Coronavirus thoughts cont’d

I answered an email from a work colleague this afternoon. Before the coronavirus, he felt like a co-worker. Today he feels like a friend. Both he and his father contracted the virus. They had some touch and go moments over the last few months. He closed his email saying that going forward we would be living in a changing world. I responded that I agreed. 

There will be many changes in how we live and how we perceive the world. I have no doubt we will lose a great deal from this experience. But it’s important to really look at what we are losing. Sometimes our losses turn out to be gifts in disguise. And it’s important to note, that my thoughts do not apply to anyone who has lost a loved one to this virus. These are just thoughts about life changing around us each day.

My world is small these days. Because of that, I write from a limited perspective. But I’ve also been on this planet for just shy of 65 years. My world wasn’t always this small. I only comment on this, because what I write about are simple ideas, and what I foresee as some of the most important changes we can look forward to from this experience.

I am seeing some significant differences out my window each day. We live in a wooded rural area, a horse community with a town population of 4100 people. And we have a public trail adjacent to our property that is available to our association at any time. I look at the path from my desk. I’ve spent a lot of time at my desk writing the last five years. 

I’ve never seen so many people walking, riding their horses, walking their dogs, walking as families, strollers, people on bikes, you name it. Rick and I have spent hours and hours working in the yard, cutting back the berry bushes finally after five years. We burn them in the pit at the end of the day, sitting with a cocktail and something in the form of food to balance that. We have families that now greet us from the street as they take their daily walks. We’ve come to recognize them, and it’s fun to chat from a distance.

At our small market, everyone is protective, kind, and welcoming. It feels as though we all understand that we are all in this boat together. Kind of like Titanic, in the end, there are no cultural or social distinctions this virus will be honoring. We have united as one in spirit, a population that includes all races, making our way through a crisis. Nothing like nature to level the playing field and remind us of what a gift life really is, and also that, for all our differences, we are far more alike than we might imagine.

I mentioned in my last post that I felt mother nature was just summoning us back. I haven’t changed my thoughts on that. And yes, I agree with my co-worker that life will be different.

We will be forced to appreciate simple pleasures going forward. We will be reminded not to take for granted toilet paper, and more importantly, not waste it. Along with food and anything essential to our lives, we will from here on out, be mindful of the gift. 

My mother was a young girl during the depression. Her experience definitely left an imprint on her. She feared to be without food and essentials. I now understand the large wall cabinet in our garage housing canned goods and other necessities. I didn’t see the point up until this experience.

I welcome this lesson to help me understand my mother’s fears and to see that she was doing her best to care for herself and her family.

The virus has forced a significant “look at your life” reality. And I’m sure the lessons will differ for everyone. There are so many parts to this event, health fears, money worries, loss of our freedoms, missing our loved ones, and on and on. Some people are now isolated with loved ones that they are realizing they don’t even know very well anymore, and probably more significantly, don’t like very much.

Yes, in response to my co-worker, it will be a new day. We must remember that Mother Nature is always looking out for her kids. Trust her. Let her take you where you need to go. She always knows best.

Last night I dreamed about being able to fly. I’ve had this dream over the years many times. It’s my favorite dream. I can levitate and move wherever I want to go. But last night’s dream was a bit different. I could move and glide over the earth’s terrain wherever I wanted to go, and at incredible speeds. And I could choose, the localities were on a checklist. I traveled through the foothills over the rivers and streams, on to the ocean and finally to the mountains (all of my favorite places.) In the dream, I was worried about my kids, but enjoying the adventure I was experiencing. It didn’t take too long this morning to decipher my dream. 

Yes, I am worried about my loved ones every day. But on a personal level, I am beginning to soar. I realize I am actually enjoying the lessons I am learning day by day due to this virus. I am slowing down, and I become more grateful each day for simple things. I am putting my life into check, as opposed to the checklist it has been.

Here’s where I end up on what’s important. Number 1 and 2 are hard to choose between, but I realize that without my health, I can’t help or enjoy my loved ones, so in the end, it takes precedence.

1. Health

2. Family/loved ones

3. Sustenance

4. Happiness/vitality

5. Everything else

If I can maintain this understanding going forward even when the virus leaves, I will be forever lucky to have experienced this time.

Coronavirus thoughts

I’ve been wanting to write for days hoping it might somewhat quiet the noisy unpleasant chatter within. Not really sure if I thought writing might help me feel better or others… perhaps, in the end, it’s all one and the same. I can probably speak for most when I say that what I am facing has pulled the footing out from beneath me.

One beautiful thing about having been on this planet for so long is that I can look back on many times over the years where I felt genuine fear and see that life moved on, and in time I couldn’t even remember what I was so afraid of. That gives me some small comfort, but it doesn’t prevent me from waking up in the middle of the night fretting about the coronavirus and my loved ones. I’ve definitely lost sleep over this.

And the fear of the virus is only a part of what wreaks such havoc with my stress level. It’s also the changes that are occurring on a daily basis around me, the closing of schools and cancellations of events, the empty store shelves, the upheaval in the economy, and the uncertainty about the choices I am being required to make. There is sound advice arriving each day in my email, and there’s also utter nonsense. I try to raise my guard, but even the rubbish has an effect on me. I feel completely overloaded. It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt so out of my comfort zone.

I look forward to the day when my heart will feel light again. I long to spend time in my garden enjoying the spring scents and beautiful blossoms surrounding me with nothing more important than my flowers to think about. I understand that may be next spring the rate we are going, but that doesn’t mean this Springtime will not be doing her best to capture my heart for a few minutes here and there. And I will undoubtedly breathe deep to receive her healing gifts and try not to work too hard to feel better because that doesn’t work.

