Adventures in business ownership...

Monday morning - back hurting so set up office on bed.  Hello Kitty lap desk?  Check.  (Stop.  It rocks.)  Hot pink Filofax with refreshed to-do list?  There.  Hello Kitty-covered iPhone with a reminder-laden Siri?  In place.  Email?  Open.  And away I went.

At about 9.00am, I phoned in an order for the reception counter for the studio.

At about 10.30am, I phoned the contractor who was supposed to have called that morning to let me know he was dropping off his supplies and getting ready to paint.   He told me he would have to wait until the afternoon - around 2.30ish, he said.

I had a conference call at 1.45pm that got put back to 2.00pm.  I was worried about the contractor, but told him I had a conference call.  No biggie, he didn't call until 4.00pm, when I was on my way to collect Totsi the Dog from the vet (teeth cleaning).  Luckily I thought to drop keys off with my mom, who went to the studio to let him in.

Home.  Dinner.  Realized I forgot to order my new computer, which I had reminded myself to do while putting together an order for beads to make more bracelets for Africa Yoga Project.

Realized there were no trash bags at the studio, so went to drop them off and make sure the contractors had locked up and turned off the lights.

Ordered the computer.  Did a little dance at the window of delivery dates.  So soon!

As I was falling asleep, I realized something:

The dates?  One of them is right on the day the counter is supposed to arrive, which is conveniently  right on top of when another conference call is supposed to take place.

I forgot to order the beads.

It's like that.

Of reaction and response...

I think it might be almost time to mourn the passing of my air conditioner.  Hopes had been high that the aged unit would last through the summer, but the end could be soon.  It's gone kerplunk again.  The last time it went kerplunk was April.  Those two episodes are a little too close together for comfort.

Last night just after dinner, I thought I felt a warm draft.  It was coming from the vicinity of the vent over my head in the kitchen.  When I went back to the bedroom, I noticed the same strange, warm draft.  I went upstairs - where the vents are in the floor and I can reach them (hush - I'm a shrimp), and put my hand over one.  And then I swore like the most experienced variety of sailor.

Following my swearing fit, I zipped into high react mode:  I went online and booked a hotel room.  Packed up my gargantuan Lululemon tote with overnight supplies, my laptop, and a couple of DVD's ("Yoga Unveiled" and "Pretty in Pink"), then jotted right off to cool, air-conditioned comfort.  And don't get me wrong - I enjoyed myself immensely.  It was an adventure.  A knee-jerk reaction-fueled adventure, yes, but an adventure nonetheless.

While at the hotel, I swore up and down I would be staying until the air conditioning was repaired.  And then I remembered a couple of things; first, that I like to camp, and while camping I do without air conditioning.  Second?  I practice power vinyasa yoga in a ninety degree room, and LOVE it.  The temperature in the house rarely exceeds the eighty to eighty five degree range when the air conditioning decides to take a breather.  So, really, why the hell did I need a hotel room?

I didn't.  I went to a place of reaction rather than response, and dashed to a hotel when taking a settled moment would have had me *respond* to the situation as I did this morning - which meant going to the nearest mega-discount emporium and purchasing some kick-butt fans.  (I even bought a small one for Totsi the Dog to have by her bed.)  The fans cost much less than the hotel, and honestly, now that I have the right equipment this is actually *fun*.  More fun than, say, packing willy nilly and driving off to hang out in a hotel.   By responding, I'm giving a sucky situation space to grow into something enjoyable and out of the ordinary.  By reacting, I blew a hundred bucks.

So here's to responding rather than reacting - I'm chilling in in a cute black maxi dress, sipping a cold beverage from a mason jar while watching my dog savor the breezes on her belly from her own personal fan.  Since I'm right in front of the equivalent of a wind machine, sometimes I whip my head around and pretend I'm an early 80's supermodel, just because I can.   As much as I've explored the difference between reaction and response through inquiry and endless journal entries, I think this experience has driven said difference home better than any amount of intellectualizing and soul searching.

Enjoy your Monday!  I think I'm going to locate my file of recipes for the grill, start a loaf of bread in the bread machine, and make some Red Zinger sun tea.  In other words, I'm going to keep right on responding.  

Can I get a summer?

Happy, happy Solstice!

Yes, I will complain about the heat.  Give me about a month before I launch into a whiney tirade, but rest assured that it will happen.  It is certain that I will faint at the sight of the power bill because of how much the air conditioner will run - this is Georgia, which means the a/c *will* run.  There is nothing that will make me happy about my eyeliner smearing down to my nostrils from perspiration, and frizzy hair makes me want to stomp about and throw a tantrum.  But that's fine, because it's summer, and summer is my favorite season.

I will repeatedly eat too many peaches before they're fully ripe and lament having done so while searching for the Alka Seltzer.  It's likely I'll burn out the motor on my new juicer, and I will probably use entirely too much gas driving to various produce stands to buy more stuff than I will ever use.  I'll intend to make pickles and jams, and forget.  There will be a floating idea of purchasing a snow cone machine, which I'll probably never get around to, just as there will be with the ice cream maker.  Perhaps this year I will accept that those freezer pop molds are never going to show back up and just buy new ones, but that's doubtful.  None of this is an issue.

The invasion of big bugs and bees will freak me out, especially when I am in the middle of trying to convince the grill to light.  Lawn equipment will run, and loud, at the first teensy crack of dawn on the first morning I get to sleep late in ages.  I will go all the way to the lake for picnics and leave the cooler at home.  When Totsi the Dog and I go for walks, she will find the stinkiest mud on the planet and roll in it, knowing that her body heat combined with the heat of the great outdoors will intensify the stench to the point of being completely unbearable.  But it's all cool.

It's summer.  I'm going to live out loud and own it - including the stuff that I will say sucks, because it's a package deal.

Waffles...

I'm trying something new, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable committing to having it be a full time thing:

I am only doing juice until lunch.  (I know, right?  When I jump on a bandwagon, I plop myself right down in the middle of it, shout out that I am damned well there, and buy every souvenir tee shirt I can get my hands on.)  So, yes, when I get up around 6am or so, I go completely mad scientist with the juicer, and make enough for breakfast and a mid-morning snack.  I even do juice before coffee.  Yes, you might have just felt the ground get very cold and move a little.  (Result of that?  I want less coffee.) Until today, this has been easy - I didn't get hungry until around noon.

That was then.  This is now.  It's 10.24am, and I have finished my juice.  I'm drinking water while waiting for lunch, which is sounding mighty good.  Brunch is sounding mighty better.  What I am trying not to admit is that I am about to starve, and that it was the thought of one food that got me thinking brunch might be better than lunch.

That one food?  Waffles.  I want waffles, people, drowning in butter and syrup, with another order of waffles on the side topped with strawberries, Nutella, and whipped cream.  And waffles weren't even in my awareness when this happened - I was looking at ideas for converting a small, walk-in closet into an office.  The thought entered my head that I could use a vanity that's been stashed upstairs as my desk, and BOOM!  Waffles.  Kind of like this:

Actually, I just now decided that this is NOT going to be a full time thing.  There are waffles in the freezer.  Amen.  

Kind of like snow...

Let's talk about the juicer.  I *love* this thing, like, really, really love this thing.  It's just the right size, I can clean it up in less than five minutes even after juicing a beet, and I am little kid delighted every time something goes down the chute, hits the blade, and is GRNFFFFF'd into pulp in an instant.  There is something profoundly satisfying not just about the resulting scrumptious juice, but also that moment of seeing what had been a whole fruit or vegetable sprayed all up against the sides of the pulp receptacle.  It's very much a hell yeah moment for me.

At first, I was afraid.  My first juice involved a lot of stepping back a bit every time I ran something through, but my fascination (as in, "Holy hell.  That was a CARROT a second ago!") got me over the fear. Even though I stocked up with juicing supplies Wednesday, I bought more yesterday because, honestly, I want to see what this stuff will look like in the moment it is flash-ground.  Lets get blunt - it looks like the shit explodes.  One second, a carrot.  The next second, orange splatter and delicious juice.  One second, a Granny Smith apple.  The next second, pale green splatter and more delicious juice.  I could go on.  Beets?  Beets *rule*.  As do greens.

