Change is good.
I'm now blogging at Wordpress: GoKittenGo
04 December 2013
27 November 2013
Pick up your feet...
***Quick note: Try me at gokittengo.blogspot.com while I get a domain name snafu settled. It *will* be iamgokittengo.com - - but for now? Don't ask. And please bring me a cocktail.***
Hell has frozen. I have decided to stop fighting my hair's natural state (wavy bordering on curly) and stop ironing it (for the most part). I'm about a week into this adventure - here's the run-down:
Day One: I got the pink dyed back to black for the winter, and had some layers cut in that would enhance what my hair does on its own in moments of high rebellion rather than make me look like a two foot tall curly-needled spruce. Bought some products.
Day Two: Took leave of my senses and brushed it. Moving along....
Day Three: Started experimenting with shampooing the night before, deep conditioning, and drying just my growing-out bangs. Got up in the morning and....
Day Four: Took leave of my senses and brushed it. Again. Hid the brush.
Day Five: Did not brush it. Did not brush it. Did not brush it. Ardently finger-combed in desperation, but did not brush it.
Day Six: Overdid it on the wave spray. Like, WAY overdid it. Way, way, WAY overdid it. People walking behind me could probably taste the wave spray from the wave spray vapors my hair was emitting. It looked dull, so I grabbed the hair polish - this pomade stuff that rocks socks when used correctly. Overdid it on the polish. My hair was flat, crunchy, and looked like shiny zoomed-in-upon burned ramen. And my head itched.
Day Seven: Realized I was making it too hard and using WAY too much stuff even before the obvious overload, and that finger-combing with some of the hair polish while using one/one-hundredth of the wave spray resulted in something really, REALLY cool.
Today: In the midst of weather that used to give me hair nightmares, I am having the best hair day ever. It's damp and windy - - and my hair's having a party instead of being restrained in a clip or a ponytail so it won't do what it is prone to do, which is precisely what I'm letting it do.
What hair brush?
Hell has frozen. I have decided to stop fighting my hair's natural state (wavy bordering on curly) and stop ironing it (for the most part). I'm about a week into this adventure - here's the run-down:
Day One: I got the pink dyed back to black for the winter, and had some layers cut in that would enhance what my hair does on its own in moments of high rebellion rather than make me look like a two foot tall curly-needled spruce. Bought some products.
Day Two: Took leave of my senses and brushed it. Moving along....
Day Three: Started experimenting with shampooing the night before, deep conditioning, and drying just my growing-out bangs. Got up in the morning and....
Day Four: Took leave of my senses and brushed it. Again. Hid the brush.
Day Five: Did not brush it. Did not brush it. Did not brush it. Ardently finger-combed in desperation, but did not brush it.
Day Six: Overdid it on the wave spray. Like, WAY overdid it. Way, way, WAY overdid it. People walking behind me could probably taste the wave spray from the wave spray vapors my hair was emitting. It looked dull, so I grabbed the hair polish - this pomade stuff that rocks socks when used correctly. Overdid it on the polish. My hair was flat, crunchy, and looked like shiny zoomed-in-upon burned ramen. And my head itched.
Day Seven: Realized I was making it too hard and using WAY too much stuff even before the obvious overload, and that finger-combing with some of the hair polish while using one/one-hundredth of the wave spray resulted in something really, REALLY cool.
Today: In the midst of weather that used to give me hair nightmares, I am having the best hair day ever. It's damp and windy - - and my hair's having a party instead of being restrained in a clip or a ponytail so it won't do what it is prone to do, which is precisely what I'm letting it do.
What hair brush?
19 November 2013
A bona-fide reaction moment...
You know, I'm spoiled. I'll admit it. I have been called a princess, and it's not anything I even try to deny. I like to be comfortable. I was a tad indulged when I was growing up - I did not learn to do laundry or clean my room until I was 15, when my dad went on an austerity kick and fired the maid. Princess-hood is not something I try to take on, but it's there, waiting for the right moment to bubble up to the surface.
Some areas have seen great release of princess behavior. I used to pout about how I look in the yoga room and not being able to wear makeup and keep my hair cute, but finally I embraced letting myself go a little and enjoying where I am. Having to lay low and let my body heal from the injury stuff means, well, some jeans have been shelved for the time being (ahem). Some days I don't have time for a perfect pedicure. I can deal with it. Really.
What I cannot deal with is playing bellhop. Full disclosure: Until recently, I would only stay in hotels that offered room service and a nice person to cart my bags down to checkout. (See? I TOLD you!) I did not let this go until I was in yoga teacher training in 2012. (Go right on and shake your head.) Most of the time, I traveled with a suitcase for my clothes, another for purses and shoes, another for an array of high-maintenance goodies - like bath oils and scented candles and my favorite blanket, and a cosmetics case. On a trip to Hawaii in 2010, I took thirteen pairs of shoes. I have been awarded with the "this person's bags are too heavy" tag at baggage check in many times, and use one as a bookmark. So, to me, getting my bags to and from my hotel room has traditionally meant requesting help from the bellhop. They have little carts, and are skilled in the wrangling of said carts.
A new reality has since set in. Increased travel has graced me with an awareness of the need to cut expenses by staying in hotels that require me to deal with my own luggage. (Having food delivered has proven an okay substitute for room service - but I'm not thinking about that right now.) I've learned to pack light(ish) and can zip around with my rolling bags like a pro. But I cannot manage a baggage cart. And I learned the extent to which I cannot manage a baggage cart Sunday night at the Hampton Inn in Ocala, Florida.
Getting the bags on board the stainless, wheeled monster was fine. Getting the monster to the elevator would have gotten me a score of three out of ten, but I managed. Maneuvering it onto the elevator? That entertained onlookers. I became desperate enough to get the thing to turn that I assumed a linebacker stance and picked up one end. When I got it to the room, for some reason beknownst only to the gods I decided to roll the thing into the room to unload. The door swung partially shut, and I swerved to avoid the potential of having it knock the cart over (I know, I know...). It went caddy-cornered through the bathroom door. Well, kind of. Straight the hell up: The damned thing got stuck between the room door and the bathroom door. Like, wedged. And I said, "Shit!"
I was hungry. I had a little piece of tres leches cake with me that I fully wanted to enjoy with a cup of decaf and a book. I was still in yoga clothes from Art of Assisting (I left Miami right after training) and had an EPIC case of yoga hair that I was suddenly very self-conscious of. Being stuck created a keen awareness that I was covered in my own dried sweat AND the dried sweat of others - - it was an assisting training, after all, that I had been to. I stood in the hallway for a couple of minutes, considering jumping over the loaded cart and into the room. Fully into zizz-out mode, I re-assumed my linebacker stance and manhandled that damned thing out of its wedged-in state and rolled it right into the room...
...where it occurred to me that all I had to do was unload it, put the bags in the hall, and gracefully roll it free. OR - - not bring it into the room at all.
So - yeah.
The next morning, I had to do it all over again. Things went a little better, save the moments it was nearly wedged caddy-corner in the elevator (this happened on the way up and on the way down). I became aware that I was saying, "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod..." over and over wheeling the thing into the lobby on my way to the car (it was listing to starboard with a vengeance) when I noticed everyone at the complimentary breakfast watching with great interest. Did you know the wheels that swivel all around need to go in the front? They do! (Hush.) I rolled it out the doors after checkout where I gently snuggled it up against some urns of greenery (satya: this was almost a crash), loaded up my little red car, took the cart back to its friends, and left.
There's not a lot I can say about deep lessons here, other than an awareness that princess moments are moments of reaction and that I clearly forgot to breathe and stay grounded. I'm considering making a little plaque of some sort that says, "Dear Annalisa: Even princesses must breathe." I might make one that I can hang on the top bar of the baggage cart at my next hotel.
Create your most bomb-diggity day ever. Namaste.