My spirits are low for a good reason, and it’s important to honor those feelings. I think the next few months will feel somewhat like maneuvering through a minefield for most of us. We must remember that this is temporary, and to keep an eye on the horizon where we will soon see the first glimpse of the end of this period in our lives. It will be slow to appear, but once it does, before we know it, the coronavirus will be a distant memory. We will once again be stressing about something totally ridiculous, not the welfare of our loved ones. When did I think that stressing about silly things would sound so great?

In the meantime, it’s essential to be kind to others, and maybe more important, forgiving of what we don’t understand about how another person might be acting, or probably more accurately reacting to this situation. Until we have walked in another’s shoes, we can never understand their motivations or the reasons for their behavior.

I learned that lesson at the airport working with the flying public. We had a joke among some staff members that some people seemed to check their brains at the door when walking into the airport. And it was true, I ended up with some interesting stories to tell. But what my boss taught me when I first began, and what I came to understand from my experiences working at the airport, is that you never know what someone might be going through when they board that plane. They may be flying to be with a very sick loved one, or they may be absolutely terrified to fly. There were a hundred and one stories I heard, and once I saw the big picture, their behavior wasn’t so crazy after all. I’m the first to admit that if I’m at a level 8 or 9 and I have to deal with something that’s only a 2 or a 3, I’ve been known to lose my sh–, so far be it from me to judge someone else without the facts. Everyone has a story.

I know people have been hoarding supplies and, in certain instances, stealing, and I would only say this. Not everyone deals the same with stress and grief. Probably the majority of the people with their closets filled to the brim with toilet paper would be the first people who would be sharing it with you. The problem is that in times like this, people are narrow-minded in their stress and not really looking into the eyes of those around them. They aren’t monsters. They are just individuals who are very afraid and grabbing supplies to help quiet the storm that is raging within them. I can relate.

This is a time we need to come together and to make it a point to actually look into the eyes of strangers we meet to share our collective pain, along with whatever we have in our baskets. As we stand in the shopping aisles, we need to picture our neighbor standing next to us and take only what we need leaving enough for them as well. Because regardless of whether they are actually standing physically beside us, they are there in spirit and will need their fair share. And most notably, we need to be sure our caregivers have the supplies they need to care for the sick among us. We cannot deprive them of their protection. The CDC has confirmed time and again that the general public does not need masks, but our caregivers do.  

In the past week, I have been making it a point to get outside, take a walk just to breathe in the fresh air, and get the endorphins working. I want to share a thought I had on my walk today. I’ve been fortunate to know some pretty lovely people in my life. And without doubt, the ones I have most wanted to emulate were the few that were beyond generous with whatever they had to share. Phrases like, “He would give you the shirt off his back,” or “she would share her last bite with you,” those are the ones I’ve always admired and wanted to be like.

I’ve talked often about my friend Julie. She certainly was one of these angels. She struggled monetarily for years, and yet her door was always open with a delicious homemade meal, and there was often a crowd around her table. Julie was generous in more ways than I could ever recount. She had the gift of knowing that God would always provide the abundance she needed to share whatever she had with others.

I believe we have to trust in something higher than ourselves, and secondly, we need to try our best to do the right thing. There’s such honor in that. I don’t think I will ever stop working to emulate the angels I’ve known. I still have a far way to go, but hopefully, I’ve still got time to keep working on it.

Last thoughts, a plan is always a comforting thing. And each person’s plan must be tailored to their lifestyle and their story. For now, my plan is to keep walking each day, spend as much time in my garden as I can, stay connected to others even though I work at home and am also quarantined, write often, help out when I can, and do my part to lay low and wait this out. We have a rain forecast for the next week or two, so I will have my fire going, my puzzles out, my books on hand. I will have more time to spend in the kitchen, cooking some great meals. I will be checking in on all those I love. And I will end each day with heartfelt thanks if my friends and loved ones remain healthy.

Nature has sent us a powerful message. We must honor her voice and discover what we each need to learn from this experience. The lessons will vary from person to person. But make no mistake, we will have something to learn, and every one of us will carry something positive away from this. I don’t think Mother Nature would go to this extreme without good cause. In my thinking, we have just veered a bit too far from nature caught up in our worldly concerns, leaving little time for our earthly origins. She’s just reminding her kids to remember what’s really important.

Stay well, live well, show the love within at every chance. Here’s to spring, whether it be this year or next.

Wayward yogini finally begins teaching

Extra Extra, read all about it! Wayward Yogini finally teaches her first yoga class! Get the story here!

This reporter was lucky enough to catch up with Sue on her first day teaching at The Healing Shala in Cool, CA. Between classes, we were able to sit together at Cool Beerwerks (amazing sushi, not to mention the beer) on the corner of 49 and 193, discussing the trials and tribulations of becoming a yoga teacher at the age of 64. 

Haha, no reporter interviewing me, and much sadder, I wasn’t enjoying that amazing sushi that Cool Beerwerks serves. Still, nonetheless, I was feeling incredibly proud of my 64-year old self to pursue and persevere with this goal of mine. For those who haven’t followed my blog Tales of a Wayward Yogini for the last two years, the quick version goes like this.

I had been devoting much time to my elderly mother for many years. After her passing a few years back, I made a promise to myself to devote the following year to regaining my health.

I returned to a love of mine, yoga. And somewhere in the following few months, I began to tell Rick I wanted to become a yoga teacher in our little town, putting one of the many vacant storefronts in town to good use. It was just a pleasant fantasy, but what I was serious about was getting back in shape. The studio I began practicing at had a yoga teacher training class scheduled the following February. Perfect. I figured regardless of whether I ever became a teacher, the class would provide a jump-start for this aging, somewhat neglected senior body. 