Greens, though, can do some really interesting things.  Perhaps it's because my Breville compact is a centrifugal juicer, but there's an updraft.  Juicing is easy enough, you put the stuff in, witness the pretty colors, and get juice.  But bits of greens are rather light, and can blow back out unless you actually use your head and stuff your greens into the tube before you turn the juicer on.  Oh, yeah.  And admittedly, I probably should have bought whole kale - - but I went for the "easy" option and bought the monster bag of chopped stuff.  "I can do chips!  I can do juice!  Win/win!"

I will be sweeping until Sunday, but it's all good.

Of sawmills sounds and such...

I'm about to embark upon a serious exercise in feeling highly empowered.  This will mean donning my stompiest stompy boots and marching right up to the task of shredding, pulverizing, and reducing to pulp pretty all sorts of good things.  Inspiration:

Why all this?  My juicer is arriving today.

Let's make some freakin' noise.

Of letting go...

Sometimes it's not easy.

Behold, twenty three bracelets I made Friday and shipped off this morning to Dancing Dogs Yoga in Beaufort, SC to be sold to raise money for Africa Yoga Project.  I'm having a little bit of empty nest syndrome right now.  They were ready to go so fast.  One moment they were just a muffin tin full of beautiful beads, and next, POOF!  All grown up into bracelets.  Well, actually the POOF took about six hours, but you get me, right?  I love making these things - so much that I get lost in the process and am a little depressed when I'm out of materials.  

Another thing I've had to let go of?  The thought of wearing my pink cowboy boots while my foot is healing.  Tried it.  It hurt.  Those boots ARE made for walking - - they're just not made for walking RIGHT NOW.  With some positioning and contorting, I could have made it work - but I looked stupid.  So stupid, in fact, that I just about asked a full length mirror how it could do that to me.  Imagine what it might be like if the hunchback of Notre Dame tried to stand up straight and walk cute.  Okay, that's kind of it - now pretend it's a film strip that keeps jamming and hanging, only to finally stay in one place, shaking, until it's just about to pop.  Interject some particularly colorful exclamations, and you've got it.  Maybe.  Suffice to say it was a hot mess.  

Have a fantastic Monday!  I'm going to continue my search for a good source of beads in bulk and continue the process of reclaiming my kitchen while not wearing my pink cowboy boots.  

Yes...

Yes, I am redoing my blog.  Yes, this means that over the next week, there will be an ever-shifting series of templates and color combinations.  Yes, I will likely become very frustrated several times over and stomp my good foot while pouting and otherwise needing a tiara.  Yes, I might be highly inclined to post pictures of my frustrated facial expressions because - - I don't know.  Maybe I like attention.  That said, yes, the focus is going to be more on me and my random adventures in creating my life and opening/operating a yoga studio rather than the trials and tribulations of coping with what my husband does in public places and the things he does to the house.  (Great day in the morning.)

(This house may never recover from me being bound to sitting in bed for two and a half months.)

So where am I right now?  I'm wondering if my pink cowboy boots would be what my orthopedist considers "good" shoes.  I have two pairs that I think fit his description (TUK kitty cat mary janes and some really cute Adidas), and got the perfect jeans to go with them - - these jeans also just so happen to be the perfect jeans for my pink cowboy boots.  Knowing this makes me want to wear them pretty much every damned place I go - - but I don't know if they're "good".  I think he might mean things like Crocs, actually, and please allow me to tell you how strongly that will not be happening. Look up the meaning of "absurd", and you will likely find a picture of me rocking Crocs.  They fall into that category of things that would make me look like a (likely cheesed off) toddler.  With Bettie Page hair.  And I would call the doctor's office to find out if they're acceptable, but I'm afraid they will tell me, "Actually, he means something like Crocs.  We even sell them here!"  This would crush me.

Of course, having to wear them would give me the perfect opportunity to whip up a range of cute little tee shirts emblazoned with "MY DOCTOR IS MAKING ME WEAR THEM!".  To the doctor's office, even.  (He would get a kick out of it - orthopedist is very cool.) I could get little studs to decorate them that display a countdown of how long I will still be wearing them.  This could totally rock.

Or - not.

Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.  I'm off to try on a cowboy boot.

Juiced...

I graduated teacher training last weekend.

I'm getting ready to sign a lease on what will be an amazing yoga studio.

I'm walking a little - mostly around the house.  If I go shopping, I have to roll - doctor's orders.

Um....I'm buying a juicer and can't wait to trot out of Earth Fare with one of those monster bags of carrots.  I'm not going to admit they're for juicing.  I'm going to say something like, "You MIGHT say I like carrots, yeah."  Watch me not be able to pick the bag up.  Actually, I won't be able to because my walking cast isn't exactly the most stable thing in the world to walk on - - and I'll probably still be on the Roll-A-Bout, anyway.  Images of breaking more bones in the produce section aren't making me very happy, so my smartypants purchase of a monster bag of carrots will have to wait.  But a bored chick can dream, right?  If it was a bag of beets, I could say something like, "Basebeets.  Bet you NEVER thought of that one."  There are so many fun things I could prattle off, most of which would probably result in my never having to worry about having anyone at the grocery store speak to me again.  "Veggie hooch."  Huff it, I'll just admit the stuff is for juicing and not brand myself completely whacked - after all, I'm opening a business.

Just trying to give you something worth reading here.  The holding pattern continues since I'm still staying in bed most of the time with my foot propped up.

Yes. I can still write.

Just - - well, when you're sitting in bed for two and a half months, it's easy to run out of writing material.    I will sit and try to think of a blog entry, and nothing comes.  Beyond, "Well, it's another day, and I'm still sitting in bed with my foot propped up, looking out the window, studying for my yoga teacher training final and plotting out what to grill when I can finally get back out onto the deck again.", there's not a wealth of action within the walls of Casa Didgeridoo.  Outside, however?  Something big is on the horizon.

Inside:

Foot-wise, I'm out of my hard cast, into an air cast, but still on the Roll-A-Bout.

Teacher training-wise, I have my last full-on training weekend this weekend, and next weekend?  I take my final and graduate.

Outside:

I'm gearing up to open a yoga studio.  Like, really.  As in, so soon I might be teaching my first classes there in a walking boot (not on wheels, though, I hope).  I can't let you in on all the details just yet, but as soon as I have a few things in place, I'll give you the scoop.

Also?  I think it might be time to change the face of the blog a bit and expand beyond my four walls, if you get me.

So that's what's happening.  It's kind of like there's a lot going on, but nothing going on, one of those times when it's best to sit still, allow, and stay focused.

And....

Well, the hard cast is off.  But I very well nearly didn't get it off, as the bone in my foot is still bonding.  I'm in an inflatable walking cast, but can't walk yet.  Next week I go back to the doctor and pick up a lovely thing called a bone stimulator to speed the process up.  Folks, I'm going to go ahead and say it - this shit is getting old.  I'm still working to make it as pleasant as possible, but there are times when my patience goes POOF.  A few little things have helped me not take a Sharpie marker to the walls.

I caved in and bought a shower chair and handy dandy handheld shower thing, and Mom set it all up for me yesterday.  Holy hell.  An actual shower and proper shampoo?  Heaven.  I've managed with my bizarre balance beam routine on the side of the tub for two months, and that worked just well enough, but these two things have made life much more bearable.  I don't know if you've ever balanced on your belly on the side of a tub to wash your hair, but it can be challenging, and long hair?  Goes down the drain, y'all, goes right down the drain.  My hair has been dull and crunchy looking for two months - probably because it was coated in Draino residue.

And?  I purchased an array of cute knee socks to wear under the inflatable cast, which I've dubbed Roboboot.  My favorite might be the neon argyle.  Of course, this means I have to coordinate what I'm wearing and which bag I'm carrying with the color sock toe that's peeking out - but I'm good at these things.  That doesn't mean I didn't almost leave the house with a red and white striped French sailor's shirt paired with neon orange peeking out of Roboboot.  (Ohh, the drama.)  And, of course, I can't carry my neon satchel with a neon toe peeking out - that might be too matchy matchy, and up with matchy matchy I will not put.