Some areas have seen great release of princess behavior. I used to pout about how I look in the yoga room and not being able to wear makeup and keep my hair cute, but finally I embraced letting myself go a little and enjoying where I am. Having to lay low and let my body heal from the injury stuff means, well, some jeans have been shelved for the time being (ahem). Some days I don't have time for a perfect pedicure. I can deal with it. Really.
What I cannot deal with is playing bellhop. Full disclosure: Until recently, I would only stay in hotels that offered room service and a nice person to cart my bags down to checkout. (See? I TOLD you!) I did not let this go until I was in yoga teacher training in 2012. (Go right on and shake your head.) Most of the time, I traveled with a suitcase for my clothes, another for purses and shoes, another for an array of high-maintenance goodies - like bath oils and scented candles and my favorite blanket, and a cosmetics case. On a trip to Hawaii in 2010, I took thirteen pairs of shoes. I have been awarded with the "this person's bags are too heavy" tag at baggage check in many times, and use one as a bookmark. So, to me, getting my bags to and from my hotel room has traditionally meant requesting help from the bellhop. They have little carts, and are skilled in the wrangling of said carts.
A new reality has since set in. Increased travel has graced me with an awareness of the need to cut expenses by staying in hotels that require me to deal with my own luggage. (Having food delivered has proven an okay substitute for room service - but I'm not thinking about that right now.) I've learned to pack light(ish) and can zip around with my rolling bags like a pro. But I cannot manage a baggage cart. And I learned the extent to which I cannot manage a baggage cart Sunday night at the Hampton Inn in Ocala, Florida.
Getting the bags on board the stainless, wheeled monster was fine. Getting the monster to the elevator would have gotten me a score of three out of ten, but I managed. Maneuvering it onto the elevator? That entertained onlookers. I became desperate enough to get the thing to turn that I assumed a linebacker stance and picked up one end. When I got it to the room, for some reason beknownst only to the gods I decided to roll the thing into the room to unload. The door swung partially shut, and I swerved to avoid the potential of having it knock the cart over (I know, I know...). It went caddy-cornered through the bathroom door. Well, kind of. Straight the hell up: The damned thing got stuck between the room door and the bathroom door. Like, wedged. And I said, "Shit!"
I was hungry. I had a little piece of tres leches cake with me that I fully wanted to enjoy with a cup of decaf and a book. I was still in yoga clothes from Art of Assisting (I left Miami right after training) and had an EPIC case of yoga hair that I was suddenly very self-conscious of. Being stuck created a keen awareness that I was covered in my own dried sweat AND the dried sweat of others - - it was an assisting training, after all, that I had been to. I stood in the hallway for a couple of minutes, considering jumping over the loaded cart and into the room. Fully into zizz-out mode, I re-assumed my linebacker stance and manhandled that damned thing out of its wedged-in state and rolled it right into the room...
...where it occurred to me that all I had to do was unload it, put the bags in the hall, and gracefully roll it free. OR - - not bring it into the room at all.
So - yeah.
The next morning, I had to do it all over again. Things went a little better, save the moments it was nearly wedged caddy-corner in the elevator (this happened on the way up and on the way down). I became aware that I was saying, "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod..." over and over wheeling the thing into the lobby on my way to the car (it was listing to starboard with a vengeance) when I noticed everyone at the complimentary breakfast watching with great interest. Did you know the wheels that swivel all around need to go in the front? They do! (Hush.) I rolled it out the doors after checkout where I gently snuggled it up against some urns of greenery (satya: this was almost a crash), loaded up my little red car, took the cart back to its friends, and left.
There's not a lot I can say about deep lessons here, other than an awareness that princess moments are moments of reaction and that I clearly forgot to breathe and stay grounded. I'm considering making a little plaque of some sort that says, "Dear Annalisa: Even princesses must breathe." I might make one that I can hang on the top bar of the baggage cart at my next hotel.
Create your most bomb-diggity day ever. Namaste.
12 November 2013
Level UP!
Whoa. The last time I posted, I was about ten days away from starting Level Two training in Austin, Texas through Baptiste Power Yoga Institute. And - - WHOA! It's amazing. It's transformational. It's everything everyone ever said it would be, and more. While I was there, I tapped into really deep stuff that I didn't know I had going on that was running a profound lie that I unwittingly allowed to define my life. I also tuned into something else:
I was slammed with the blazing truth of certain situations in my life, patterns that I witness and get caught up in to try to gain approval *or* keep another wave of those situations from heading in my direction. Self protection? No. Inauthenticity? Yes.
I am no longer a yes to those things that strike me as bullshit, manipulative, bullying, false, diminishing, grandstanding, peacocking, or means to gain spotlight and control. I am no longer a yes to allowing myself to witness or experience those things - they're one and the same, the choice is in whether or not I go into reaction. They happen, yes - but I'll come from center. I am no longer a yes to the culture of the driver. I *am* a yes to following my path into being a leader. I've seen and felt the difference, and I know what truly inspires me and what I want to model in my community and beyond.
I am a yes for following my own intuition, creativity, plans, goals, dreams, favorite things, getting messy, getting playful, swearing and crying and laughing on my mat, tackling "desk work" from bed because that's where I honestly like to work (fuck desks), and for letting these things and their spirit form the core of my life. I'm open to what embracing these things can create, and am excited to see how everything lines up towards creating my vision.
And on that note, I'm no longer afraid to have a really damned big vision - more than one, even. As I move into the last six weeks of 2013, I'm setting the full-on intention of clearing my path and beginning to pave a whole new way.
But first, I have to pack for my next training, coming this weekend: Art of Assisting at Bala Vinyasa Coral Gables - the studio where I did my very first Baptiste training in April of 2012. And since I tend to over-pack, that means I have to start now.
Create what amazes *you*. See you post-Miami!
I was slammed with the blazing truth of certain situations in my life, patterns that I witness and get caught up in to try to gain approval *or* keep another wave of those situations from heading in my direction. Self protection? No. Inauthenticity? Yes.
I am no longer a yes to those things that strike me as bullshit, manipulative, bullying, false, diminishing, grandstanding, peacocking, or means to gain spotlight and control. I am no longer a yes to allowing myself to witness or experience those things - they're one and the same, the choice is in whether or not I go into reaction. They happen, yes - but I'll come from center. I am no longer a yes to the culture of the driver. I *am* a yes to following my path into being a leader. I've seen and felt the difference, and I know what truly inspires me and what I want to model in my community and beyond.
I am a yes for following my own intuition, creativity, plans, goals, dreams, favorite things, getting messy, getting playful, swearing and crying and laughing on my mat, tackling "desk work" from bed because that's where I honestly like to work (fuck desks), and for letting these things and their spirit form the core of my life. I'm open to what embracing these things can create, and am excited to see how everything lines up towards creating my vision.
And on that note, I'm no longer afraid to have a really damned big vision - more than one, even. As I move into the last six weeks of 2013, I'm setting the full-on intention of clearing my path and beginning to pave a whole new way.
But first, I have to pack for my next training, coming this weekend: Art of Assisting at Bala Vinyasa Coral Gables - the studio where I did my very first Baptiste training in April of 2012. And since I tend to over-pack, that means I have to start now.
Create what amazes *you*. See you post-Miami!
17 October 2013
That's just nasty...
I just pitched a fit. Not a loud one, mind you, although I am capable of that. I pitched a fit over the word "should". Yes, I know there are trendy quote graphics all over the place with how we should drop should from our hearts, minds, and souls - - but I've gotten jaded to them. After reading the umpteenth instance of another person telling another person they should do a thing in a particular way (it was actually someone saying humankind in general should do a thing in a particular way), I remembered a fun twist on should I learned a few years ago. Where, I don't remember. But the gist of it?
Should is judgment, and then some. It's a guilt-laden manipulation tactic. Let's try it this way: Should = shit. And to should someone is to shit all over them. Likewise, to should yourself is to shit all over yourself.