While I wasn’t clear at the beginning of the class whether I would ever teach, by the end, I did see my path, and it did include teaching yoga. I had some hurdles, though. I was starting a new job, which took priority because, oh yeah, it was paying my bills. Most jobs take about a year to hit your stride, and this job was no different. So I took any pressure to start teaching yoga right off my plate! Boom… gone! 

But… in my quiet moments, I often wondered if I was just making excuses because I was afraid to take that leap, and expose my soft underbelly (one of my favorite expressions). Even though I took yoga off my plate, I still definitely gave myself some grief over the subject of teaching. In the end, I told myself that I had legitimate reasons for waiting: 1) I was learning my new job, 2) I was working on my blog as well as my upcoming book, and 3) I was simply afraid. They were all excellent reasons.

Remember the vacant storefront windows in Cool I mentioned earlier? Well, seems another yoga enthusiast Jennifer had similar thoughts. And while I worked on securing employment and writing, she did what I would have liked to do. She remodeled one of them, creating a sweet little yoga studio. She was even kind enough to select colors and styles I like, new laminate flooring, soft subtle colors, and the cutest sliding door. 

I found it about six months ago. I attended a class, even spoke with Jennifer about doing karma classes on Saturdays to get started, and then I disappeared without a trace. Apparently, I wasn’t ready yet. I let that be okay. 

About a month ago, I decided it was time to find some yoga teachers close to home. I love returning to the studio I trained at, but it’s an hour’s drive, and I just can’t manage that often enough. I studied the web and found a studio just down the road in Georgetown, a ten-minute drive down our country roads. I read up on the teachers and saw a woman Lynette that sounded like someone I would have a lot in common with. I made my way to Georgetown and then spent 20 minutes driving in circles. Turns out, the studio no longer exists.

But Lynette still exists thankfully, and I found that she was teaching at, you guessed it, the new little Cool studio. I was there the following Monday to attend her restorative yoga class, and again the Monday after that. By the end of my second class, I had a plan in mind of teaching a second restorative class at the studio to compliment her class. I happened to hear a student asking if there was another restorative yoga class during the week. There wasn’t. By the following week, we were sharing a glass of wine in Lynette’s kitchen. Just as I had somehow known when I read her bio, we found much in common. The following Monday night, I attended a meeting at the studio and committed to teaching my first yoga class beginning early April. 

It was an interesting lesson for me. For two years, I have felt my reluctance had to do with fear. And it did. But after seeing how easy this went together for me, I realize that my hesitation had more to do with finding the right fit, which was a lesson about trusting myself.

I of course manipulated a few months to get ready committing to April 3rd, can you blame me? And Lynette, somehow already my cohort, changed that up on me and asked if I could sub for her earlier than that so she could go visit her ailing 90-year old father. Really? How could I say no?

So there you have it, I subbed for her and taught my first two classes. It was actually lovely. I had five students in the first class, which for Cool, is pretty good. I thought transparency was a good thing, especially in yoga, so I admitted to them it was my first class. They all rallied around me. So sweet. 

The drive to class, though, was thought-provoking. I had somewhat luckily calmed my nerves. But on that 10-minute drive, I felt like I had put on someone else’s clothing. More accurately I felt like I was in a very uncomfortable costume. It was a palpable feeling. I didn’t feel afraid so much as just uncomfortable. The saying “uncomfortable in your own skin” fit perfectly. I tried to shake it off without much success, but before I knew it, I was at The Healing Shala, and the feelings would need to take a backseat. It was time to teach.

The following night when I was supposed to be sleeping, I was instead writing this post in my mind during the wee morning hours. It was only then that I could take the time to process those feelings. Anything new feels uncomfortable. And it stays uncomfortable for a while. But there comes that day when you own it. Your body no longer feels the anxiety. Your brain stops second-guessing your every move, and you rock it.

I’m looking forward to that one day.

Thinking about hashtags for my pics on Instagram, I’m thinking #whatageistooold? #64onherwaytorockin’it and #plentyoftimeGodwilling. Positive thoughts welcome on April 3rd.

In search of…

This week I will walk through the doors of Sutter Health in Auburn for a meet and greet of sorts with my (possibly) new gynecologist. This is not an exam, just an appointment to meet the doctor. You see, my ob-gyn, Dr. Jordan Horowitz, retired last month, and I have the task of finding a new doctor who will need to fill some pretty big shoes.

I met Jordan when I was close to 30. And I mean no disrespect when I refer to him in this blog as Jordan, instead of Dr. Horowitz. It’s the only name I ever called him. Such a delightful, comfortable man to be around, a doctor who didn’t require any pomp and circumstance. He was just there to do his job, and he did it with humor and kindness and a genuine interest in his patients.

I met Jordan at the time I was trying to conceive my first child. It was taking longer than usual. I hadn’t exactly rushed into starting a family. I was 30, and perhaps my body was taking a stand since I had kept it waiting. I was referred to Jordan for a consultation. I liked him instantly and felt safe in his care, and also probably, more importantly, he left me optimistic that we would overcome whatever the obstacles were. He had a way of helping his patients look for the positive. Leaving his office after the first visit, I didn’t know when or how, but I knew with Jordan’s help, we would prevail.

I did become pregnant and welcomed my Amy girl into the world a few years later. I would become pregnant a second time, but would have to end that pregnancy in Jordan’s office early on. I had what is known as a blighted ovum, which means a fertilized egg attaches itself to the uterine wall, but the embryo does not develop. Jordan had the unfortunate task of informing me that my second pregnancy would need to be aborted. I remember in bits and pieces the day I had to go in for the DNC, but mostly I remember feeling cared for by him and his staff and my family. It wasn’t even two months later that I conceived again with my boy, Jordan, and Jordan Horowitz would again deliver my child. How blessed I was in all respects. I didn’t name my son Jordan in honor of the doc, it was more that I liked the name, but Jordan Horowitz definitely lent a good feeling to the name.

