Yoga – again!

When I was in my 40′s, I went to a weekly yoga class. It really helped keep my energy flowing for my job, which was teaching children music. My very first experience with yoga was way before that. It was in the ’70′s. My first husband, new baby daughter and I were living with my Mom then. Mother was recuperating from a heart attack. We used to have a weekday afternoon ritual of watching Richard Hittleman’s “Yoga for Health” on public TV. That was followed by (or maybe it was preceded by — don’t remember) Star Trek.

Well, today I decided to go to a 3-hour yoga class. What was I thinking? I discovered that the other 20 people in the class were all younger than me, and most of them were very flexible and could do what the teacher asked of them. Not me! While I knew HOW to do the asanas, the actual DOING was another matter. I thought about packing up my things and just leaving. But the teacher was attentive and suggested alternative poses I could do instead.
Now I’m home again, feeling muscles I didn’t even know I had! I need to get back in shape, do yoga once a week, for ONE hour only. That would be really good for me.

Football

Does anyone else hate football? It’s Saturday. I woke up to football on the radio, coming from Wisconsin. Just as that game ended, another one’s on TV, and the same game on radio — at the same time! We have no basement or attic or garage, so where do I go to get away from FOOTBALL? I thought about going shopping, but since the game is here in town, the roads not under construction are re-routed for THE GAME. Plus, there’s the eternal argument  with DH I don’t want to get into about “not going out now because of all the game traffic.” I could go out in the yard, but today is the hottest day of the year so far.

Actually, I did kind of enjoy my grandson’s flag football practice the other day. I even took a few pictures. I liked hearing the coach say my grandson was the fastest boy on the team. I liked the wind on my face, and hearing the children’s laughter. What I didn’t like was remembering when my own son was playing flag football so many years ago. That was probably the same year my divorce became final. My ex came to the front porch. I walked down off the porch to meet him. He handed me the papers. We talked briefly, and that was it. Divorced! Tammy Wynette wrote a song: D-I-V-O-R-C-E probably about George Jones. I used to be a Country Music DJ so I know this.

Football… I can hear the announcer: “Incomplete. That was kind of a hail Mary… another great opportunity for interception there… That thing looked like it was going for 20, 25 yards. Blah, blah, blah, blah blah.” Sometimes it’s fun to listen for trite phrases announcers use all the time, like “You don’t quite know where that ball’s gonna be.” “He’s just got to stay with it.” “What an explosive play!” “The atmosphere is electric.”

That’s how I learned to announce baseball scores one summer on the radio. I listened to the words other announcers use, to make the boring numbers more interesting. Team A “got by” Team B. Team A “over” Team B. Team A “shut out” Team B. But “shut out” means the loser got zero points. There are lots of subtleties to learn. One time I even announced a Rodeo! I had a lot to learn in the two days I had to prepare. Luckily I had the mayor with me for “color.” Color, that’s what they call the other person who is not the regular announcer. It reminds me of coloring with crayons. The announcer is like the one who draws the black line on the pictures, and the “color” is the person who adds all the colors with the crayons.

Being inside with football filling the air is kind of like being in a cage. I just finished reading Room, the book by Emma Donaghue. It’s written from the point of view of a 5 year old boy who was born to his mother in captivity. Kind of like Jaycee Lee Dugard’s story. But the author said that Jaycee hadn’t even been released when the book was written. Maybe Jaycee’s story somehow made it into the mind of Emma. Like mental telepathy.

It’s thirteen-nothing and we’re winning. I’m going back to cleaning up my room. It’s nice when we win.

Making Pancakes

It’s Friday morning, late. I’m making pancakes. It seemed like a good idea. I was hungry and looked at the clock. Hmmm… not yet noon, so I guess I’ll think of some kind of breakfast food my husband will eat. And that I like too.

Fixing pancakes is a good time to write. There is all that waiting time while the pancakes show bubbles before you turn them over.

I used to make a fruitless attempt to get all the pancakes ready at the same time, so they would still be warm at serving time. For years I’ve used a little gadget like Mom had. It’s a crescent shaped holding tray that clips onto my black iron skillet. Because the finished pancakes are resting patiently near the source of heat, it works pretty well. But still I hurried, aiming for more efficiency by carefully pouring as many as three pancakes into the pan. Then having them stick together in a gooey mess anyway. Kind of a metaphor for my life. Always in a hurry. Gooey messes.