Now - WHY would anyone do that? And before you should all over someone else, flip it and think upon how downright gross that is.
I used to call myself out *hard* on my use of it, because I was a very strong should-er. In relation to others, apart from the more brutal example of doing that all over somebody, I took on a rephrasing exercise any time I wanted to say it, replacing should with: "It would fit my reality if you...", or, "I would be more comfortable if you...". I came to see that not only is there judgment in should, there's entitlement and expectation. Why the hell would I expect that anyone change anything to make me more comfortable with what they're doing or saying, or that I am entitled to have everyone bow down to my every whim? Why was I so insecure that I needed to control everything in that way? It was challenging, but it shifted my perception in a powerful way. I learned that I used should as an escape hatch - as strong as I thought I was, I was nothing without that tactic. And then I learned the shit example and, after doing a gross out dance, dropped the practice of shoulding for a long time.
But it's been creeping back in lately, and just now, in my kitchen, preparing my breakfast - I had a should moment. And I realized how easy creating this new life would be if I dropped that practice, if I stopped bullying myself with the five letter equivalent of a four letter word. Better yet, what if I stopped using should as the escape hatch to actually making a decision based upon what I want and away from the fear of what someone might think? Whoa. Yeah. My whole year brightened up in an instant. And for the people I will invariably encounter who use it? I might just be a smartass and offer them some Pepto. (Just kidding.) (Maybe.) (Oddly enough, that would probably be shoulding, too.)
But it's been creeping back in lately, and just now, in my kitchen, preparing my breakfast - I had a should moment. And I realized how easy creating this new life would be if I dropped that practice, if I stopped bullying myself with the five letter equivalent of a four letter word. Better yet, what if I stopped using should as the escape hatch to actually making a decision based upon what I want and away from the fear of what someone might think? Whoa. Yeah. My whole year brightened up in an instant. And for the people I will invariably encounter who use it? I might just be a smartass and offer them some Pepto. (Just kidding.) (Maybe.) (Oddly enough, that would probably be shoulding, too.)
So give this to yourself: Back away from the should. It's nasty. Experiment with what happens, and pay attention to what it brings up for you. And do something YOU want to do.
10 October 2013
Pickled cinnamon...
Me, in my kitchen, a couple of nights ago. I was debating whether I should bake a cookie or just eat the dough raw (satya, baby), and noticed a team of ants carrying a bit of rice noodle across the counter. Totally had a cute moment. Oh, yeah, I thought they were cute. I watched them while I munched on my raw cookie dough and had some tea. When they struggled to get the thing up a wall and over to an opening, *I helped*. Fashioning a little elevator platform out of a piece of paper, I coaxed them into walking on it and lifted them right up to where they were trying to go. And then I noticed the others.
There were a lot of others. I asked my friend, Google, for advice as to how to get rid of the ants and turned up garlic and black pepper. I sat garlic cloves around, and then (oh, man) broke out the pepper grinder and went to town in a spot on the counter to see what would happen. And would you like to know what happened? One of the ants walked over, picked up a chunk of it, and started walking off. Pepper, at least freshly ground, does not deter ants. Garlic? Works. They will walk up to it, stand on their hind legs and look at it, and then wander off like they're bored. But I wanted something stronger.
I posted my issue on Facebook, and got cinnamon as the solution. And that. Shit. Works. Seriously - sprinkle cinnamon in the vicinity of an ant, and he will haul ass. Sprinkled near a posse, it's like one of them broke explosive wind and they're all running away - just madness. I became the cinnamon fairy and rocked it all over the kitchen. And the ants fled the cinnamon fairy, and all was well in the land.
And then I had to clean it up. I make my own cleaning stuff - and use a glass cleaner that contains vinegar to clean the kitchen counters. Well, I do that when I run out of the all purpose stuff that doesn't contain vinegar - - anyway, just know that I had to use the stuff with the vinegar in it. I don't recommend spraying vinegar anything on cinnamon. There's a reaction. A strong one. My kitchen smells like pickled cinnamon - NOTHING will get rid of the smell. Not even the especially potent cedar incense that makes my house smell like mostly like campfire. I haven't tried smudging, but I'm close. Honestly, I'm not sure even setting sulfur ablaze would help. Anything that's sprayed, burned, or otherwise applied to mask the smell wears off and I'm left with pickled cinnamon.
At the top of today's list: Reorganize kitchen. I'm replacing it with: Buy cinnamon STICKS.
08 October 2013
Tonightly routine...
Decide it's not a good night for tacos, after all. Rebellion is the spice of life.
Decide on soup.
Congratulate self on this decision.
Decide to have rice with soup.
Put rice in rice cooker, turn on.
Place array of vegetables in pot with diced tomatoes, stock, and seasonings.
Place pot on stove.
Decide that the perfect way to wait for a quick pot of soup and the rice to cook is to have a nice, hot bath with sandalwood bath salts.
Congratulate self on this decision.
Have bath.
Pamper self. Feet like cocoa butter, as do hands.
Decide whole self likes cocoa butter.
Congratulate self on this decision.
Put on something not out-of-house worthy, but acceptable and comfortable.
Realize soup and rice are probably almost done.
Congratulate self on decision to make soup and rice again.
Meander to the kitchen (post-bath post-yoga blissed-out almost-coma).
Take in the smell of freshly cooked rice.
Wonder where the aroma of freshly cooked soup is.
Realize stove is not turned on.
Get peanuts.
Decide on soup.
Congratulate self on this decision.
Decide to have rice with soup.
Put rice in rice cooker, turn on.
Place array of vegetables in pot with diced tomatoes, stock, and seasonings.
Place pot on stove.
Decide that the perfect way to wait for a quick pot of soup and the rice to cook is to have a nice, hot bath with sandalwood bath salts.
Congratulate self on this decision.
Have bath.
Pamper self. Feet like cocoa butter, as do hands.
Decide whole self likes cocoa butter.
Congratulate self on this decision.
Put on something not out-of-house worthy, but acceptable and comfortable.
Realize soup and rice are probably almost done.
Congratulate self on decision to make soup and rice again.
Meander to the kitchen (post-bath post-yoga blissed-out almost-coma).
Take in the smell of freshly cooked rice.
Wonder where the aroma of freshly cooked soup is.
Realize stove is not turned on.
Get peanuts.
06 October 2013
Magic Bullet boxing spiders...
I have been into the busy with non-studio stuff, helping out my parents when an extra set of hands was needed. And today, I almost needed an extra set of hands to get me out of my car.
There was a spider on my Beetle.
It's fall, and that means spiders. Lots of 'em. I've talked about them in here before - there's one in the back yard that is making my life a little challenging because I never know where he or she is going to build his or her web du jour. And this one's forming a posse. When one comes, others follow, and today the back yard apparently got too crowded.
For today, one was out front.
One was on my damn car.
I have to take back what I said about non-studio stuff. This afternoon, I was walking out of my house to deliver freshly laundered towels to the studio. Since someone else had the laundry basket, I had taken them home in a bag and when I took them out of the dryer I put them in the box my NutriBullet shipped in. It says Magic Bullet on the sides. So I paraded out to the car with my Magic Bullet box of towels, and I noticed a brown, curled up leaf hovering off the ground near my rear driver's side wheel. I walked right up to it, bent over, and saw legs. And I honestly thought about just leaving the towel delivery alone until tomorrow - because that web would only last for one day according to intensive Google research. I was also keen on having a run. I was going to throw that damned box of towels on top of the spider or across the street - - somewhere - - and run back into the house - which would have made "Magic Bullet" a delightful smack of irony.
But I didn't. I thought about it. There's a 6am hot class, and if I got up at o'dark thirty to go to yoga, I would really appreciate someone offering me the towel I likely forgot due to sleep deprivation. And so I tiptoed into my car, very carefully opening the door and getting in. I shut the door very carefully, and then checked in my side view mirror. The fucker was gone.