Over the many years since, I’ve had a few breast lumps, which turned out to be nothing, thank God. But still, no one wants to hear their doctor telling them he just found a lump. Jordan both times did it with such grace, and all the while instilling confidence in me that all would be well. And it was.

I only saw this man once a year, typically, but he was always someone I could confide in about the crucial things that I needed help on. I hate going to the doctors. But with Jordan, even being poked and probed in the most vulnerable of places fell into the background. It was just a necessity of staying well, and the day ended up feeling more like I had caught up with an old friend. Of course, he would always ask about Amy and Jordan, and what they were up to. I would volunteer all the latest info, and then he would offer up what his children were busy with. Year after year, our stories continued, and happily our children thrived, as did we.

Thirty-five years later… my last visit was in May of 2019. I knew he was nearing retirement. We chatted about when he might leave, he still wasn’t sure. It was on the horizon, but he hadn’t decided yet. I told him I would be making the trek down to San Francisco until he wasn’t there anymore. We laughed, but we also spoke about how special it was to have had such a long-standing relationship. In this world that we find ourselves in so many years later, the concept of a doctor-patient connection that stands the test of time in a throw-away society is pretty special and unique.

Nearing the end of the year, standing in my kitchen opening the mail at the end of a long day, holding an envelope from Sutter Health, I slid my fingers beneath the flap. Even before I could pull out the letter, I already knew what I would be reading. The tears were streaming down my cheeks by the first word of the first sentence, “I.” A personal letter from Sutter Health would undoubtedly be written by Jordan, announcing his retirement. I saw 35 years pass in an instant… my babies, my fears, my sorrows, my triumphs, my losses, and all those tests that, for the most part, came back with good news. I spent the following weeks letting go to allow for a new beginning. I am happy for Jordan to begin a new chapter and content to not be traveling all the way to San Francisco for my doc visit, but letting go feels a bit like I am relinquishing my youth, even though that left the building some years ago. The tears are never too far away when I think about these days of change. I’m not fond of change on a good day, but especially when I’m leaving someone or something I’ve really enjoyed. I want to hold on and never let go.

In recent weeks, as I’ve let the sadness wash over me from time to time, I’ve come to understand that these memories will never fade away. The days of my babies and my youth will always be the sweetest days I’ve known. And Dr. Jordan Horowitz will have played such a special part in it.

I wish for Jordan everything that he gave to me and I’m sure the thousands of women he worked with through the years. If he receives even a fraction of what he gave, he will enjoy his retirement years.

And Wednesday, I will meet a possible candidate to replace Jordan. As I said in the beginning of this post, whoever I choose has some big shoes to fill. But I’ve been doing my research, and this doctor sounds young and funny and specializes in menopausal women, that’s a plus. I’m sure I will walk in with a lump in my throat.

Endings, beginnings, and faith in the universe that has treated me so well up until now… wishing me and the new doc luck. And wishing blessings to Jordan Horowitz in his new life.

And lastly, coincidentally on this day my dear friend’s daughter Caitlin is in labor. Wishing a speedy delivery and a healthy son.

A follow up on the women

A follow up seems warranted to my last post, a weekend for the women. First, I just want to thank again all of the people who sent their comments and likes, and for those who know me on a personal level, their texts and emails. I was overwhelmed and so appreciative of the response.

It only confirmed something I already believe—that there is such a light in the world even amidst all of the disturbing news day in and day out. The topics were universal, death, loss of loved ones, illness, healing, moving forward, who can’t relate? And while the post was dedicated to the women in the world, I probably had more men respond than women. I love that.

I believe in that light within each of us, and I also am committed to the idea that we all share an energy that moves through us and on to those around us. Even though it isn’t something we can see or touch, it is ever-present and quite powerful.

With that belief in mind, the responses meant more than one might imagine. 

To update, my friend Ann’s mother, Janet, did pass last week. And my niece Wendy was diagnosed with cancer, but thankfully with an excellent prognosis. 

When we arrived home last Sunday, even before these events occurred in the following days, I threw myself on the bed and didn’t move the rest of the afternoon. My energy had been drained. As the week progressed and we received the updates, it certainly wasn’t the news I had hoped for.

The light, though, is what I began to focus on. Midweek I took my hike to the pond that rests about a mile from our house. I like to say it’s a pond posing as a lake. But while it might lack in size, it has no shortage of wildlife. The birds in the trees make such a great ruckus, the fish are always jumping, and I love watching the ducks. It’s a pretty cool little pond. 

As I made my way back from the pond, I was thinking about all of the responses I was getting from my FB blog post. I was walking the hills with little effort, feeling almost elevated. I realized that I was feeling the light that so many people had graciously sent along. And I knew for a fact that the goodwill and positive energy would pass through me and on to my friend Ann and her family, as well as my niece.

We may not be able to scientifically prove it, because there isn’t a machine yet to measure what we humans are capable of transmitting. But I genuinely believe that Ann and her family, as well as Wendy, will move through their challenges a little bit easier thanks to the many people who took the time to read the post and respond. 

And one final follow up since our dinner on Friday night, Paul and Lisa and I have been in constant contact due to my post. It has felt like a labor of love. Paul was excited to share Carrie’s photo and support my blog post, and Lisa so generous with her kindness and understanding that the dinner was complicated for me just by Carrie’s absence.