And?  The powers that be (parental units) have been talked into not balking when I want to drive, but only after seeing that getting in and out of my car and maneuvering my Roll-A-Bout in and out of the back seat won't result in a trip to the emergency room.  Baby the VW is being detailed as I write, and I pick him up this afternoon.  There is something in knowing I can jot to Earth Fare for Justin's dark chocolate peanut butter cups at will that makes this waiting game seem infinitely better.  This, neon knee socks, and clean hair?  I must have done something really great in a past life.

And!  I TOTALLY forgot to mention "Twin Peaks" streaming on Netflix and my new stash of Hello Kitty bath products.  As much as I might come across as sarcastic, I'm oozing gratitude for all of these things - - there's something really cool in realizing I look forward to a shower with Hello Kitty shower gel and picking out a sock.  Three months ago, I would have thought I needed to look for the big stuff to get bouncy about, but now?  It's like, "Hell yeah!  The BLUE sock!".  And then I get to watch Special Agent Dale Cooper experience raptures over maple syrup's collision with ham and damn fine cups of coffee:

And that's it for now.  Enjoy your Tuesday.

Too excited...

I want to write an entry, I swear.  I really want to write an entry!  But I'm too excited.  My cast comes off in four hours. 

MY CAST COMES OFF IN FOUR HOURS! 

Four.  Hours. 

Nutting up...

And just as the last week before Christmas or a long-awaited vacation, so is the last week of having my cast showing signs of dragging along like molasses mixed with crazy glue running down a rocky hill.  Five days, y'all.  Five.  Days.  The day after tomorrow, I leave for a teacher training weekend which will make the last few days fly by - - I hope.  But that doesn't start until the day after tomorrow.

My new thing is saying, "On Friday, I will be able to say that tomorrow I will be able to say that I get my cast off the day after tomorrow."  I don't find this the slightest bit confusing.  Patience has never been among my set of virtues, but I'm going above and beyond crazy with my desire to have this week over and done with.  I've even started going to bed at 9.00pm, not so I can get up nice and early without an alarm clock, but so the days will be over and done with.  Boom!  Nine o'clock!  Time's up for you, day!  Hasta la vista, sweet cheeks! 

And the day is planned out, too.  First thing is ordering a nice prize for myself that I'm not talking about until it arrives, and then I'm going to run a lot of errands to avoid bouncing off the walls until time to go to the doctor.  I know exactly what time I will start to get ready, and the exact second I will leave to go to my appointment.   I have a script running in my head of what I will do when I leave the doctor's office - come straight home, go right upstairs, and have a nice bath during which I will shave my leg. I'm clearing my calendar for the next day so I can have a celebratory stay-cation. 

Five days left.  Five.  More.  Days. 

Yes, it has been a week...

I'm not even going to begin to act as though I don't realize how long it's been since I've written a post.  Let's do this as a list:

Friday through Monday - Miami, FL
Monday night - Ocala, FL
Tuesday - HOME
Wednesday - BED
Thursday - BED

Why BED?  No damn good reason at all.  Slight sore throat from allergies.  Didgeridoo Boy threw a pillow on the bed that the cat has been sleeping on, which left me in a devil of a puffy-eyed, stuff-nosed mess.  But other than that, no reason.  I didn't lose momentum as much as I threw it in the floor with my luggage and told it to leave me alone.  Took care of my laundry, which counts for something (right?), but other than that...

Nada.  And I can't say I liked it.

So today I got up at 6.30am, got my coffee, had breakfast, had my morning meditation, verified a couple of times that I only have ten days left in my cast, and wrote in my journal for the first time since Friday in Miami.  I'm hoping the rain that seems to be wanting to stay for a few days does so, so I won't be tempted to go out and play and can catch up on all of the studying and writing I need to catch up on.  (Better to catch up now than to catch up the first couple of days after my cast comes off, when I know I will want to  put on pair after pair of skinny jeans, get my hair done, and soak in a bath for precisely 37 hours.)

Enough sitting.  I'm off!

Another quick check in...

After Monday's frankly hellish visit to the doctor (I really didn't like that cast saw), I flew into preparing for where I am now - Miami.  I'm attending Foundations in Action with Baron Baptiste from this evening through Sunday.  (Yes, in a cast.)  (I say that because I get, "In a CAST??  You can't do yoga in a cast!", a lot.)  (Yes, you can.)

Mom and I drove as far as Ocala yesterday, and then picked up Florida's Turnpike this morning for the remaining five and half hours in.  Have to say - I'm kind of glad of the cast.  I'm in MIAMI.  I want to put on a cute outfit and go PLAY.  The cast is keeping me from going to play, because I have to sit with my foot up and rest when I'm not at the studio.  It's also keeping me from wearing the cute outfit, which would have involved a maxi dress and beaded sandals.  Can't jack my leg up on a Roll-A-Bout in a dress.  Could, but won't dare.

I leave for the studio at about 4.30pm, and until then I'm hydrating like mad while alternating sitting with my foot propped up and taking Viparita Karani.

Wish me luck.  But do NOT tell me to break a leg. 

Very quick update...

I have a date!  I have a date! 

My cast comes off on 30 April at 4.20pm.  Three weeks from right now, I will be free of a cast and into a walking boot. 

And now, I am going to collapse.  The saw freaked me out, and my foot had to be pushed into the right position, so I'm in a little bit of pain.  I want my dog, my pillow, and about twelve hours of sleep. 

But I have a date.

Flying again...

I woke up this morning wondering if I had *really* made it through what I've been calling "the big stretch" - - the part of this chunk of time of having a cast that involved no travel or anything more exciting than going on errands.  Yes, I created an exciting thing for the halfway point, but that was the only highlight in a blur of days that has left my brain a little bit numb. 

I remember leaving the last teacher training weekend, which was 16 to 18 March, and thinking, "Okay.  Four weeks from now I'll be in Miami.  In a couple of days, I find out whether or not I need surgery.  There's nothing in between."  It seemed comforting at the time, but then the reality set in of having to create marker points to keep time from dragging.  Name a coping mechanism, and I've probably set it up.  Finding out I would get a new cast (today) put something out there - - in the same week I leave to go to Miami.  So - nada.  No time accelerators.  Just a whole lot of sitting.  (And, yes, that's what I'm supposed to be doing for the most part - - but STILL.  Holy shit!)

This.  Has.  Driven.  Me.  Bananas.   The night before Halfway Day, I popped awake, convinced I was wrong about it being the halfway point.  I broke out a calendar and counted over and over again, and then tallied it up in my head, "Okay - this week.  Then I go to Miami.  Then I come home.  Then I have about ten days, and then I go to Beaufort for teacher training.  And then it's been eight weeks.  Wait.  No."  And so it went, with me finally falling asleep still halfway convinced I had counted the weeks up wrong.  As soon as the rush of Halfway Day was over, I realized how much time I still had left, and down the emotional super slide I went.  I vowed to never want a bed day again, and fell into the fear of having my time in the cast extended to sixteen weeks.  It was *ugly*.  Then yesterday afternoon, I pulled my Filofax (hush!) out and started to plan out the next few weeks - making packing lists and study schedules, and realized that what I'm now calling the Big Bad Bed Stretch has ended.  All of the lights came back on. 

So today, I go to the doctor for a fresh, new cast, and tomorrow I start packing for my upcoming trip to Miami - where I'll be attending Foundations in Action with Baron Baptiste.   Mom and I leave early Thursday morning, and return home the following Tuesday evening.  The day after I get home, I have eight days to tie up a lot of studying and practice teaching before hitting the road again.  I have never been so happy to return to having external commitments. 

Damn, it's nice to be busy. 

This feels odd...

Alright, y'all.  Prepare for a princess moment.

Any of you who read regularly have probably gathered that I live in Augusta, Georgia.  You likely also know that every year at this time, I am one of the very, very fortunate souls who gets to attend the Masters .  Yes, every year.  It's what my mom and I do.  It just is.  And although we broke tradition last year and sat on the first fairway due to her aching hip, we prefer to sit at ten.  That, too, is just what we do.  We place our chairs, walk around for a bit, then get pimento cheese sandwiches and sit back down.  Through the day, we spot people that we've seen year after year, go for more pimento cheese sandwiches (we walk them off, so hush), and go to the gift shop to see what new colors shirts are being offered up in.  And hats.   And the little ribbon belts.  Every year, we forget to refresh our stash of Masters socks.