So then I began to wonder - if he went into the wheel well, might he get into the car? Into the very car? With me? This thought still makes me twitchy. Could the spider get into the Beetle? I thought about that the whole way to the studio. And when I got there, I twisted around and looked out the window for what I don't know, but I saw what I did not want to see:
The bastard was on the side of my car.
So I sat there. I checked Facebook on my phone, as you do, and waited for the spider to leave. When I didn't see him any more, I decided to get out of my car - - via a jump. I did a tip toe leap split in flip flops about five feet away from my car, and then I walked up and down the side of it, looking. And looking. I took the towels into the studio, then stood at the door and looked out at my car. I didn't want to go near it. But, well - - that would look weird at 6am. "Oh, hey! I've been here all night. Would you all like to help me remove all the seats and upholstery from my car, flip it upside down, and make sure the spider is gone?"
With great grace, care, and ease I got back into my car. Not. I made a stop for a bag of dog food (same exit and entry method of the car used) and drove home. Where I sat in the driveway and checked Facebook, as you do. I did that for a good while, then I carefully tip toe leap splitted out of my car and ran back into my house, running in place as I unlocked the door.
Confession: I am considering canceling a Genius Bar appointment for my Macbook Air tomorrow morning because that spider might still be somewhere on my car.
Confession 2: I've named the tip toe leap split exit method the "Magic Bullet".
There was a spider on my Beetle.
It's fall, and that means spiders. Lots of 'em. I've talked about them in here before - there's one in the back yard that is making my life a little challenging because I never know where he or she is going to build his or her web du jour. And this one's forming a posse. When one comes, others follow, and today the back yard apparently got too crowded.
For today, one was out front.
One was on my damn car.
I have to take back what I said about non-studio stuff. This afternoon, I was walking out of my house to deliver freshly laundered towels to the studio. Since someone else had the laundry basket, I had taken them home in a bag and when I took them out of the dryer I put them in the box my NutriBullet shipped in. It says Magic Bullet on the sides. So I paraded out to the car with my Magic Bullet box of towels, and I noticed a brown, curled up leaf hovering off the ground near my rear driver's side wheel. I walked right up to it, bent over, and saw legs. And I honestly thought about just leaving the towel delivery alone until tomorrow - because that web would only last for one day according to intensive Google research. I was also keen on having a run. I was going to throw that damned box of towels on top of the spider or across the street - - somewhere - - and run back into the house - which would have made "Magic Bullet" a delightful smack of irony.
But I didn't. I thought about it. There's a 6am hot class, and if I got up at o'dark thirty to go to yoga, I would really appreciate someone offering me the towel I likely forgot due to sleep deprivation. And so I tiptoed into my car, very carefully opening the door and getting in. I shut the door very carefully, and then checked in my side view mirror. The fucker was gone.
So then I began to wonder - if he went into the wheel well, might he get into the car? Into the very car? With me? This thought still makes me twitchy. Could the spider get into the Beetle? I thought about that the whole way to the studio. And when I got there, I twisted around and looked out the window for what I don't know, but I saw what I did not want to see:
The bastard was on the side of my car.
So I sat there. I checked Facebook on my phone, as you do, and waited for the spider to leave. When I didn't see him any more, I decided to get out of my car - - via a jump. I did a tip toe leap split in flip flops about five feet away from my car, and then I walked up and down the side of it, looking. And looking. I took the towels into the studio, then stood at the door and looked out at my car. I didn't want to go near it. But, well - - that would look weird at 6am. "Oh, hey! I've been here all night. Would you all like to help me remove all the seats and upholstery from my car, flip it upside down, and make sure the spider is gone?"
With great grace, care, and ease I got back into my car. Not. I made a stop for a bag of dog food (same exit and entry method of the car used) and drove home. Where I sat in the driveway and checked Facebook, as you do. I did that for a good while, then I carefully tip toe leap splitted out of my car and ran back into my house, running in place as I unlocked the door.
Confession: I am considering canceling a Genius Bar appointment for my Macbook Air tomorrow morning because that spider might still be somewhere on my car.
Confession 2: I've named the tip toe leap split exit method the "Magic Bullet".
04 October 2013
Friday playlist...
Because the busy is hitting the fan and I don't have time to sit and write a proper entry. And I've remembered I have a Grooveshark.
Off to get many bases covered. Get it?
02 October 2013
Short confessions...
Yesterday, I was given chocolate cake as part of celebrating my birthday a little late (I had a cold). I ate it right out of the box with a spoon more than once, and am not ashamed.
My house is jolly well toasted from dragging out every single thing I had in storage and piling it up to start purging. BUT - I have things sorted into three areas now, and today I start going through those areas. One area per day, until BOOM! Dunzo. I will be able to see my couch.
I am not allowing myself to start looking for amazing pieces of furniture to redo or shop for pink princess phones until AFTER the last Goodwill load leaves.
I am seriously toying with the idea of doing an entirely Hello Kitty house, but I wonder how my love of glitter skulls and wanting murals of top fuel front engine dragsters could work with that.
I'm working my way back into a mostly unmodified yoga practice. On Monday, I got into side plank without putting a knee down for the first time in forever and I cheered. And then I fell. I cheered then, too.
I have Level Two and Art of Assisting coming up as part of working towards my goal of being a Certified Baptiste Teacher. And then I have a certification process that involves a video of me teaching a class. I am scared shitless of making that video.
I touched up the pink in my hair and took off my gloves too soon now my fingernails are pink. And then I got pink dye all over my bathroom. Again.
There is a large spider (very large) (it looks like a fucking aerial fiddler crab) building and rebuilding webs all over my back yard, looking for prime real estate. I have not set foot on my deck since his arrival.
"Don't Mutilate My Mink" by Christina is one of my favorite songs. It reminds me of winter 1984, when I was sixteen and wanted to have black and pink hair and be my own boss.
I just got chills. (In case you don't know, I have black and pink hair and I own a yoga studio.)
I am going to have more of that chocolate cake for breakfast.
My house is jolly well toasted from dragging out every single thing I had in storage and piling it up to start purging. BUT - I have things sorted into three areas now, and today I start going through those areas. One area per day, until BOOM! Dunzo. I will be able to see my couch.
I am not allowing myself to start looking for amazing pieces of furniture to redo or shop for pink princess phones until AFTER the last Goodwill load leaves.
I am seriously toying with the idea of doing an entirely Hello Kitty house, but I wonder how my love of glitter skulls and wanting murals of top fuel front engine dragsters could work with that.
I'm working my way back into a mostly unmodified yoga practice. On Monday, I got into side plank without putting a knee down for the first time in forever and I cheered. And then I fell. I cheered then, too.
I have Level Two and Art of Assisting coming up as part of working towards my goal of being a Certified Baptiste Teacher. And then I have a certification process that involves a video of me teaching a class. I am scared shitless of making that video.
I touched up the pink in my hair and took off my gloves too soon now my fingernails are pink. And then I got pink dye all over my bathroom. Again.
There is a large spider (very large) (it looks like a fucking aerial fiddler crab) building and rebuilding webs all over my back yard, looking for prime real estate. I have not set foot on my deck since his arrival.
"Don't Mutilate My Mink" by Christina is one of my favorite songs. It reminds me of winter 1984, when I was sixteen and wanted to have black and pink hair and be my own boss.
I just got chills. (In case you don't know, I have black and pink hair and I own a yoga studio.)
I am going to have more of that chocolate cake for breakfast.
30 September 2013
Halle-to-the-lujah...
Okay, the title sounds weird, but it's staying. It's Monday, the weather is smashing, and I am embarking upon SUCH a good thing. This: The Taco Cleanse. Last week I had a damned awful cold which I'm still navigating my way up and away from, but in my internet roamings I did a search for vegan tacos and found *that*. And I started *that* today.