It turns out that Lisa, too, lost her husband some eight years ago. I didn’t know that at the time of our dinner. Rick had more opportunity to chat with her due to the noise level in the restaurant and probably my need to talk privately with Paul a bit. In hindsight, I remember only the light at our table, making it easier for all of us, the same light that had me walking on air on my way back from the pond.

The paintings attached to this post are Lisa’s work. She considers herself a novice. Matisse was once a beginner until people began to love his work. The two paintings I have included are of her mother, Sylvia. Lisa painted these from photos after her death. The painting on the beach Lisa remembers as a great day they spent at the ocean, her mom sitting in the sand enjoying a beer. The second one was a picture she liked of her mom, but she decided to add a hat. I love the hat. Even though my favorite actress Meg Ryan in “You’ve Got Mail” mentions that all hats are mistakes, I must disagree. I can hear Carrie in my mind, and she would have liked Lisa’s artwork as well as the hat. Carrie loved art.

I chose these two paintings of Lisa’s mother in honor of Ann’s mom’s passing. 

A fond farewell to Janet Ryan, who contributed much to the city of Fresno, a small woman in stature who will be leaving a huge legacy. She will be missed.

You can find Lisa on Instagram at FogCItyWatercolor or at FogCItyWatercolor.etsy.com.

An important weekend for the women…

(Sweet Carrie above.)

This weekend centered around women, not necessarily by design but due to the circumstances around me. My boss scheduled our holiday celebration on Saturday night, a great idea after letting the hustle and bustle of the season fade. We were initially scheduled for a dinner party at Spin in the financial district of San Francisco. There was a double booking at the last minute, so we switched from ping pong to bowling.

Rick and I decided to splurge and book for two nights at the Marriott Marquis right in the heart of the city between Market and Mission. 

We made dinner plans with our friend Paul on Friday night at a fabulous Mexican restaurant next door. We didn’t realize when the event was first scheduled that the Women’s March of 2020 would be taking place on Saturday, right in front of our hotel. The older I get, and likely also because I now live in such a rural environment, I’m not the biggest fan of large crowds. I cheer on the participants, but you will not likely find me amid the masses.

Rick and I decided it would be fun to be decadent and stay in our hotel room all day, order room service, bring our books and computer, play games, and only think about leaving the room late when the crowds dissipated. As the weekend progressed, I couldn’t have been happier with a slow day to process my feelings.

Some of my readers may remember me writing about the passing of my friend, Carrie, a few years back. Our dinner plans on Friday were with her husband, Paul, and a wonderful woman, Lisa, with whom he has recently started spending time. Even though it’s been over two years since Carrie’s passing, I still find my throat closing and my eyes welling up when I think of her. Rick kept glancing my way throughout the dinner, worrying that I might not handle the evening well.

And he was right to be worried. I’m nothing if not emotional; sometimes, I don’t do the best job of masking my feelings. At times during the dinner, I could see myself from a bird’s eye view, completely split emotionally speaking. Part of me still wants to rage at the injustice of my friend’s early passing, yet here I was being called on to meet this new friend of Paul’s, who I must admit is an undeniably lovely woman. The battle within me quieted quickly as I genuinely enjoyed the conversation, the fantastic food, and getting to know this new woman that I could envision as a friend. That’s when I learned that Carrie was not far from us in spirit and was sending her love our way.

We parted ways reasonably early as they had another event they needed to attend that evening. Rick and I made our way back to the room to settle in. Rick continued to look at me sideways, probably still waiting for the dam to break. And, of course, I did end up crying a bit, but they were just tears that still needed to be shed over losing my friend so unexpectedly. And I’m sure they won’t be the last. But with the prospect of Paul having such an incredible new companion, there is at least a new light for me to consider.

We awoke Saturday morning, enjoying the comfort of a Marriott bed. They are the best! It was great not needing to rush anywhere. I yawned and stretched and slowly reconnected with the world around me. I knew that the streets below me were filling as I lounged. I was happily cocooned 29 floors up. Once I was awake, I opened my phone and received not one but two disturbing messages.

The first was from our friend Janet telling us that our friend Ann’s mom was suffering from congestive heart failure and that they would be putting her on hospice care. God bless those hospice workers, God’s angels on earth, to be sure. We exchanged texts and tucked the sad news in our hearts for continued prayers.

Next, I read my niece’s blog post about her sister’s breast biopsy that had just taken place. Within minutes, I was texting my niece Wendy to send my support and love while she awaited the results. We, too, exchanged texts, and I tucked away Wendy alongside Ann in my heart. So much emotion, and it was only 10:00 o’clock.

The morning progressed, and Rick fell back asleep, snoozing quietly beside me. I welcomed a few moments to myself playing solitaire on my computer, letting the tears intermittently slide down my cheeks. The thousands of women 29 stories below me lining up on Market offered their strength. I kept thinking about what lovely creatures women are.

And I love men just as much, but that’s another post. These 24 hours had been a lesson about females– my friend Carrie, Paul’s friend Lisa, my friend Janet passing along the news about my friend Ann fearing the loss of her mother Janet, my niece Wendy worrying about breast cancer, my niece Margie, the messenger. I had to pause to realize the women in my life are a force.

Feeling my need for reinforcement, I texted my sister-in-law Lorene, not telling her anything about the day but just saying I missed her. We both typically move at lightning speed, and it’s a toss-up whether we find time for a phone call, usually not. But my phone rang within two hours, and I can’t tell you how nice it was to discuss my day with her. She, of course, offered her unconditional support, which can always be counted on, but more important than that, it was just good to hear her voice, to laugh and commiserate.