But what am I doing this year?  This didn't really hit me until today, when I checked the weather and saw it would be raining, then thought, "Whoa.  I'm glad I'm not going to be there in this weather."  That is a lie.  I am *bummed*, and wish I would have decided to go out there for just a little while, maybe just a couple of hours one morning.  I could make it to where Mom and I sat last year without a lot of drama, I think.  Someone could drop me off, I could roll up to the gate, and in I would go - - right to do a little shopping so I would have a handy logo picnic bag (ahem), and then straight to the nearest concession to get my sandwich(es) and mini Moon Pie(s).  And my water(s).  Can't forget my water(s).  Then I could roll to the nearest safe surface and just *be* there for a little while.  And then I could roll right back out and come home happy, full of pimento cheese sandwich(es), and not feeling like something is missing.  But I decided not to go, and told Mom she could let one of my stepbrothers use my ticket because I was being practical.  Now I am using my cast to kick myself.  Hard.

I'm going to go get my pink Masters plushie bunny to snuggle and pout through Sunday evening.

Halfway Day!

It's finally 4 April - Halfway Day. The day I got my cast, once I had finished moping and lamenting not being able to wear skinny jeans, I broke out my trusty Macbook and set about flagging dates in iCal that would serve as milestones along the way to getting my cast off. Some were automatic - teacher training weekends, for instance, and my upcoming trip to Miami. In the middle of planning out what amounts to Christmas in May on the day the cast comes off (oh, it's going to be good), I realized marking the halfway point provided yet another opportunity to celebrate and indulge myself a bit, and planned out how to observe it. I wanted it to feel like my birthday did when I was a kid - big, but not quite as big as Christmas.

Part of this is food. I have just polished off a lovely celebratory lunch of half of a Mellow Mushroom roasted red pepper calzone with two garlic parmesan pretzels. Celebrations call for feasts. Dessert? Nutella s'mores. Another part is not studying one blessed thing other than participating in tonight's practice teaching session with a classmate. Not one school book will be cracked. Not one note will be taken. The flash cards are put away.

The really big part is ordering myself a nice little techie upgrade in the form of an adorable white iPhone 4s. I had wanted to actually go to my service provider's location and pick it up, and kept putting it off. On my way to training in Beaufort on 2 March, I made the decision to jot over that way first thing on the Tuesday morning after I got home. That was the weekend I broke my foot. So instead of merrily going to pick up my new precious, I was sitting in bed with my foot propped up. Then I decided to go pick it up after going to the doctor on Wednesday, you know, when I would have a nice boot or an Ace bandage to support my (ahem) sprained ankle. Go ahead and laugh.

So, rambling story short, when I sat down and marked all my milestones, I decided to give myself things to look forward to and put off getting the phone until today. I've been amped about Halfway Day for four weeks. Last night, I actually had trouble getting to sleep, and this morning as I was drinking my coffee, I ordered my new phone.

(Now - - how should I decorate the tree for the day I get my cast off? All I know is I'm using the pink one.)

Enjoy the rest of your Wednesday, and do yourself a favor and have Nutella s'mores.

Battle royale...

It's easy to bust Didgeridoo Boy. (See this post about his body language.) Since I got my cast, he's been on a mission from hell to sign it. I won't let him, as I know all to well what he's going to do. He's damned well going to write something offensive because that's just how he is. Yet I have to admit, I admire his perseverance. Tomorrow marks the halfway point with this thing - I will have had it on for exactly four weeks. And yet, as if he had never tried before, into the bedroom he pranced last night with a Sharpie and a grin:

Didge: "Hey! Let me sign your cast!"

GKG: "No."

Didge: "You let other people sign it. Come on!"

GKG: "No!"

Didge: "Why not?" (At which point he turned his body in such a way that had him no longer facing me full-on.)

GKG: "Because I know what you are going to write on it."

Didge: "I AM NOT GOING TO WRITE 'FART' ON YOUR CAST!"

GKG: "Then you're going to write something like 'booger'."

Didge: "I AM NOT. Let me sign your cast. Really. You let all those other people sign it and not me."

I looked at him. He was still at a diagonal, and then his left leg jiggled. A-ha.

Didge: "Why would you think I would do that?"

GKG: "Because that is who you are."

Didge, with his leg still jiggling: "I won't! I promise! I'll just write my name!"

And with his leg still jiggling, he got the giggles.

GKG: "Get away from me. Now."

I can assure you, he's not signing my cast.

Quick update...

Very quick, actually.

After I learned I wouldn't have to have surgery, I sat like a cupcake-printed pajama pants wearing vegetable for a few days, finally able to relax. I did nothing constructive for seven consecutive days - and meant to do it. Or not. Whatever. Now, I have realized that I have all kinds of studying and practice teaching to catch up on. Last night's practice teaching was comical, involving brand new names for asanas that included pepperings of the "F" word and getting "elbow" confused with "ankle". Funny what a week can do.

Today, I have made about a billionty flash cards, and have learned that when you see the word, "brahman", giggle, and say "THE BRA MANNNN!" almost compulsively that it is damned well time to put the books away for the afternoon. Getting up and taking an inversion (viparita karani) did nothing to refresh my brain - every time I saw the word, I chuckled and said what I told you I said that I am trying to stop thinking even now. (The bra man!) (Damn it.)

Yes, I have the slightest bit of cabin fever.

Totsi's word association...

Fantastic news from the doctor! While I'll still be in a cast until the beginning of May, I do not need surgery! He said today's X-Rays showed significant healing - so I'm kicking butt and taking names in the bone healing department. He has also taken to calling me "Speedy" because of how fast I jot around on my Roll-A-Bout.

In other news, Totsi the Dog has come to associate an interesting word with Didgeridoo Boy. As in, I say this word, and she acts the same way she does when I say "Daddy". I conducted an experiment - - it's not just any random word she associates. It is this one word. And that one word?

That word, folks, is "asshole". I couldn't possibly make this up.

Rollin'...

Me with my Roll-A-Bout, on errands.

Getting it together...

Talk about a shake-up! Winding up in a cast was *not* part of the plan, but I'm dealing with it. As I said before, I'm putting this time to use to axe a few bad habits and take on a few shiny new ones, plus I want to learn all I can about modifying my yoga practice. That's been the biggest "thing" since I hurt my foot - - how can I practice and still get my practice? I don't want to sit and wave my arms around in imitation of asanas, I want my practice.

In the few days before the cast, I amended it simply by practicing on my knees. The cast has made that harder in some instances, since my foot is frozen in a flexed position. I've decided to begin exploring a lot of asanas that I usually think of as restive or starting points - like this, for instance. For me, this has been the kickoff to a seated forward fold, or someplace I will sit to pretend I am doing something when I would really rather not be doing something, ahem, hard. ("I'll just sit here and stretch my calves while I drink some water.") By raising my arms (or not) and working all of my muscles, it's a whole different ball game. It's no longer preparation or escape. It is its own thing, and it left me sore yesterday afternoon. Where I will escape for a nice calf-stretching water break now is beyond me - this exploration blew that meaning out the door and down the street. It ain't comin' back.

Another big part of this learning process has been not to expect immense amounts of energy to play with on the mat. I'm tired. I'm *damned* tired. Everything beyond sitting with my foot elevated is more work, plus my body's healing a broken bone - - so fatigue is normal. However, nothing could have prepared me for the shock I received in a practice teaching session a couple of nights ago when I broke a sweat under a ceiling fan and wound up shaking. My muscles are learning to work in new ways, I don't have the same leverage in certain instances that I've grown accustomed to having, and I swear I'm working my core and arms harder by default. So I probably shouldn't have been as shocked as I was, but DAMN! (I guess that answered my question of how I can still get my practice -- just do the practice I can, right?) So, rather than being able to cruise right on through a ninety minute modified practice as I thought I would, I'm finding it better to do a few short practices over the course of a day. It's simply how my energy is working right now. While I will be in sixty and ninety minute practices this weekend in teacher training, I'll be using them to keep exploring how to modify while putting forth how much I honestly can - which will be a great exercise in learning to manage my energy. (I am very much the person who is prone to shorting herself out in Sun Salutations.)