Straight up, it speaks to me. I'm sick of juice cleansing and fasting and hearing about how gluten is Satan. I'm a smidgen burned out on green smoothies, even though I do love them. (I just need a break. Not a breakup.) BUT - moving back into living at top volume from a recuperative 40% has me seeing a need for a rebooting cleanup of some sort. This makes sense. When I make tacos, my fillings tend to be whole foods that are easy-to-pronounce. Those combinations make the BEST things ever. Sweet potato and black bean? Oh, baby. Get in mah belleh! Zucchini, red beans, and mushrooms with cashew sour cream? C'mere. Now. But beyond that - tacos are fun comfort food for me. Will I get tired of tacos? Not likely. I once ate them for about three weeks straight without fully realizing it. I *get* the soultastic aspect of this as much as I *get* that as a dietary reboot, it can totally work.
I'll admit - that monster stack of white corn tortillas in my kitchen and first round of filling supplies is a little intimidating, though. It's been a long time since I expressed my inner kitchen wizard. I've been on whatever seems easiest and will keep me off my feet the most for a good while, my arsenal of seasonings has dwindled, and I really feel like I'm learning to really *cook* all over again. I didn't realize that until today when I went to make lunch and froze up. Ideas are one thing, but bringing those ideas to fruition? Uhhhh.....huh? How do I do that? That response surprised me. So there's another reboot aspect at play here - getting me back into the kitchen and doing something I love.
And the margarita supplements? Do I even have to address that? Get down with your hell yeah self. I'm seeing it as a requirement to go to the Mexican restaurant across the street from the studio on Saturday afternoon to have a margarita on their patio. I think calling it "Vitamin Time" sounds stellar. In fact, I think I'm going to do that. Saturday, after I get back into town from this amazing thing, I will be having Vitamin Time at Poblano's. Hells yesses.
(If I wasn't recovering from a cold, I would SO move Vitamin Time to today!)
(Margaritas have vitamin C, don't they?)
Straight up, it speaks to me. I'm sick of juice cleansing and fasting and hearing about how gluten is Satan. I'm a smidgen burned out on green smoothies, even though I do love them. (I just need a break. Not a breakup.) BUT - moving back into living at top volume from a recuperative 40% has me seeing a need for a rebooting cleanup of some sort. This makes sense. When I make tacos, my fillings tend to be whole foods that are easy-to-pronounce. Those combinations make the BEST things ever. Sweet potato and black bean? Oh, baby. Get in mah belleh! Zucchini, red beans, and mushrooms with cashew sour cream? C'mere. Now. But beyond that - tacos are fun comfort food for me. Will I get tired of tacos? Not likely. I once ate them for about three weeks straight without fully realizing it. I *get* the soultastic aspect of this as much as I *get* that as a dietary reboot, it can totally work.
I'll admit - that monster stack of white corn tortillas in my kitchen and first round of filling supplies is a little intimidating, though. It's been a long time since I expressed my inner kitchen wizard. I've been on whatever seems easiest and will keep me off my feet the most for a good while, my arsenal of seasonings has dwindled, and I really feel like I'm learning to really *cook* all over again. I didn't realize that until today when I went to make lunch and froze up. Ideas are one thing, but bringing those ideas to fruition? Uhhhh.....huh? How do I do that? That response surprised me. So there's another reboot aspect at play here - getting me back into the kitchen and doing something I love.
And the margarita supplements? Do I even have to address that? Get down with your hell yeah self. I'm seeing it as a requirement to go to the Mexican restaurant across the street from the studio on Saturday afternoon to have a margarita on their patio. I think calling it "Vitamin Time" sounds stellar. In fact, I think I'm going to do that. Saturday, after I get back into town from this amazing thing, I will be having Vitamin Time at Poblano's. Hells yesses.
(If I wasn't recovering from a cold, I would SO move Vitamin Time to today!)
(Margaritas have vitamin C, don't they?)
27 September 2013
From the front of the room...
Ever wonder what it's like to be a yoga teacher? Straight up: Somedays, you're ON. You're a ROCK STAR. You will confidently lead your class, in the moment from the beginning to the end, and want to do it all over again as soon as class wraps up. And then, there are the other classes. Welcome to inside my head during one of THOSE classes:
"Two chocolate Zico's for breakfast, baby! Let's PLAY!"
"How long have I had them in this opening child's pose?"
"I just told them to breathe for the fifth time in four minutes. Is it only four minutes?"
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"Holy hell, I just Sun Sal B'd on the right side three times."
"Fuck it, I'll Sun Sal B on the left side three times."
"Am I jogging around the room? Damn."
"That person's pissed about this twist. Wait - am I in people-pleasing mode?"
"Why am I standing on one leg?"
"Okay, so joking about hugging your legs together like you've got to pee in Eagle wasn't a good choice this morning."
"Totally didn't mean to teach Twisting Triangle there, but it's like that."
"I still really have to go to the bathroom."
"I need to write down that having to go to the bathroom while teaching backbends might lead to teaching them with too great a sense of urgency."
"Damn. Same goes for abs."
"How the hell am I at hip openers with only ten minutes left?"
"Eight more minutes until I can go to the bathroom."
"Six."
"Yep. Leavin' that water bottle the hell alone."
"Two more minutes."
"Ten seconds."
"I will NEVER drink two chocolate Zico's before teaching again."
It's good to keep it real, right? Create a fantabulous weekend!
"Two chocolate Zico's for breakfast, baby! Let's PLAY!"
"How long have I had them in this opening child's pose?"
"I just told them to breathe for the fifth time in four minutes. Is it only four minutes?"
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"Holy hell, I just Sun Sal B'd on the right side three times."
"Fuck it, I'll Sun Sal B on the left side three times."
"Am I jogging around the room? Damn."
"That person's pissed about this twist. Wait - am I in people-pleasing mode?"
"Why am I standing on one leg?"
"Okay, so joking about hugging your legs together like you've got to pee in Eagle wasn't a good choice this morning."
"Totally didn't mean to teach Twisting Triangle there, but it's like that."
"I still really have to go to the bathroom."
"I need to write down that having to go to the bathroom while teaching backbends might lead to teaching them with too great a sense of urgency."
"Damn. Same goes for abs."
"How the hell am I at hip openers with only ten minutes left?"
"Eight more minutes until I can go to the bathroom."
"Six."
"Yep. Leavin' that water bottle the hell alone."
"Two more minutes."
"Ten seconds."
"I will NEVER drink two chocolate Zico's before teaching again."
It's good to keep it real, right? Create a fantabulous weekend!
24 September 2013
Rambling on...
Sometimes I get random because it feels good.
I realized something this morning. I started blogging as GoKittenGo in (gulp) 2001 - maybe 2000. On *Diaryland* - - I can't even get to those entries now. I used to link to them through this blog ages and ages ago, but it's all good that I can't get there. I have them archived somewhere. I swear and complain a lot, and make many references to being stylishly intoxicated. They're funny, but also a little toxic. At times I was downright mean.
I've tried on different "names" - the most recent being One Little Yoga Chick. I've had moments when any time I left a part of my past behind or went through some immense event, I would think I needed to take on a new "thing". Seriously? The fuck? Those never last long. I never want to write under them - it's like taking notes in a borrowed notebook. In short, it's not me.
And that's what that was, kind of. Yeah, I love yoga - that's a given what with this yoga teacher and owning a studio thing - but I was making yoga a wrapper of my life. Yoga's not the wrapper, yoga's the framework. It's what everything else hangs on, supporting me so I can get into all the other stuff I love at full expression. Everything, from my love of my amazing superfly dog, Totsi, to my obsession with top fuel front engine dragsters, my daydreams of owning a teardrop camper and a rat rod Beetle, and diving into how my love of music manifests in listening jags to the Ramones, Hank Williams, Chopin, Link Wray, Flat Duo Jets, Patti Smith, Cheap Trick, Small Faces, the Action, and so forth. I practice Baptiste yoga (and teach Baptiste-inspired), and a concept that's addressed is hugging in to create full expression out. (Whoa.)