I also closed the afternoon out, texting with my friend Colleen, positive subjects about our lovely daughters and babies on the horizon. 24 hours embracing women on the 29th floor of the Marriott, I didn’t even need to go downstairs to where all the action was. It’s a day I won’t forget any time soon.

To the women in my life, past, present, and future, those who have passed, and the new friends I see on my horizon, I love and thank all of you for being the amazing people you are. And to the ladies who marched this weekend, thank you for your efforts and your commitment to making the world a better place.

Release, part two

This post seems to be a follow up to my last post entitled “Release.” Probably no coincidence, the ideas presented themselves to me yesterday morning in my second visit to the restorative yoga class on Monday mornings at The Healing Shala in Cool. Last week with Christmas was far too busy to attend, but yesterday I decided it would be a great way to close out the year.

We spent the weekend in our yard preparing our plants and trees for the winter ahead. We pruned and raked I believe what must have been a million leaves, and my favorite, burned the leaves, debris, and cuttings in our firepit all day long.

As I left yesterday morning to go to yoga, I spent a minute looking at the trees and hydrangeas in front that we had pruned over the weekend. They seemed so bare, stripped of any of this season’s remaining beauty, cut back by at least a third of their height, and all deadwood removed. To the uneducated eye, one might think they had died.

As I situated myself on my yoga mat, our teacher Lynette, instructed us once again to set a mantra for the practice. I decided it made sense to focus on closure and renewal since the new year is upon us. As my yoga practice ensued, my mind kept returning to the vision of my plants/trees as I left them.

 I often return to nature, both in my life and my writing, to offer guidance.

The vision of my barren trees and plants made me feel so peaceful. Removing the remainder of their decaying leaves, resting after a busy and productive year, all that remains is their core. The plants can no longer hide beneath their leaves and blossoms. Their forms and the shape of their branches tell the story of their existence. Decayed limbs have been removed, allowing other parts of the tree to become productive and robust. They will lie dormant through the winter, a time of restoration, gathering strength for the coming spring.

Are we any different? To remain healthy and grow strong, we, too, must spend time without our “leaves.” We need to turn inward to quietly replenish our stores. And we must cut the deadwood as it keeps us from becoming the healthiest version of ourselves. If a plant’s limb or branch dies and it is not cut away, the tree continues to try to send its energy and nutrients to the dead branch. This process, over time, damages the parts of the tree that are healthy, as they do not receive what they need to thrive.

Again, I ask, are we any different? Perhaps a human’s winter should also be spent in quiet restoration, looking closely at what serves us well in our lives, and probably more importantly at what doesn’t.

I look forward to the next few weeks, returning again to our yard to complete the necessary winter preparations, creating as many firepit sessions as I can squeeze out of that, and then moving inside for the duration… indoor fires, writing and reading, old movies, card games and puzzles, yummy stews and comfort food, and quiet reflection for the coming year.

Happy New Year to all of my readers. I wish you, above all, peacefulness in the new year.

Release

After spending a wonderful weekend with our friends, Janet and Lalo, I bid them farewell yesterday morning with gratitude in my heart for the blessing of having friends like them. I’ve always been a crier at the end of anything that I’ve particularly enjoyed, relationships, visits, vacations, jobs, etc. The end of their visit was no exception. My throat closed, and my eyes welled with tears as I stood on our driveway waving goodbye.

I was reminded once again that we can’t hold on to life too tightly. We must let go over and over again and trust in tomorrow. That concept does seem to get more comfortable as I age, which I appreciate.

For the last few weeks, I had been researching yoga classes closer to home, and yesterday was the day I would try a new class right here in our little town of Cool at The Healing Shala, a sweet small yoga studio that opened within the last year. I had done a tiny bit of reading on the teachers and decided I would attend Lynette Masztakowski’s restorative yoga on Monday mornings. After such a lovely weekend, what a fantastic way to carry the goodness into my Monday.

Lynette, as well as the other members of the class, welcomed me with smiles and greetings, a nice benefit to a small group. I felt instantly at home. Lynette asked if I’d ever been to a restorative class, and I answered yes. I thought I had. Turns out, I have never been to a restorative class. I was in for a treat.

Instead of pushing and digging deep physically (which is also great), this experience was about releasing and going inward in a meditative way. I absolutely loved it and just wanted to share a few things that I came away with.

In the first few poses, we laid on our backs with a small roll beneath our ribs, our arms outstretched with palms up. The posture felt so unfamiliar, my head dropping back and my chest reaching for the sky. When I say it felt heavenly, I don’t mean that that it felt physically great, although it did. All those muscles that typically are contracting as I’m hunched over a computer or phone were suddenly stretching in the opposite direction. We would hold each pose for 8-10 minutes providing time to think and meditate. It felt terrific once my muscles settled in.

But what I mean when I say it felt heavenly was that my heart was lifted toward the skies and the heavens beyond, open and trusting, my arms also wide open. There’s no hiding in that pose.

And I must tell you, the thoughts I had for the next twenty or so minutes were pretty profound. I thought about life and God, and surrendering to my fate, something I must do every day of my life, along with the rest of my brothers and sisters on this spinning planet.

Lynette had asked us to select a mantra or a thought for the practice, and I chose “release.” It seemed fitting this day.

As I lay lifting my heart, arms wide open offering whatever “release” resonated within me, I was bombarded by many healing physical feelings as well as a mind full of thoughts about what release actually meant to me. I won’t go into everything as obviously, some moments are mine for the keeping, but here’s what I will share.

What I saw as a vision during my mediation is that release is required over and over and over again in our lives. We don’t release people or subjects just one time. We must continue to release them again and again until we no longer feel the need. 