And now, I'm off to have my pre-dinner mini practice, which is turning into one of the things I most look forward to. It's absolute bliss after a day of engaging my abs and legs while rolling around on my Roll-A-Bout and somewhat mimicking Tolasana while I'm going up the stairs. Have a fantabulous evening!

Casting call...

As I mentioned yesterday, I broke my foot dancing at yoga teacher training. After a long, strenuous day learning assists, we got in a big circle, and one person at a time went into the middle to lead the rest of the group in a dance. When I went in, I began to jump about like a wild thing, stumbled, and twisted my ankle.

Onward to Sunday. I made it through the assisting workshop, albeit from the floor with a ice pack on my foot, and learned *so* much. When I got back to the hotel, I walked Totsi and ordered a pizza. Then I made an ice pack of a hand-sized Yogitoes wrapped around a little bag of ice secured with a hair elastic:

I thought it was a sprain. Checked out of my hotel Monday morning, drove home, and sat with my foot elevated and iced until yesterday, when I went to see a foot and ankle specialist. Went through the X-Rays and all that convinced I was going to leave with an Ace bandage, perhaps a boot, with a prescription for Motrin and a caveat to stay off my foot as much as possible. Nope:

The doctor walked into the room, said, "That must be some kind of yoga! You broke your foot!" In light of *that* New York Times article, I felt especially compelled to clarify that it was not the yoga, although it took place during yoga teacher training and in a yoga room. I explained that I had been dancing, and he said, "Oh. Now, that's not AT ALL uncommon." Then he went on to explain that it is a pretty bad break, one that was right on the edge of needing surgery, but that we would try a cast for two weeks to see if the bone would begin to mend. And on went the cast - I was given the option of red or green (no pink????). Green seemed cliche, given that St. Patrick's Day and The Masters Tournament are both coming up.

I've set an intention to come out of this in somewhat better shape. I have a Roll-A-Bout instead of crutches, which is immensely fun to cruise around on *and* is giving my legs, backside, and abs a nice workout. I've already gotten the hang of scooting backwards up the stairs to my Temple of High Maintenance, which is great for my arms. I stocked up on all kinds of yummy, healthy goodness while enjoying zinging hither and yon at the grocery store making Didgeridoo Boy chase me. I've reduced the size of my meals, but punched up their nutritional content; this reflects the fact that most of the time I'm sitting in bed with my leg propped up and also supports my body while it does the work it needs to heal my injury. And I'm practicing yoga - a highly modified practice, but a practice nonetheless. Even though it does mean I have to get up more (ahem), I'm staying hydrated. The bow on the package is meditation and bringing myself back to a positive, "let's make this fun", place every time I start getting bummed - which does happen. (Then there are the fun little activities, like the Red Cast Film Festival. More on those later.)

So - that's where I am. I could wallow and eat Goldfish crackers while letting myself get depressed, or I could shift my outlook and treat it as an adventure while being adaptable and keeping myself focused. The latter is where it's at, baby.

Great gawdamighty....

Guess who has a broken foot?

(raises hand)

Guess who will be in a cast for eight weeks?

(nods)

Guess who got this way by dancing?

(waves)

Yep. I'm in a cast for eight weeks and on a Roll-A-Bout until I can walk again. I have a Jones Fracture of such severity that it might require surgery - will find out about that in two weeks. I'll still be going through teacher training (this is a mighty fine way to learn about modifications, no?).

More details later. I'm exhausted, my foot hurts, and Didgeridoo Boy has squirreled my bottle of Advil away.

Me and my dog...

*Wow*. I've been *busy*. Drove home from a teacher training weekend on Monday, and leave again tomorrow for another. Only this time something will be different:

Totsi the Dog is coming along.

Typically when I'm packing, Totsi will mope and stare at me like I'm telling her she can never sleep on the bed with me ever again, ever. When I was prepping to leave for the last session, she took it into maximum overdrive, feigning death across the end of the bed until she finally got up and (I swear) *cried*. When I left, she kept sniffing at her leash and looking up in that questioning way that means she wants to go too. It bothered me all weekend.

I asked around, and one of my friends from teacher training told me of a hotel that will allow my four-legged child. Came home, cancelled all my hotel reservations, and re-booked every single weekend to the pet friendly hotel she recommended. As I started packing last night, Totsi began to mope, and I said, "Totsi comes too." And then she danced.

So, yes. Totsi the Dog is kind of sort of going to yoga teacher training. She'll stay in the hotel about two minutes from the studio, and I'll be hanging out with her on my breaks, but - still. It sounds better to say she's going to yoga teacher training. And, honestly? In her mind, I think she thinks she is.

Pid Stew...

Think. You'll get the title if you think.

While you're thinking, let me tell you what I did yesterday. I got a jump start on packing for this weekend, when I head out of town for teacher training. Did some laundry. Walked the dog. Checked my stash of avocados about eighteen times to see if maybe, just maybe, one had decided to ripen a little more quickly. Checked the avocados again. Drank a kombucha, which I did not shake. Had my meditation practice.

In the late afternoon, I decided a nice, hot bath was in order. So I went upstairs to my Temple of High Maintenance, started running a tub of water, and went to my Yoga Closet Boudoir to get some comfortable clothes for post-bath power lounging. On the way out of the bathroom, I grabbed the door knob, locked it, and pulled the bathroom door shut behind me.

Oh, yes. With the tub running.

Naturally, I said, "Oh, shit." Upon learning what I had done, Didgeridoo Boy came running up the stairs to taunt me. He told me to get the skinny, curved knife out of the knife block and a butter knife. I did. Once I had delivered those things to him, I also got the key that is supposed to unlock the bathroom door - it did not work. Didge said we would probably need to kick the door in. I ran downstairs to get a screwdriver. Didge said that the ones in the array I decided to bring back up wouldn't work. While he was asking where we would go to turn off the water to the house, I set to work taking the door knob off and figuring out how to get the bathroom side of the door knob unlocked. Did that. Got the door open.

Luckily, I had forgotten to plug the bathtub. That was a relief. What was not a relief was the fact that getting everything sorted out took the exact same amount of time as it takes the hot water heater to empty itself of its contents. But at least I got the door open.

And now I cannot get the door knob back the hell on. The screws won't line up. I am considering Hello Kitty Duck Tape.

Enjoy your Wednesday.

Instruction...

So. This advisory on the kombucha bottle:

I noticed the label *after* I shook the daylights out of a bottle yesterday. Care to know what'll happen if you *do* shake it? Hissing. Popping. The feel of a lift from under the lid when you remove it. Foam. Foam. Foam. Foam. Foam. Foam. Foam. More foam. And in the case of this particular version, green foam, because it contains all manner of goodness like spirulina and such. Once I had consumed about half of it, and after I had read the label, I unwittingly swirled the bottle all around before taking the lid off to have a sip - - and it went THOOOONSHHHHHHHH the second I unscrewed the lid. And I jumped.

Don't shake the damned kombucha, y'all. Just don't.

And now, we catch up...

It's amazing how much laundry a week without a dryer can generate. Holy hell. But the nice man with the part for it came back yesterday, and fixed it, so today I get to play "Laundress". My intent is to have every last bit of laundry caught up and put away by the day's end. Maybe. I don't know - half seems reasonable. I think.

This means I do not need to be sitting and savoring a cup of coffee using a blog entry to put off the inevitable, but I'm going to anyway.

We have new neighbors. The former residence of the Jackass Neighbors rented *very* quickly, and a great, big truck containing all manner of things arrived yesterday. I was relieved to see evidence of them having kids -- this means no death metal at 3.30am, I'm assuming. (Oh, yes. That was when the male half of the equation got up for work - if his wife and son weren't there, it was on.) I'm also assuming this means there will be no play with the car alarm late at night or early in the morning. I hope. Oh, I hope. I honestly dread the thought of new neighbors now, something I used to not do, so I'm having quite the lesson in remaining in the present. There are no signs that these people will throw trash cans and call us names. (Present, be present.....be present......)

As much as I love this little house townhouse, sometimes I long for a big house in the country located smack dab in the middle of a two acre yard. (And a water balloon catapult.)

Nemesis pose...