*THAT*. That, exactly, expresses what I was about to write 1,000 words trying to express. When I hug into my practice, I create full expression out, everywhere. Yoga is as much the framework of my life as my skeleton is to my physical being - it's that integral a thing. If you imagine being without a skeleton, that's what my life without my practice is. And when I let it become the wrapper, I began to limit myself - who wouldn't suffocate when turned inside out? Beset by plastic namaste-coated shoulds, I shut down creatively because I edited every thought, concept - - every single everything. Would it fit my new path? Again - - THE FUCK? I mean, my Toms are comfortable - but they're nothing to my creepers, Vans, and Converse.
And - - - NEW? I've been practicing yoga since 1999. So - new? Not really. Not really at all. A few months ago, I started to see the ways I tried so hard to keep myself in the wrapper - here's an example: There was a sweet tea experiment. I am Southern, so sweet tea is a part of my existence - as much as yoga, actually. It's deep. *I tried to make it with amber agave syrup because I thought I should.* I told myself it was the same. It's amazing how strongly I believed my own damned lie. (There's a topic for discussion!) But, you know, I had to do that so I would fit what I had written on that wrapper. What would have happened next had I not stopped? Sweetening the cornbread? (Actually, hell would freeze before I let that happen.) Or - - the grits? Might I have started putting sugar in the grits? Hold on. I'll be back. I have to go confess at the sacred grotto of Dixie Lily for even having thought that. Might need to make a cleansing pilgrimage to the temple of Anson Mills.
I let my core become the wrapper, tried to make the wrapper look good (ohh, that concern for looking good AND not wanting to be seen), and wound up not being able to breathe. Awareness of that hit me back in February, at Level One with Baron Baptiste in Hawaii. And I said, "Shit." I didn't even realize I had been doing it. But even as I came a little unglued over the spring, facing up to shit that the wrapper was holding together, winding up with gradual re-injury coming to a bang-up crescendo, something in me started to let myself chill and be seen. And now? I'm happier than I've ever been, because my core is back in its place. I have work to do, big trainings coming up, and am out of shape from pushing myself to reinjury - but it's good, because from this place I take ownership. I'm actually happy about the work because I'm not living from that reversed, masked place anymore.
My practice *supports* me again, and from that, I can create damned near anything.
I realized something this morning. I started blogging as GoKittenGo in (gulp) 2001 - maybe 2000. On *Diaryland* - - I can't even get to those entries now. I used to link to them through this blog ages and ages ago, but it's all good that I can't get there. I have them archived somewhere. I swear and complain a lot, and make many references to being stylishly intoxicated. They're funny, but also a little toxic. At times I was downright mean.
I've tried on different "names" - the most recent being One Little Yoga Chick. I've had moments when any time I left a part of my past behind or went through some immense event, I would think I needed to take on a new "thing". Seriously? The fuck? Those never last long. I never want to write under them - it's like taking notes in a borrowed notebook. In short, it's not me.
And that's what that was, kind of. Yeah, I love yoga - that's a given what with this yoga teacher and owning a studio thing - but I was making yoga a wrapper of my life. Yoga's not the wrapper, yoga's the framework. It's what everything else hangs on, supporting me so I can get into all the other stuff I love at full expression. Everything, from my love of my amazing superfly dog, Totsi, to my obsession with top fuel front engine dragsters, my daydreams of owning a teardrop camper and a rat rod Beetle, and diving into how my love of music manifests in listening jags to the Ramones, Hank Williams, Chopin, Link Wray, Flat Duo Jets, Patti Smith, Cheap Trick, Small Faces, the Action, and so forth. I practice Baptiste yoga (and teach Baptiste-inspired), and a concept that's addressed is hugging in to create full expression out. (Whoa.)
*THAT*. That, exactly, expresses what I was about to write 1,000 words trying to express. When I hug into my practice, I create full expression out, everywhere. Yoga is as much the framework of my life as my skeleton is to my physical being - it's that integral a thing. If you imagine being without a skeleton, that's what my life without my practice is. And when I let it become the wrapper, I began to limit myself - who wouldn't suffocate when turned inside out? Beset by plastic namaste-coated shoulds, I shut down creatively because I edited every thought, concept - - every single everything. Would it fit my new path? Again - - THE FUCK? I mean, my Toms are comfortable - but they're nothing to my creepers, Vans, and Converse.
And - - - NEW? I've been practicing yoga since 1999. So - new? Not really. Not really at all. A few months ago, I started to see the ways I tried so hard to keep myself in the wrapper - here's an example: There was a sweet tea experiment. I am Southern, so sweet tea is a part of my existence - as much as yoga, actually. It's deep. *I tried to make it with amber agave syrup because I thought I should.* I told myself it was the same. It's amazing how strongly I believed my own damned lie. (There's a topic for discussion!) But, you know, I had to do that so I would fit what I had written on that wrapper. What would have happened next had I not stopped? Sweetening the cornbread? (Actually, hell would freeze before I let that happen.) Or - - the grits? Might I have started putting sugar in the grits? Hold on. I'll be back. I have to go confess at the sacred grotto of Dixie Lily for even having thought that. Might need to make a cleansing pilgrimage to the temple of Anson Mills.
I let my core become the wrapper, tried to make the wrapper look good (ohh, that concern for looking good AND not wanting to be seen), and wound up not being able to breathe. Awareness of that hit me back in February, at Level One with Baron Baptiste in Hawaii. And I said, "Shit." I didn't even realize I had been doing it. But even as I came a little unglued over the spring, facing up to shit that the wrapper was holding together, winding up with gradual re-injury coming to a bang-up crescendo, something in me started to let myself chill and be seen. And now? I'm happier than I've ever been, because my core is back in its place. I have work to do, big trainings coming up, and am out of shape from pushing myself to reinjury - but it's good, because from this place I take ownership. I'm actually happy about the work because I'm not living from that reversed, masked place anymore.
My practice *supports* me again, and from that, I can create damned near anything.
18 September 2013
It ain't heavy, it's my lunch...
What in the hell is it with trainings? Whether I'm participating or part of leading/supporting, it happens: I get hungry for a few days once it's over. And I don't mean the kind of hungry that leads me to want an extra apple or another handful of raw almonds. I mean the kind of hungry that has me craving spicy, rich, dense foods in economy-sized portions. Obsessively. I fantasize about what kind of cheese might be best with that particular dark chocolate and ginger bar. I make hot chocolate so rich it takes a good hour to drink a cup after consuming crabby benedict (eggs benedict in which the ham is replaced with a crab cake) with a nice, spicy hollandaise. I could eat queso like soup with guacamole as a salad. (Hmm. HMMMMMM!)
This time last week, I was all about the green smoothies and salads and pasta with sunflower "cheese" sauce. This week? Give me the damned sandwich already, and please pass the pimento cheese so I can put more on this whole grain pita chip. Like, now. And where's the salt? Did I mention I need salt? Yeah, that - so hand it to me now, please. Got Sriracha? Give it here. I will bite you if you so much as take one step towards that hummus. And, yes, I do want that cinnamon roll.
There's an urgency to it. Food time is food time, and heaven help the poor soul who tries to interfere with it. I get a little protective of it AND my ice cream, which is never in the freezer except for such times as these.
Granted, it's not all three meals - my breakfast is a chocolate Shakeology shake. (OMG. O. M. G. So good.) Dinner tends to be small. But lunch? Step back and don't you damn dare touch my bag of tostadas, upon which I am going to put as many of these carefully prepared toppings as a single tostada can comfortably hold. Twice. With a tomato salad and a cup of hot chocolate to follow. Mid-afternoon, I will have my green smoothie or there will be a problem. Because by mid-afternoon, I am hungry again. Yes, after the huge lunch. I growl while I drink them. (Not quite, but close.)