As I stated at the beginning of this post, goodbyes (which also could be considered releases) are hard for me. I have fought them the better part of my life. During my poses, my mind shifted like a photo shutter showing me what has come of all my releases. And I could see that as difficult as some of them have been, it’s because of them that I have become solid and content and secure. I live my days in love with my family and friends, my home, my life, and maybe most important, myself. I am aware of my body to the degree that I’ve never been. I marvel at our nerve endings, which can produce such pleasurable feelings. And I understand that those same nerve endings can offer the opposite by way of pain, so I give thanks to the goosebumps I experience in a hot shower. What a blessing that is.

I finished my restorative yoga class, having covered quite a distance in my mind. I climbed into my car and drove back down our country road, with a thankfulness for releases and all the changes they offer, an anticipation of the final holidays of the year, and looking forward to many more visits to restorative yoga at The Healing Shala.

Life carries us like a river, and often times we can get displaced if the current moves too quickly. Moving back up the river can be a bitch. Find your way. Mine is yoga and the outdoors. But everyone has their own love, and there are as many choices as there are souls on this earth. No right or wrong. Just pay attention to what wakes up your insides… it’s a personal invitation from God. Accept it.

The passage of time

The passage of time can be a blessing, or it can be a curse. In most cases, it depends on my point of view. I can make an argument for almost any position. But as the years pass me by, perhaps because I no longer harbor the confidence of my youth thinking life is everlasting, I find the passage of time, my friend. I have learned a patience I did not possess in my younger days. It’s not that I don’t still manage to make my way to impatience, but it’s easier to let go of the older I become. 

An unpleasant impatient thought these days gets met with that inner voice asking if I want to waste time angry and frustrated, or whether there might be something more important or positive I could be putting my energy toward. And the fantastic thing is that there always is something better to think about. My inner drama just seems to slip away without much effort. I find myself able to take a bird’s eye view of myself (wow, I didn’t realize I was quite so short). 

I am content for what the universe shares with me daily, and I’m thankful for the passage of time, otherwise known as my life. Every morning as I awake next to the man who makes my days sweet, with the rest of my loved ones tucked in my heart, I try my best not to take the day for granted. 

Had I only had the benefit of this peacefulness in my youth… aww, but I would have missed out on so much drama. And let’s face it, drama has its place in life. I believe it’s how we learn some of our most important lessons.

But as I enter a new phase of my life, I seem to have lost my grip on drama somewhat like Rose and Jack on the bridge of the Titanic, minus the emotion. Quietly, peacefully, and ever so gently, I have released my grasp, and the freedom is intoxicating. It leaves room for new people and senior adventures (they are a bit different than in my youth) but just as rewarding. I have time to stop and watch tiny brilliant blue dragonflies on the edge of the pool as I swim my laps, and nurture my sweet nieces when I’m blessed to spend time with them. I can finally leisurely enjoy time with my adult children soaking in the amazing people I had the great fortune to bring into the world.

And I feel content to take my time publishing my upcoming book (even though it will arrive in the spring of 2020 as opposed to 2019.) But as I told my editor last week, the journey is in many cases more rewarding than the destination. I have enjoyed every minute of writing this book, and I plan to enjoy every minute of publishing it. I do not need to rush it. The fact is, I’d rather not.

I’ll need to have my artist replace a few numbers on my advertising material, just changing the Spring of 2019 to 2020, another passage of time which I will count my lucky stars for.

In the meantime, I will enjoy the upcoming months, the blessing of another season, time to blog and enjoy the approaching holidays, the joy of fall and the welcome of winter on its heels.

Endless… blessings… endless… second chances…

What’s Really Important—Part Two

Last year about this time, I wrote a post entitled “What’s Really Important.” That post has been repurposed in my upcoming book “Lessons of a Wayward Yogini,” due out this spring? I’ve been known to run a bit late in life. My next post will address my book delay, but for now, I will rope in my ADD and stick to what’s important! This post is What’s Important—Part Two, with new lessons learned. (I’m feeling a bit dizzy from the circles I’m spinning here.)

A year ago I came home to a smoke plume close to the house which looked awful close, but as it turned out, it was far enough away, and our beloved first responders and firefighters were able to keep us from harm.

This Wednesday as I began to travel down through the canyon on my way home from Auburn, I could see a fire off in the distance. It’s so challenging to place a smoke plume on the horizon in terms of its location. I did think to myself though, that looks like it might be in Cool. My heart sank, and I stepped on the gas a bit harder, loving my little Audi taking turns with ease down to the river. Crossing the bridge, I snaked up through the hills. Some twists would offer no glimpse of the smoke, and a few turns later, I would see it again, more significant and closer, and yes, still looking like it was in Cool.

We live in an area called the Trails, a homeowner’s association. There are three gates into the trails. Typically, I don’t like to go through gate 1, the only entrance with a guard, because it’s still another eight miles once through the gate to our house. The association is strict with the 25 mph speed limit, and recently they purchased a portable speed camera that they position at different locations throughout the trails. The homeowners at first, were completely up in arms when they began receiving tickets because of this device. They nicknamed it Waldo, and people now send out messages in the Nextdoor.com asking where Waldo is on any particular day. It seems it would be so much easier just to drive the speed limit. But then again, the speed limit is the reason I like gate 3, which leaves me only a few blocks to drive to my house, as opposed to eight miles.

When I finally arrived at the top of the hill at our only stop sign in Cool, I made the left heading down to the Trails. I could see then that this fire was directly in line with our home, still guessing, but becoming extremely concerned. I could see Highway 193, a two-lane road, was in complete chaos with cars stopped ahead of me and fire engines and ambulances traveling behind me, so I entered at gate 1 to make my way home. If any day was hard to observe the speed limit, this was it. I thought to myself, maybe they wouldn’t enforce a ticket under such circumstances. But that’s just the kind of thinking that wreaks more havoc, so I kept it slow.