Let's talk about the yoga thing again, shall we? I have a yoga bugaboo that won't go away.

I cannot find, or re-find, my balance to my liking again to save my life. Being someone who, until recently, had freakishly perfect balance and could casually sail from Eagle to Dancer and then into Tree without a care in the world, it was a little bit of a rude awakening to discover how to make unique emergency breakdancing recovery transitions between repeated attempts at only getting halfway into those.

(We will not speak of what almost happened that first weekend of teacher training. I will tell you that people held me up. I will also tell you that had they not, it would have been ugly in a spin-the-little-yogi kind of way - - who knows in which direction she might go, but when she does? Together! Together we all go the hell down! As a community!)

Sometimes it comes back. And I'm like, whoa! Lately, it's admittedly been better - - I no longer feel like maybe I should have gotten the couch cushions and made a fort around myself when that oh, so special time for the balance poses comes in the yoga practice. Sometimes, like this morning, I can hold Eagle like I've been doing that asana all my natural life and possibly through the course of several others. Airplane, even, becomes something I can come to with relatively little drama, did it this morning straight out of Eagle with not even a tippy tippy toe to the floor. Dancer? Yep. Tree? Mm-hmm. I get out of my head and let them come, and while I might wobble, eventually I find stability and do alright. I can find my place, or allow my place, depending on how you look at it.

So the nemesis I mentioned? Half Moon. Ardha Chandrasana, something I used to be able to just, you know, casually pull off in the kitchen waiting for my coffee to be ready. This is pissing me off. Sister Ardha Chandrasana and I had it *out* last night, and hard. I started thinking about it, and how frustrating it is that even with a block standing on its end to put my hand on, I cannot come back to terms to that damned pose. It ain't happening. We don't jive right now. In my leopard print jammie pants, a black hoodie, and Paul Frank socks with cute little skulls on the top, I hopped out of bed like I had good sense and decided to (ahem) explore what might be going on OTHER than being in my head with regards to being able to not bust my ass merely considering coming into the pose. Took Airplane, took my hand to the floor, and attempted to open into Half Moon.

Took myself up off the floor, and tried again. Perhaps, I thought, it had to do with needing more of an inner rotation in my leg and grounding down more through the inside of my standing foot. Core, too. Got to have that core action going on. Back into Airplane. Hand to the floor. Opened up into a spin on my standing heel which very nearly took me all the way around. Came back to standing, and tried again. Airplane, hand to floor, soften my standing knee a bit, engage (ha!), open.

And all of a sudden, I was there.

And then I said, "Holy shit!", and busted my ass.

But I was there!

So I've decided that maybe, just maybe, Ardha Chandrasana isn't such an evil beeyotch. Maybe my hips *are* a little tighter than when it came so easily, ditto for my lower back. The sensations I felt during that moment last night would seem to indicate that, yes, the hips need a little work. It could be that my days of freaky perfect balance are long gone, but I'm not ready to entertain that reality yet. I'm going to invite Sister Ardha Chandrasana back over for tomorrow morning's practice and see how we get along, only going as far as our edge, wherever that might be. Here's hoping it's not the floor.

Great day in the Monday...

This entry has no point, and will display that trait proudly.

Last week, the dryer. This week? No, actually, let me correct that. I want to be specific. Last night?

The water heater.

The nice man came last week and checked the dryer, ordering a part that he said will fix it. And today, another nice man is coming to check the water heater. I hope he doesn't have to order a part. I hope he is just able to fix it, because I would very much like a hot shower. Granted, I can go to my mom's, but - - that would mean leaving the house with dirty hair. And, yes, I am that much of a princess even though I like to go camping. Even when I am camping, I shampoo my hair. And right now, I cannot shampoo my hair, even though this *is* a little bit like camping. At least to me.

This all comes after quite the little weekend, in which Didge got mad at his computer and called *me* stupid for about five hours straight on Saturday over the immense and seemingly insurmountable difficulties in saving files to one DVD, five hours which followed an hour of wild goose chase that culminated in a stop at Walmart. On Saturday afternoon. Where I swear I almost tripped over a pair of undies in an aisle in the electronics department. (Just for the record: I am not the stupid one. The drive on his laptop is the stupid one.) Prior to that, in the course of just thirty minutes, I had a door go shut on my left foot, a door open on my right, and then sat the coffee table on the toes of my left. But the DVD issue was finally solved, Didge is now happy, and I have only a medium-sized bruise from the door swinging shut on my left foot. And I am not stupid, no matter how many times he may say I am.

Where was I?

Ah. Yes. It's been a bit of a weekend, and it's been my experience that sometimes after such headaches amazingly good things happen that make up for all the crap. I'm hoping for that.

I think I need a doughnut.

So about this yoga thing...

I just realized that since starting yoga teacher training in December, I haven't written a word about it. Maybe this is because it *is* a little bit overwhelming - there's a mental stretch from practicing to teaching that I hadn't taken into consideration. Also - I have to study. I haven't had to study, like, on a schedule in about a decade or two. So when I'm not thinking about it, I don't want to be thinking about it, if that makes sense. But I'm getting into my groove with it, have two weekend sessions under my belt now, and am preparing for what seems like it will be a rather intense ride until the end of May, when this training ends.

Adjusting to studying aside, my biggest bugaboo is practice teaching. I'm doing alright. Things are a damn far sight better than they were the very first weekend, when I was freaked out beyond all imaginable get out over the idea of practice teaching *already*. I can, for instance, speak. Words will come out of my mouth! But there is still this thing that I do that I need to stop doing:

I cross my legs. Not casually. I tie myself into an X, looking rather like I'm gearing up to take Eagle, and root myself in place. It's a security thing, but it's a habit I need to overcome. Until this started, I wasn't aware of how much I do it; once aware, I thought it would be easy to stop.

Ha.

Last night, I flew solo on my practice teaching to work with video (you're not seeing it). My thinking is that knowing I am being taped will help me break this tendency - and it FINALLY worked. I didn't cross my legs at all. But I damned well rooted myself in place and taught via semaphore. That was new. Apparently, I am quite determined to do *something*, and that is what my subconscious chose to do. For twenty minutes, I stood stock fucking still from the waist down and looked like a cheerleader directing an airplane from the waist up. And I was commanding about it, too. I bloody well meant everything I was saying, and I meant it LOUD. My determination to not cross my legs came up in my voice. At one point, I taught to the ceiling, looking very, very intense and sounding as though I was performing an exorcism. It was something.

(I mean it. You're not seeing it.)

So I'm rethinking how hard I'm being on myself about this. Maybe I need to let myself move some, right? Like, it's obvious I want to be doing something other than just standing there. I am a highly animated person, unless I'm feeling shy, which is when I tie myself up in a knot for comfort. (That I found yoga is keenly ironic, no?) It's either let myself move about, or tie my hands to my sides and duct tape my feet to the floor, which would probably lead to me using my head and throwing my neck out - - or might result in a bizarre form of writhing bodily Houdini-ish performance art-esque expression best left to the imagination.

Bottom line - I'm going to stop making this so damned hard. But I'm also going to hide the duct tape from myself. Enjoy your weekend!

And then...

I don't have the energy to write.

For a little while now, I've been putting off getting our bedroom ready to paint. Then yesterday evening, I learned that the painters can start - - tomorrow.

At 9am.

Buh-bye procrastination, hello bed to the middle of the room and dusting every last nook and cranny. I am about to fall the hell over, absolutely dazed from working so hard after having been so sick. But it's done. I'm finished. I'm sitting on my bed in the middle of the room, kind of enjoying playing "island", while I tell myself I really should get a shower but keep picking out new linens and curtains and finalizing where I want the furniture to be placed. Oh, and a new ceiling fan. And lamps. So, so much - - I want a shower and a nap so bad I can hardly see, but I can't stop. I will dream of the phrases "Egyptian cotton" and "dragonfly stained glass lamp" for the next one hundred days, but it'll be worth it.

Alright. I'm off - I caught myself falling asleep staring at the cursor just now.

This kind of sort of might be like getting a whole new life.

The most basic application of Murphy's Law...