Luckily, this only goes on for two or three days - not that I fear food, but my grocery bill increases exponentially after a training. And heaven forbid I wander into the grocery store if I'm hungry - I'll go in for laundry detergent and come out with the makings of a taco bar. Seriously. It's insane.
As insane as the call of that bar of dark chocolate I just remembered I have.
This time last week, I was all about the green smoothies and salads and pasta with sunflower "cheese" sauce. This week? Give me the damned sandwich already, and please pass the pimento cheese so I can put more on this whole grain pita chip. Like, now. And where's the salt? Did I mention I need salt? Yeah, that - so hand it to me now, please. Got Sriracha? Give it here. I will bite you if you so much as take one step towards that hummus. And, yes, I do want that cinnamon roll.
There's an urgency to it. Food time is food time, and heaven help the poor soul who tries to interfere with it. I get a little protective of it AND my ice cream, which is never in the freezer except for such times as these.
Granted, it's not all three meals - my breakfast is a chocolate Shakeology shake. (OMG. O. M. G. So good.) Dinner tends to be small. But lunch? Step back and don't you damn dare touch my bag of tostadas, upon which I am going to put as many of these carefully prepared toppings as a single tostada can comfortably hold. Twice. With a tomato salad and a cup of hot chocolate to follow. Mid-afternoon, I will have my green smoothie or there will be a problem. Because by mid-afternoon, I am hungry again. Yes, after the huge lunch. I growl while I drink them. (Not quite, but close.)
Luckily, this only goes on for two or three days - not that I fear food, but my grocery bill increases exponentially after a training. And heaven forbid I wander into the grocery store if I'm hungry - I'll go in for laundry detergent and come out with the makings of a taco bar. Seriously. It's insane.
As insane as the call of that bar of dark chocolate I just remembered I have.
17 September 2013
We get 'em...
Every year at this time, something happens. It's not magical, mystical, or remotely fun - at least if you're me. As much of a badass as I might be, and I do think I am a bit of a badass, there's something that will get me to screeching like this.....
....ever single time.
It's not spiders, although they do that. And, yes, this is the time of year for the big spiders building webs all over the place. They're doing their part in the great cycle of life, killing off the flying insects of summer for fall. I guess. That's what I tell myself. One in the back yard has made a fine tent for himself out of a leaf at the top of his web, and I tell myself I am amused with that and that it's cute to avoid thinking, "Damn. That fucker is huge and if he gets on me I will die."
Nope, folks, it's the roaches. The big boys from outside that mosey in during the summer. Every year, one or two will make an appearance, and it's always the same thing - I Carrie Bradshaw it up while swinging a broom and screaming for fire to kill it. This year, the biggest one I have seen since leaving Savannah got in. It was so big it scared the dog. NO SHIT. Totsi has been with me for eight years, so she's witnessed my reaction and has never been phased. This was all about the bug. She saw it first and set about getting the hell away from it. I followed.
And you know how dogs are. Once something scares them, they take time to recover. And when Totsi gets good and spooked, she heads to me for comfort, laying right on my chest like she did when she was a puppy. She now weighs fifty pounds.
So Sunday night there was another bug. I didn't see it first, Totsi did, and she alerted me to its presence by laying down on top of me. I tried to move her, but she made herself heavy. I know you know what I mean - she went from fifty pounds to one hundred and fifty in two seconds. I couldn't move. And she kept me there while that damned thing strolled up the wall and walked laps around the crown molding. Twice. It went towards the ceiling fan and I had this image, this horrifying image, of it falling and hitting the fan, flying right into my hair. That led me to try to persuade her to move some more - - and she made herself even more heavy. Ordinarily, I could eventually move her -- but I still have some weakness from my back injury, and it just wasn't happening.
I managed some Instagram photos. (I was checking my messages when she saw the bug, so I had my phone in my hand when she crawled on top of me.) This was taken one-handed with my left hand going over my head and then over my right shoulder while holding my breath. I still don't know how this made my right shoulder look like a wad of sweatshirt-covered something, but it does.
Here's another, after she had moved down a little. You can see my reflection in her eye - - as well as her very clear expression that I was NOT to move.
I was pinned for about an hour after a day of staying hydrated, if you get me. The bug finally left the room. Never did find it. Totsi stayed very, very close all through the night. Yesterday, I bought her some turkey "bacon" treats to reward her vigilance. I totally get where she was coming from. And I think she thought she was protecting me.
....ever single time.
It's not spiders, although they do that. And, yes, this is the time of year for the big spiders building webs all over the place. They're doing their part in the great cycle of life, killing off the flying insects of summer for fall. I guess. That's what I tell myself. One in the back yard has made a fine tent for himself out of a leaf at the top of his web, and I tell myself I am amused with that and that it's cute to avoid thinking, "Damn. That fucker is huge and if he gets on me I will die."
Nope, folks, it's the roaches. The big boys from outside that mosey in during the summer. Every year, one or two will make an appearance, and it's always the same thing - I Carrie Bradshaw it up while swinging a broom and screaming for fire to kill it. This year, the biggest one I have seen since leaving Savannah got in. It was so big it scared the dog. NO SHIT. Totsi has been with me for eight years, so she's witnessed my reaction and has never been phased. This was all about the bug. She saw it first and set about getting the hell away from it. I followed.
And you know how dogs are. Once something scares them, they take time to recover. And when Totsi gets good and spooked, she heads to me for comfort, laying right on my chest like she did when she was a puppy. She now weighs fifty pounds.
So Sunday night there was another bug. I didn't see it first, Totsi did, and she alerted me to its presence by laying down on top of me. I tried to move her, but she made herself heavy. I know you know what I mean - she went from fifty pounds to one hundred and fifty in two seconds. I couldn't move. And she kept me there while that damned thing strolled up the wall and walked laps around the crown molding. Twice. It went towards the ceiling fan and I had this image, this horrifying image, of it falling and hitting the fan, flying right into my hair. That led me to try to persuade her to move some more - - and she made herself even more heavy. Ordinarily, I could eventually move her -- but I still have some weakness from my back injury, and it just wasn't happening.
I managed some Instagram photos. (I was checking my messages when she saw the bug, so I had my phone in my hand when she crawled on top of me.) This was taken one-handed with my left hand going over my head and then over my right shoulder while holding my breath. I still don't know how this made my right shoulder look like a wad of sweatshirt-covered something, but it does.
Here's another, after she had moved down a little. You can see my reflection in her eye - - as well as her very clear expression that I was NOT to move.
I was pinned for about an hour after a day of staying hydrated, if you get me. The bug finally left the room. Never did find it. Totsi stayed very, very close all through the night. Yesterday, I bought her some turkey "bacon" treats to reward her vigilance. I totally get where she was coming from. And I think she thought she was protecting me.
11 September 2013
So this just happened...
I've been busy. Way busy. And not the busy that you create by working inefficiently - - damned well bonafide busy. So between things today, I put on my jam jams (pajamas, y'all) and settled down for a quick recharge and some chat time with Totsi. She was being very cute. I asked my Macbook to take a picture. Macbooks beep before they take pictures, and the beeping has an effect on my not-so-little one. Just two seconds earlier, this had been a minor victory. It wound up being a beep-fueled launch party off my side. I was finally going to have a picture of Totsi and me together that didn't involve what it wound up involving. Again.
The pattern continues. Eight years and counting of this pattern, everyone. Eight years. Strong the will is with this one, on both counts.
The pattern continues. Eight years and counting of this pattern, everyone. Eight years. Strong the will is with this one, on both counts.
10 September 2013
Oh, it's ALL about the bag...