Again, the twists and turns of the tiny road leading to my house would only offer me sporadic views. But by the time I was within a mile of home, I knew for a fact that this fire was extremely close to all that I call dear (apart from loved ones.) I was literally holding my breath as I finally rounded the last bend that would allow me to see the corner of our cul-de-sac. The tears streamed down my face when I could finally see our home intact.

With that said, the corner half a block up the road was completely filled with smoke and black smoke at that. Knowing our house was safe for the moment, I continued driving on to see how close the fire actually was. My answer was about a mile at the most, in an extremely wooded residential area. Not good. I had seen a large number of cars and horse trailers (we live in a large horse community) passing me on my way in, each of them on their way out. By the time I returned home, many streets close to us had been ordered to evacuate, but our cul-de-sac was still okay.

I watched our neighbors trying desperately to load their panicked horses into their trailer. That alone was upsetting as one of the horses was spooked and not cooperating. Man, those are big animals.

I returned home and tried to calm myself. My mantra became, “It’s calm out, no wind, thank you, God.” Just last week my umbrellas on the deck kept blowing over with the gusts of wind, what a difference a day or seven can make. I tried to concentrate on work, but couldn’t, so I kept making my way up the hill to see how things were going, returning home to pace. About an hour later, I saw a sheriff’s car driving down our driveway. I knew the verdict before we spoke. It was time to evacuate.

He assured me I wasn’t in immediate danger, but the decision had been made that we should evacuate. He also mentioned that if the winds picked up, it wasn’t going to be pretty. I already knew that.

I went back inside, made a few calls to Rick and our neighbors who I knew were not home, and summoned my memory for that list I made a year ago when I wrote that blog about what’s important. Our minds are incredible, really… my list was there just waiting.

I had been lucky enough this day to catch a yoga class at lunch, and perhaps it was that energy still flowing through my body, but I moved through the house in short order with a strong but peaceful strength grabbing important things, passports, lockbox, all things banking… and then I started on the things that are most important to me. Rick’s wedding ring which he most days does not wear to work as it’s too big and has been known to fall off when he’s working with his hands, our artwork, two small frames with pictures of me as a baby with my parents, a plate of my fathers with a tiny violin, a number of other framed pics of Rick and I and the kids, our recipe books (between us we have three) and a few of our pigs. We collect pigs. Since we have a fair amount of artwork, that took some time. But when my car could hold no more, I put my sweet kitty in her travel bag and considered myself packed.

The list turned out to be precisely what I envisioned a year ago, with a few new items. I hadn’t thought of the recipe books before, nor my jam pot which hangs on the wall in our kitchen, a treasure left to me from one of my dearest friends, Julie. My car was packed with memories of a life filled with love, and that would be enough to begin building a new home if that was my fate.

As I stood on my porch not knowing if it might be my last time, I again let myself cry. I actually had packed without crying, which for me is saying a lot. I looked around at all my beloved plants and trees and flowers and said a silent prayer that our creation would still be here when I next returned. I climbed in my car, thankful for the hour I had to plan and pack. Some people had only five minutes. And I headed back over the hill to Auburn to meet Rick and my son for dinner. My quiet mantra remained a constant, “it is not windy out.”

A lifetime seemed to pass in an afternoon; just a few short hours later, we drove back over the same canyon, not even knowing if we would be allowed home. But we had heard that the firefighters had done a great job of stopping the forward progress of the fire and that the trails were out of danger. They had stopped the air attack, which was a great sign. We decided to try our luck and return home.

As I drove over the same road I had so anxiously traveled over that afternoon, with new adrenaline flowing through my body which was filled with complete gratitude, I began to put together a new list of what’s really important, with a fresh perspective from the benefit of this experience.

Seeing the numerous emergency vehicles passing me by on their way out of the canyon, their hard work done for this day, Cal Fire, Sheriffs, Highway Patrol, all of the first responding angels, my heart went out to each of them. Such reliable people who put themselves in harm’s way to help others, not to mention the mental toll it takes to witness the sadness and devastation of their victims, day in and day out, what would we do without them?

My mood was lifting with each emergency vehicle passing by me, which left me open to experience more of the important things. Gate 1 was the only way home this night as the fire was on both sides of Highway 193 leading to gate 3; the fire had actually jumped the highway. As I drove through Gate 1, I waived at our guard with such gratitude in my heart for him, and even for that damn gate. I felt like I was floating. I welcomed the eight-mile drive… how quickly that slow-moving 25 mph ride had turned into a blessing.

A way down the road I was delighted to see the horses in their pastures again. A cat was lying in the grass unaware of our human drama, just waiting and surveying her little domain. A mile or so from home, exchanging a greeting with the highway patrolman waving us through telling us we were free to return home. And lastly, driving down our long driveway back to our beloved home containing all the memories we’ve managed to create in five short years. Breathing in the trees and plants as I got out of the car, waiting right where I left them. 

And maybe the most beautiful part of the day was laying our heads down that evening on our own pillows… a blessing that most nights we take for granted. Not this night. As I let the thoughts of the day quiet down, which actually took hours, I also sifted through my gratitude for our friends and loved ones who are always there to encourage us and lend a helping hand. I may, at times, feel fear and discomfort, but I never feel at a loss when it comes to the angels that surround us. They buoy me in times of trouble.

There are a lot of lists in life. I’ve been known to worry about some very insignificant and admittedly silly ones. The further along I get in this human race, I realize that the secret of life is about enjoying the simplest of things.