Giving Totsi the Dog a bath is always great fun. She's not no much resistant as she is mournful and determined to invoke feelings of deep maternal guilt, stepping into the bathtub all on her own, and then beginning to shake while holding her tail between her legs, dipping her head, and staring into some far off place. She cooperates, but grunts in a way that lets you know her patience is being tested, and during the rinsing she will decide it is time to escape. She'll put a foot on the edge of the tub, then another, and then slide herself over the edge slowly - but with such force that sometimes I cannot stop her.

Yesterday morning, however, I managed to stop her. She didn't want a bath, but put up with it as she always does, and even tolerated having her head lathered up and rinsed. The shaking started early, though, while she was partially soapy and particularly soaked - meaning I wound up in the same condition. Once she shook, she'd go right back to mournful, and once I had the shampoo out of my eyes, I went right back to work at rendering her funkless. This went on for a good while.

Once she was done, she ran all around the house and got wet dog smell all over everything while I followed with a bottle of Febreze. She settled down and asked to be let into the bedroom, and once let in trotted right over to her bed and began to roll around all over it. It's what she does. I put a blanket down on the floor so she could roll on it, too, and became engrossed in something online. I remember looking up and seeing her peeking over the side of the bed, and told her, "Stay floor. Floor. Bed soon." She went back to her bed, and I went back to whatever it was holding my attention.

When she got up on the bed I don't know. It's such a normal thing to have her sitting on the bed that her presence didn't really register. I noticed her, and then *noticed* her. Totsi was still wet, and she smelled like wet dog - - wet dog all over my bedding, which meant the bedding smelled like - - yep. So I had her get down and stripped the bed in preparation for a few loads of laundry.

And the dryer quit working. A nice man is coming to check it on Wednesday.

That is all.

Random oddities...

Didgeridoo Boy quit smoking, but lost weight because his appetite magically went to something normal.

Jupiter Jones can coo like a dove. He just did it a few minutes ago, while "hunting" a pair of doves he could see on the deck.

Jupiter Jones knows what birds he's never heard are supposed to sound like.

While doing a modified version of the Fruit Feast cleanse (getting over the flu, so no full-on version for me), in a matter of five minutes I went from thinking, "Oh, this is fantastic. I could totally be vegan.", to, "WHEN THE HELL CAN I HAVE SOME CHEESE?".

As I was going through that, I almost mugged Didgeridoo Boy for a Nip Chee cracker. I don't like Nip Chee crackers.

I have improved my eating habits over the past few months by such leaps and bounds that Didgeridoo Boy didn't even notice I was doing a modified version of the Fruit Feast.

Totsi the Dog and Jupiter Jones both beg for spaghetti squash, and will get into what Didge has termed a "beg-off" - - without moving.

(Actually, a lot of this isn't all that odd, is it? I just feel kind of weak and run down today, so I'm struggling for an entry. Let's close here.)

Duh. It's Tuesday...

Please forgive me. I'm a little off - - the flu has rocked my world something ferocious, and while I'm better, I'm still getting my bearings in this whole "feeling okay" thing.

Besides dancing for his nightly exercise, Didgeridoo Boy has been calm. My perception of this could be due to the fact that I've been bundled up in bed and that he's given me a very wide berth due to my ickiness, but the man has been very, very calm.

Actually, I take that back. He did this last night. Posted this right on my Facebook wall as soon as I went back to to the flu-soothing comfort of bed after dinner:

Yes. I think that would be enough.

Just about a month ago today...

I was getting ready to go to Hawaii, and had been missing my bangs. Missing them hard.

So I walked into the kitchen and told Didgeridoo Boy I was thinking about cutting them back and that I did not need his permission to do so. And then, I walked right up to my bathroom and effed myself up:

Yes, indeed, effed myself up big time. This is five minutes after I lined everything up, grabbed, and went to town a little too soon, too fast. This is the face I get when I am pissed right the hell off and have thrown my tiara to the floor and stomped it, getting mad about that, too. Why I decided to snap a picture I don't know, but I'm glad I did. Nothing like keeping it real, right?

Luckily, my hair grows really fast, and they're actually straightened out now and in need of a trim.

That's what I'm trying to work up the nerve to do - trim my bangs.

Think of me. I'll report back to you on Monday.

I hope this stays...

The adorable home that served as the den of the Jackass Neighbors is now spiffied up, clean, and looking *really* good. It's been so long since I've seen it this way. A nice man came this morning and finished up the yard work, and even tidied up the edge of our driveway. I smiled when I saw this, and considered the impact of his random act of kindness on my day.

I'm just in from walking Totsi the Dog, and I took a good, long look at the place again while reflecting even further on how nice it was for him to do that. And that's not sarcasm - I really appreciate that he did that. I was even able to feel a little good will towards the property owners who never mind never mind never mind. What had deteriorated has been fixed, mostly. The hole is still in the path I've talked so much about, but maybe they're not finished. It's all nice now. What's done is done. Let's stay in the present.

Care for some truth about the present?

My truth in this present is that I don't want them to rent that damned place. I hope it doesn't rent. I hope it smells like rotten eggs and turtle guts and every bad thing I can think of inside, and that there is a poltergeist who flings vinegar-soaked Nerf balls at whoever goes in. I hope there is a voice like this one:

I hope it sits there, beautiful and unrented, for a long time. As long as the property owners are trying to rent it, it stays clean and well-maintained. It's when they rent it that we are greeted with the potential for it going back to shit, and I have had quite the bloody damned hell enough of living next to something that looks like it just might be a teensy tad shy of being condemned.

I love the empty, clean, pretty house next door so much and want to keep it forever and ever. Is that so bad?

Victory.

So Jupiter Jones was neutered last week, right?

I really wish I could give you an exciting update about how he tripped the balls he no longer has while the anesthesia wore off or how Didgeridoo Boy had exciting times contending with his hormonal adjustments while I was away at teacher training - - but I can't. Nothing happened.

But there, my friends, is the beauty of the whole shebang. Nothing happened. Nothing. When I called home to check in over the weekend, Didge simply said, "Jupiter hasn't peed." And for a second I was a little concerned. Might the procedure have resulted in swelling that caused a blockage of some kind? But then it dawned on me:

Jupiter has not peed, as in, Jupiter has not peed on anything - people included. He's kept it to the litterbox. No chirping, no whirring, no settling in while purring to douse a person, place, or thing. Jupiter hasn't peed. Isn't that great?

Now think about it this way: Look at what we had to have done to him to get it to stop.

Bless Thursday...

Jupiter Jones, the vegetable-sitting, tree-destroying, pee-on-everything kitten is going to the vee ee tee tomorrow to get "tutored". And between now and then, I have a ton of stuff to take care of in preparation for his homecoming and my second weekend of yoga teacher training.

Right now, I'm hiding from all of that stuff I have to do. I set aside three hours to get how to teach a sequence into my head, and breezed right through it on the first try as though I had been teaching it all my natural life. Okay, so my brain freeze seems to have lifted - that's good, but I rather liked the idea of three quiet hours. Damn it. So I'm pretending to study every time Didgeridoo Boy peeks his head into the bedroom.

I'm off to do housework, laundry, and prep a little safe zone for post-"tutoring" Jupiter.

Squashed...

Jupiter Jones, the precious, precocious orange blessed thing who came into our lives back in May and who I dearly love and cherish and would never zing a harmful thought toward (ahem), really pushed his limits and my buttons this weekend. He's entered his explorer phase, which I understand to be normal for cats his age, but since Jupiter isn't really what anyone would consider normal (he pees on people while he chirps and purrs, y'all, so normal has gone outside to sit) - I'm sorry, what was I saying? To heck with it. Here's what happened.

Saturday, I wanted comfort food - or what is comfort food for me. I decided to have skillet spaghetti made with spaghetti squash. It's on oldie-but-goodie that I've loved since my teeny-tiny apartment dwelling days, and always helps me conjure the feeling of relief I would get at being in my teeny-tiny little apartment after an infuriating day dealing with the world's worst boss at an industrial automation supplier. Translation - it is MAJOR comfort food. One of my favorite things, really. And I'm rambling because I'm still trying to sort out just why the hell Jupiter did what the hell he did - which I swear I am getting to.