But this morning I discovered I can turn the oven on WARM, pour one leisurely pancake all by itself, and write while I’m cooking. The important thing is to keep part of my mind on the temperature at the skillet and the progress of my pancake. As each pancake is done, I plop it into a stoneware dish staying warm in the oven.

My writing assignment this week — I’m in a creative writing class — is something about how to go through the process of dying. What does making pancakes have to do with dying? Remember that metaphor about life and pancakes? Living and Dying — two sides of the same coin.  It’s about taking more time with things, doing things I like to do. And keeping an eye on the temperature — my emotions — as my guide.

Dreams

When I was a child, I used to enjoy looking at my Mother’s books. She had a wonderful collection! There was a full set of encyclopedias, with lots and lots of pictures. Many of her books were non-fiction, how-to books. There were fiction books too: I remember a small paperback by Guy de Maupassant. It had an interesting cover, but no pictures inside, so I passed it by.

Up on a high shelf were 5 or 6 small format books with hard, glossy covers. One of these was a Dream Dictionary. It listed pages and pages of common themes and objects reported in people’s dreams, along with the interpretation of each. From time to time, I would study this book with great fascination, only to lose interest when I had no dreams of my own to use for verification.

When I was in my 20’s, I read a book by the psychiatrist Fritz Perls about his way of analyzing dreams. It confirmed what I had long suspected – that the symbolism in dreams is unique and comes from the dreamer. Only the dreamer can interpret them. That being said, certain symbols do lend themselves to common interpretations. One of these is water. For me, when I dream of water, it is most certainly about my emotional life. Water equals Emotions. But for another person, it might mean something else entirely.

Over time, I’ve discovered that shoes have a special meaning in my dreams. Shoes equals financial status. This comes from the importance my mother placed on being “well-heeled.” Every summer when I was growing up, I got a brand new pair of saddle-oxfords for school. Mother lived through the depression, so perhaps that is why she valued having nice shoes to wear.

I could go on and on about dreams. They are so intriguing to me, and I’m one of those people who think that dreams can be healing and occasionally even prophetic. Judith Orloff, M.D. writes: “Dreams are revolutionary states of consciousness that impart intuitive wisdom about how to be free.” She calls dreams “evocative facilitators of emotional freedom.”

Fat Cats and Orchids

Tonight I’m feeling cranky

And all the world seems blue.

The neighbor’s going bankrupt

Our government is, too.

          The old cat yowls so loudly

          And then she wants my love

          Who can love a cat like this?

          I move her with a shove.

The orchid is so fragile

And needs such tender care;

The dandelions — defiant

“Kill us, if you dare!”

          My cat she’s like the orchid

          And I’m an orchid, too.

          Kindness and acceptance

          Yield a lovely hue.

Are politicians dandelions

All show and blustery puff?

My censure goes to DC’s crowd:

Is compromise so tough?

Best Friend

This is one of my favorite photos. The boy is my grandson, and the dog is our Max. One day we were at their house, and Max isn’t allowed inside, so he was banished to the back yard.

Lately I seem to keep finding songs about dogs. One is titled “God and Dog” and it’s by Wendy Francisco. Very sweet, and so true! You could look it up online. Another one was composed by Cat Stevens — now known as Yusuf Islam. And yet another is “Man of the Hour” on Norah Jones’ The Fall CD.

Father’s Day 2011

I have a photo of my Dad that I took around 1964. It was on a Sunday afternoon, after church. I was wearing my straight skirt that went with a suit jacket, and a white blouse. He was in the backyard, stacking firewood. I took my camera and went out back to get the photo. He took one of me, then I took one of him.

He died in 1965, when I was a Junior in High School. One of the fondest memories is the time he took my sister and my cousin Ralph and me to Cumberland Lake. We camped in a tiny old Airstream camper he borrowed from a friend at his work. One night around 2 or 3 am, he couldn’t sleep and neither could I, so he asked me if I wanted to go out in the boat with him. I did. Just the two of us. I don’t remember what we talked about, but I do remember sitting together in the little boat, just me and my Dad, out on the water.

Yesterday my husband and I went out to Shari’s Restaurant for dinner. The waiter said he had recently arrived here in Oregon.

“Where did you come from?” I asked.

