friend who was gorgeous and successful, that she just always had to be the one who volunteered to do this, that, and the other thing at all school, church, and social functions. And what she's telling herself is that she has no choice, she's completely powerless, as though life is something predestined, something that "happens to you".

At this point I'm ready to scream, "Wake up, dammit, and realize that you are the one steering your fate - right down the toilet for that matter!" And maybe you (blog-reader) are thinking, "Well so are you, Judie, so turn the damn thing off if it's that annoying!" Point taken. I will however keep on listening (since I'm in the car anyway) in the hopes that she will eventually come around. But it's hard, because she's in her forties at this point, and time isn't exactly slowing down.

Anyhow, back to the point...the point being...right - you cannot NOT choose, period. Sure, life can be overwhelming and really suck at times. I, personally, am dreading September since I am going to be away more during the weeks than I am at home. But whose choice is that? Was it not me who applied for and accepted this job? Have I not chosen my career path so that I, among other things, could have a comfortable lifestyle? And so on.

And when things are crazy, which they are bound to be at this point in our lives, what right do I have to expect someone or something outside of myself to fix it for me, if I'm not willing to try fixing it myself? Fixing in this case means perhaps taking that morning walk, drinking a cup of coffee on the porch, or simply stating to my family - that's it, I'll be downstairs for a while to do some yoga. And I try my best to make sure that what's most important gets done and simply forgive myself for neither having the time nor energy to deal with everything else.

It may not always be much, but it's enough to get me through the rougher times. I must however add that I am lucky to have my husband's support. We try to make sure that each of us gets to enjoy time on our own. Our lifestyle choices are choices we have made together, so we do our best to maintain some sort of balance, for the most part. It may not always be 50-50, but at least it's not 90-10 either.

A sense of well-being

The following could mean that I am certifiably insane, but here goes...

I love hanging out our laundry.

As I delicately sort through the different pieces of clothing based on size and shape I attempt to find just the right balance and structure so that they all can bask in equal amounts of warm sunshine and wind. The feel of the damp, soft textures from the various types of fabric against my skin, the fresh scent of soap and softener, the radiant colors and shades, the taut sound created from shaking a wrinkled mound of cloth back into its symmetrical form is nothing short of a feast for my senses.

I feel instant and complete gratification. I feel closeness to my loved ones, my husband and children, the ones I cherish most.

I am reminded of my abundant good fortune.

The laziest yogi I know

Yep, that would be me.

Yesterday I finally made it to my mat, determined to finally give myself, treat myself to, a thorough workout. I haven't really felt my best since becoming ill a couple of weeks ago (see - my excuses are already showing their ugly faces...), so right off the bat I promised myself to focus more on flexibility rather than strength.

Maybe it's because I was trying to undo the knots and release the tension that had built up in my muscles throughout the week; anyway, the demons who battle my willpower, much like the orcs from "The Lord of the Rings" demolishing anything that crosses their path, emerged with a vengeance from their lairs of distress buried deep in the darkest corners of my mind. The havoc they wreaked on my concentration at times was so nasty that I had to on several occasions deviate from my flow, pull over to the side, put on the brakes, and try to re-center myself in Child's pose .

OK, maybe I'm being a little melodramatic. In all honesty, I made it through in one piece. I am grateful to be reminded that yoga isn't about always perfoming feats of great strength (as those who celebrate Festivus might endeavor upon). All too often it is way too easy to get into a mindset where one might start believing that focusing primarily on the breath or gently nudging at your limits in order to find a new range of motion without the added latic acid buildup in one's muscles is the same thing as wimping out.

Yesterday's practice was in fact much tougher than that. Yesterday's practice ended up being a true catharsis of my bodymind. And it was just what I needed - a purging, a deep-cleansing of my soul.

No one ever said it would be easy. Namasté.

Unconventional

Having been brought up to always be a "good girl", I sometimes catch myself thinking it's unfair that the girls who don't follow the unwritten rules I learned as a child (for example that the house must be cleaned at least once a week) or the girls who are simply unconventional (stay in bed on weekends to 10 A.M. and serve their family breakfast sometime around 11...), never get reprimanded. And girls like me who diligently want to make their mothers and mother-in-laws proud (even though the one lives on the other side of the planet while the other one is off enjoying heaven) never get that shiny medal, trophy, or even some damn recognition for their undying efforts.

So today when we had our family council after breakfast, my daughter once again reminded us, in no uncertain terms, that we had at the beginning of the summer promised her we'd at some point drive to a beach an 1½-hours from here - Böda Sand on Öland's northern tip. The weather up until today had just been so-so, and the prognosis called for mostly sunny skies but with temperatures no higher than 70 degrees F (21 C). Still it's the 22nd of August and school starts on Thursday....so if not now - when?

The conventional girl had a list, or rather an encyclopedia, of reasons why we shouldn't go - the aforementioned house to clean, lawn to mow, work to do, translations to be done, classes to be planned (along with workout to try out class plans). Add to that - long drive, uncertain weather, expensive gas prices, high expectations that Böda would be sooo incredibly amazing compared to beaches closer to home - oh, I could go on and on and on.

Logic is, well, so logical when you hear its arguments in your head. But try explaining logically to your 10-year-old: things like why vacuuming can't possibly be put off a day or two, or hell, even a week, when today very well could be our last chance to go to Böda this summer. Besides my daughter, who knows me better than my husband at times, could smell my efforts to scam her from a mile away, and she wasn't buying any of it!

So we went. The weather was glorious (even for someone like me, who in case you didn't already realize it, isnt' a real fan of spending all day lying on a beach). The sun shone the entire time, and the wind was completely still. The beach was practically empty as we lay out our things by one of the sanddunes. The crystal clear water was cold at first, but more refreshing than I could imagine. The kids ran around, splashed around, played around, constantly shrieking with joy. My husband and I could sit beside each other holding hands, taking it all in, everything that was right with this picture.

It ended up being a perfect day.

Um, excuse me? Flock member? Are you mental?!

They say dogs are by nature flock animals, and when a flock leader is recognized he (or she) is the the sovereign ruler who decides who gets to eat: when, where, and how much.

I tried to explain that to Mr. Meow as I was making some grilled chicken for lunch today. Simply put, I am the flock leader, and I will decide if he gets a taste of my yummy cacao-chili spiced chicken. Just like Cesar I showed my dominance by expanding my posture, exuding calm yet powerful energy, and placing myself between him and the prey-filet noisily basking in a skillet on the stove.

In response I got a verbal lashing in cat-tongue that is still ringing in my ears. I couldn't make out the words, but I am sure it included enough obscenities to make a sailor blush.

Anyone know a decent cat-whisperer?