So what did he do? He sat in the shit. I had thawed a frozen portion of spaghetti squash, my last one, and had it in a colander in the sink to drain. Jupiter Jones sat in it, like, full-on cat-butt-in-my-dinner sat in it. He got in the sink, and he sat in the shit. And that is what he did. So I put it down the disposal, as one would be prone to do when one's dinner has just had a cat's ass all over it.

Now - is there anyone still out there who questions my insistence as to the abnormality of this cat's mental workings? I love him, but *damn*.

So long, farewell (Jackass Neighbors)...

They really are gone this time.

And the place next door is practically being rebuilt - even the deck.

I'm super busy today catching up on laundry and getting ready for practice teaching, but I just had to come in and FINALLY get to use that picture. Yeah, that's kind of small and sad of me, but I've been waiting so long for the time to be right for it - the last time was a false alarm. This time, they're really gone. It's over. They've moved. Hold on, I have to sit still and absorb this.

(I'm sitting and absorbing, I swear.)

It's been a long, interesting ride with the Jackass Neighbors, and I am sincerely hoping we're not in for a repeat performance from whoever comes next. Enjoy your weekend! And have some music - that has nothing to do with anything, I promise. We're totally NOT getting a big lizard to keep the next round of neighbors at bay.

The Great Didgeridoo Smokeout continues...

Didgeridoo Boy is killin' it. I am serious. He is a bubblegum-chewing, intermittently-sleeping, quitting-smoking machine. His biggest enemy seems to be boredom; yesterday, I was told to be ready at 10.00am because he needed to get out of the house before he went berserk. We went on a field trip to a kind of place I have never, ever, EVER been before: Didgeridoo Boy, after baiting me with a visit to one of my favorite places to score cool used cookbooks (and where I scored three), took me right to a part of town I never visit to scour...

...pawn shops.

I had never been to a pawn shop. Thrift stores, sure. Love 'em. But a pawn shop? Call me sheltered (really, because if anyone was, I was), but I had never set foot in one. Something tells me it showed, and that I looked as out of place as a duck wearing snow shoes in the desert. At one stop, as we were parking the car in front of a place in a small shopping center that featured bars across all windows, Didge asked me, "What do you think of me bringing you to the 'hood?" I didn't have time to tell him what I thought, because he then said, "Hurry up and get inside. This isn't the kind of place where you want to drag your feet."

My jaw was still hanging open as we walked with great purpose into the door of the establishment, but I managed to realize that by the time we left, thank goodness. And we pulled out just in time to see two patrol cars park a little willy nilly in front of the convenience store at the other end of the small shopping center, and two officers stroll inside with even greater purpose in their walks than Didge and I had displayed a few minutes earlier.

So....that, really. That was that. And that was what happened and I don't want it to happen the hell again ever ever ever. Just....that. And, no. No. It is gone, gone, all the way gone into yesterday.

But, like I said, he's kicking butt at kicking the butts. I made him a big batch of Chex Mix as a reward for his efforts thus far, which he's keeping in the biggest container he could get his hands on. Right now, he's in one of his power naps - he's not sleeping a lot, but when nap time hits, it hits with a vengeance. And as much as I'm staying quiet and out of his way, I have to admit I'm struck with how much better he's doing than I think I would. I know we're only three days in, but that's a long time in quitting smoking terms.

Have a fantabulous day! I'm off to continue studying and practicing my teaching voice (upstairs, behind a closed door to avoid waking Didge), and to make sure he has enough Emergen-C and bubblegum. Here's hoping this ride continues to be as smooth as it has thus far.

The operator...

Guess what? Didgeridoo Boy is quitting smoking. Guess what else? This has him wound up tighter than the tightest pair of Gloria Vanderbilt jeans circa 1980. Armed with snacks, two new video games, and (I swear) a bucket of bubblegum, he's camping out in his man cave intending to ride it out.

Me? I am staying the blazes out of his way, for the most part. Between offering up the occasional glass of Emergen-C (I've heard vitamin C helps with nicotine withdrawals), I'm leaving Didge to himself and focusing on studying for my next teacher training weekend. I feed him and make sure he's comfortable, but then casually dash back to the bedroom or up to practice yoga. I've been afraid his mood would take a sharp turn south.

Overall, though, his mood has been like this:

It's okay. I don't know, either. We can all be lost together.

I got to hear Kraftwerk a lot yesterday. A lot, a lot. You know what?

It's been a while since I shared some music with you. You're welcome.

All complaints about hearing that over and over aside, if it means a smoke-free Didgeridoo Boy, it's worth it. The man cave smells like bubble gum and he's been up for the better part of thirty six hours, but this song makes him happy. In our world, that song is on its way to deification.

Enjoy your Monday, and wish Didge luck!

Happy Anniversary, Didgeridoo Boy!

Two years ago today Didgeridoo Boy and I hauled off and got married. In a courthouse, even. And without letting hardly anyone know what we were up to. So, yes, I suppose you could say we eloped - - but the courthouse is just five minutes from our house. I suppose that makes it a stay-lopement, no? (Actually, I kind of like that.)

His sister was our only guest, and snapped the only pictures of the fateful event:

We were about to fall over - and to be honest, I kind of wish we had.

There was to have been a bigger wedding, and there were talks of having a great big "wedding wedding" with invitations and a dress and cake and all that well after the actual hitching, but we haven't gotten around to it. Who knows if we ever will? I kind of want to. But then again, I know what he might do amongst people, and that makes me nervous. Not scared, just nervous. Didge with an audience is something I've not seen in twenty years, but I KNOW what the man will do. But back to that day - his sister took us out to dinner, and then we came home and had eclairs and pink champagne. The next evening, my parents had a tiny, quiet reception, their entire yard still lit up with enough Christmas lights to be seen clearly from the International Space Station. We had a chocolate cake with a Lego "Frankenstein" couple on top - - of which no pictures turned out.

Would I have done anything differently? Yes. I would make sure we fell during that kiss. And I really wish I would have thought to grab one of those huge packs of fireworks that come out for the New Year festivities. Bottle rockets would have been awesome.

The mention of bottle rockets has me wanting to plan a "wedding wedding" again.

And that said, enjoy your weekend!

Streams of consciousness...

I'm trying to write an entry, I promise. One with substance, something it'll be possible to actually sit down and *read*, a good chunk of life at Casa Didgeridoo with a couple of extras - - a value meal of an entry, if you will. But I can't. Every time I sit down and get the writing machine going, Didgeridoo Boy pops in and begins talking.

"I didn't see any meteors."

So - - yes, I know there was a meteor shower last night. Anyway, he is excited because we are going to get his new computer today. On zero sleep and a gallon of caffeinated beverages....

"What the hell? Jupiter just yakked. Oh. Stupid cat! You okay boy? He ate plastic. Pink plastic."

(Yes, I'm jotting these up as soon as he says them. Yes, Jupiter Jones just threw up in the foyer.)

Anyway, he's had a lot of caffeine and he's very excited. I don't blame him. There is *something* about a new computer, and frankly, I'm excited about this one, too. He's been using my Macbook since his old computer took its fatal tumble, and nine times out of ten, I've had to pitch fits to get it away from him. But that isn't what this is about.

"Ske-douche."

And I don't know what THAT is about, but he just said it. Trying to write. Trying. AND NOW HE IS STARING.

"I can count to potato."

Well, there went what I was about to tell you.

"It's a meme, you haven't seen it yet?"

OH HOLY HELL.

"Divide by cantaloupe. And honking on bobo."

You know what? I give the hell up. Totally. See, I know what he is doing. He's after my Macbook so he can continue comparison shopping....

"Do you even know what honking on bobo is?"

I quit. See you all Friday, when Didge will once again have his very own computer.

Booted...

This morning marks an event similar to discovering I really can't type while standing up. I am having great difficulty generating an entry off the cuff while sitting on the couch.

Why am I on the couch? Didgeridoo Boy is sleeping in, way in. Like since 10am yesterday morning after a really bad night, which might seem excessive until the matter of his tooth is taken into consideration. And what's with his tooth? It's cracked, and this is making his whole face hurt. The mere thought makes me wince to the point of needing a facelift afterward. I can't get him to take Advil or put anything on his gum. He says those things don't work - - from my customary writing spot.

This feels like practicing yoga on the dining room table.