“Kentucky.”

“That’s where I’m from!” I said. “What part?”

“Down near Cumberland Lake… you know it’s not there anymore…”

Then he told me that they opened up Wolf Creek Dam and emptied out the Lake.

Whew! My famous late night memory with my Dad came rushing back to my mind. Not there?! Then I remembered that, on that same trip with my Dad, he took us to Wolf Creek Dam. Dad was so much in awe of that engineering… what it took to build the dam, and create that beautiful lake. I wonder if he would agree with their decision to drain the lake? Would he have been an environmentalist like me?

Happy Father’s Day, Dad!

Have you ever seen a Knit Bomb?

Yesterday I attended a drum circle at a central park. It’s a new thing trying to get started. I heard about it online — this is what they call “social networking.” Somewhere along the line I must have checked a “Like” box on Facebook or something, for the Eugene Yoga Community. Next thing I know, I’m getting emails from them. The email I received said to bring your drum, if you have one, and a blanket. Besides myself, there were five others who were part of the circle. We sat by the Willamette River and had a fun time going between drumming and sharing in conversation. Before long I got uncomfortable playing my drum on the ground, so I traded with a woman who had brought a beaded rattle. Then I could stand up and play. So, are you wondering what is a Knit Bomb? OK… so after an hour and half of drumming, someone suggested that the group walk over the bridge where we could see – up close – a knit bomb. “A knit bomb?” I asked. As my new friend was explaining what a knit bomb is, I was simultaneously remembering that I had already seen one — during my trip to Lexington, Kentucky in April. So, rather than try to explain it, I’ll post a picture!

Now, I haven’t actually seen the one in the park where we were drumming, because I had to go meet my ride home. But I could see it from a distance, and it seemed there was knitting all along the bridge. Probably a group of people in the homeless community descended on the bridge and made a real event out of it! My plan is to go over there again one day and take a picture. Then I’ll post it right here inside this blog post.

Message from Mother Earth

I recently joined a Creative Writing class. My first assignment was to write about three things I know for sure. Here is what I came up with:

Last night Diane Sawyer’s lead story for the ABC evening news was the weather. We learned about the fires in Arizona — and this latest destruction on the heels of the recent devastating tornadoes and floods across the US! Global Warming is showing its face, Diane told us. It reminded me of an old 60’s TV commercial where a woman wearing a flowing gown and tiara comes out from behind a tree and says, in a sing-songy voice: “You mustn’t fool with Mother Nature.”

A more accurate term for the frequent weather catastrophes is “climate change.” Like a human mother, our earth is continually communicating with us. She does this through her emotions, which we humans call “the weather.” Just think of how many of our common expressions about emotions are weather analogies:

“Those children playing were like a breath of fresh air.”

“Her eyes flooded with sadness.”

“His face clouded over with confusion.”

When will we start listening to our mother’s messages? Here are three things she is certainly telling us:

1. Grow more trees. Trees are the lungs of the planet. They convert carbon dioxide into oxygen. We have too much carbon dioxide on the planet, creating a hole in the ozone layer. Humans need oxygen to breathe. This is not complicated.

2. Find better ways to produce energy. And use less of it. There are lots of ways to do this. Develop alternative energy sources. Ride our bikes for transportation, or ride the bus.  Drive electric or hybrid vehicles. Reduce, Reuse and Recycle. Take our own bag into the grocery instead of accepting plastic bags.

3. Listen to the voices of women. They are showing us how to open our hearts.

The Mother Earth in the TV ad was urging us to eat real butter, not a synthetic margarine. Synthetics — makes me think of polyester. I still prefer cotton.

Sex and Society

After watching way too much of the embattled Representative Weiner’s statement to the press on TV yesterday, I feel the need to say something about society and sex. Actually, the tipping point for me to write today came after I read an article in the paper about a different, but related topic… the neglect and, often sexual abuse of the elderly in nursing homes. And let’s not forget that raping of women in war is, tragically, a traditional strategy routinely used by many occupying armies.

The urge for sexual expression is a natural and wholesome phenomenon, but in our present day world, it is all too often repressed, subverted or twisted with destructive results. Real progress on right sexuality can come about through education, of course. But we need to develop a heart for it, too. When we relate to  others with an open heart, there can be compassion and reverence and respect for our bodies.