No moral, just an account of this morning. I'm sure I've introduced you to my four-legged child, but I'll do it again. Meet Totsi:
She is a darling of great routine who tolerates no deviation. Her preferred morning:
Wake up at, ohhh, sevenish. Stand upon me and grunt. If it's a morning that I want to sleep in, she'll put her cold, wet nose right on my neck. When that doesn't work, she'll fall sideways on me and huff, then roll over to her side, put her feet on me, and push me towards the side of the bed. Yes, my dog pushes me out of bed. When I get up, she'll have a large happy dance and be escorted outside for her morning constitutional. Then she comes back inside and sleeps until about 11am. Diva? You think? What can I say - - I brought her up right.
This morning:
I booked a private lesson for today, Wednesday and Thursday at 6am. To give myself time to wake up, get to the studio, and heat it, I woke up at 4.30am. She waited until after I had finished my coffee to stir, and then she *stared*. After staring, she chose not to move until I said I needed to hurry up and go. When I said I was going to get a shower, she asked to be escorted to have her morning constitutional. Only she was *serious* about it. I know you know what I mean - dog or no dog. They get into their knowing, and they get *serious*. And Totsi wasn't poop-in-the-living-room serious, but she was close. Home girl was peeved.
I get it, I do. Really early mornings typically mean I'm going somewhere for a while - and I've been known to hide the suitcases from her until right before I leave to avoid upsetting her. As she trotted out the door onto the deck, I told her, "Mommy's got to hurry up and go." Big mistake. She decided to take a dark bath. (Well, there was no sun.) Then it was time to survey the woods behind the house from the left side of the deck. I reminded her to go potty. She chose to survey from the right side of the deck. Ten minutes later, she walked down into the yard after a brief stop to scan from the middle. Came back up. I called her inside, and she gave me a look of, "Oh, I'm clearly not up to anything at all..." - - and sauntered right back down the steps. A few more minutes passed. At long last, she slowly, and I mean slowly, made her way back up the steps, across the deck, and into the back door. Then she *walked* over to get her morning treat with great deliberateness, maintained this purpose all the way back to the bedroom with her treat in her mouth, hopped on the bed, dropped the treat, huffed dramatically, and STARED. I dashed upstairs to get ready for the studio, and when I came back down, she was STILL staring. Her treat had not been touched.
So I chose a small purse. No tote bag, no water bottle, no gear, nothing. Just one small purse, which I let her see me load up with just the essentials. And I showed it to her, saying, "See? Back SOON. Home SOON." She ate her treat and curled up to go back to sleep.
Never, ever deny the importance of choosing the right bag.
She is a darling of great routine who tolerates no deviation. Her preferred morning:
Wake up at, ohhh, sevenish. Stand upon me and grunt. If it's a morning that I want to sleep in, she'll put her cold, wet nose right on my neck. When that doesn't work, she'll fall sideways on me and huff, then roll over to her side, put her feet on me, and push me towards the side of the bed. Yes, my dog pushes me out of bed. When I get up, she'll have a large happy dance and be escorted outside for her morning constitutional. Then she comes back inside and sleeps until about 11am. Diva? You think? What can I say - - I brought her up right.
This morning:
I booked a private lesson for today, Wednesday and Thursday at 6am. To give myself time to wake up, get to the studio, and heat it, I woke up at 4.30am. She waited until after I had finished my coffee to stir, and then she *stared*. After staring, she chose not to move until I said I needed to hurry up and go. When I said I was going to get a shower, she asked to be escorted to have her morning constitutional. Only she was *serious* about it. I know you know what I mean - dog or no dog. They get into their knowing, and they get *serious*. And Totsi wasn't poop-in-the-living-room serious, but she was close. Home girl was peeved.
I get it, I do. Really early mornings typically mean I'm going somewhere for a while - and I've been known to hide the suitcases from her until right before I leave to avoid upsetting her. As she trotted out the door onto the deck, I told her, "Mommy's got to hurry up and go." Big mistake. She decided to take a dark bath. (Well, there was no sun.) Then it was time to survey the woods behind the house from the left side of the deck. I reminded her to go potty. She chose to survey from the right side of the deck. Ten minutes later, she walked down into the yard after a brief stop to scan from the middle. Came back up. I called her inside, and she gave me a look of, "Oh, I'm clearly not up to anything at all..." - - and sauntered right back down the steps. A few more minutes passed. At long last, she slowly, and I mean slowly, made her way back up the steps, across the deck, and into the back door. Then she *walked* over to get her morning treat with great deliberateness, maintained this purpose all the way back to the bedroom with her treat in her mouth, hopped on the bed, dropped the treat, huffed dramatically, and STARED. I dashed upstairs to get ready for the studio, and when I came back down, she was STILL staring. Her treat had not been touched.
So I chose a small purse. No tote bag, no water bottle, no gear, nothing. Just one small purse, which I let her see me load up with just the essentials. And I showed it to her, saying, "See? Back SOON. Home SOON." She ate her treat and curled up to go back to sleep.
Never, ever deny the importance of choosing the right bag.
09 September 2013
So! How'd that work out for you, personally?
Clearing is a powerful thing. I dug in after my last entry and took on my favorite kickoff exercise for doing so - free writing. I just *wrote*. And what I found was that in the end, I was taking way too much shit personally and then holding on like I would the most amazing, precious, rare Hello Kitty find ever. So today, I've decided to give you the advice I'm working on giving myself when I wind up in the brand of moments that lead me to take other people's crap personally. Example:
If you're supposed to be co-leading a presentation and the other person rambles on and on and ON and on and ON AND ON AND on and on and onandonandonandONNNNN, goes off on tangents, ignores you trying to interject, answers questions by going off on further tangents until someone in attendance flat out gets up and says they have to leave - - and YOU get mad, you might be taking their stuff personally. (I just totally channeled Jeff Foxworthy.) Sure, maybe your plan was for you both to be heard. You might be afraid the presentation just bombed. But consider why someone might take to grandstanding - why might they *need* the spotlight so much that they go into autopilot to that degree? Might it be a mask? They're not doing a damn thing to you, not really. It could be a fear of being seen leading them to put up what I call a "word mask", insecurities putting them into performer mode, or never feeling like they're being heard in other areas putting them into a place of, "OH HELL YEAH! It's finally about ME and I am going to SPEAK!" But it's got nothing to do with you, I'll wager, beyond they might feel a little competitive in team settings. Against *anyone*. Again - it's not about you. And it's normal to get pissed about not getting your full share of air time, but don't let it derail you from what you're up to outside of those few moments. The only time anyone tries to steal your sunshine is when they're sick and damned tired of their shade. Oh, hell. Hang on, I've got to - - I've just got to....
If you don't like that song, don't take it personally that I put it up here. But it's there, so you might as well play it and dance, right? Maybe just bob your head? I accidentally typed "boob" there instead of "bob" at first - what if I had left it and someone would have made a joke about it or gotten snarky and said I needed to proofread? Would I have been embarrassed? No. I've had a lot of coffee and type in excess of 100 words per minute. Sometimes shit happens. Would I have snarked right back at the proofreading comment? Mentally - hey, satya, right? But I'd also remind myself not to take it personally, that perhaps that person's being micromanaged somewhere in his or her life, or feels so wrong about stuff that they need to point out one....little.....thing because they just need to feel right about something. Are you ticked that I suggested you dance on a Monday when you have a million things to do and it's time to get down to business? It's an earworm 90's tune. That's all. Maybe you're ticked that I keep suggesting reasons someone might be ticked? It's nothing more than coffee and ideas. Maybe too much of both.
Today, don't take stuff personally. That's not a challenge, it's an invitation. Try it on. And, yeah, you might stand there in the grocery store checkout line after work wanting to slap the glittering snot out of the person who has too many items in the express lane - - but let it go. There could very well be someone checking Facebook on their phone in front of you when the stoplight turns green - - it's not about you. That's their gig. And I'm not telling you to let everything go and be a doormat, because sometimes you absolutely do have to assert yourself - but a lot of times, it's just someone else's shit. Nothing more. You'll know when it's time to do that - - just like you know when it's time to leave something alone. And once you get into that listening, and the little nuisances that used to get in your way become things you just have to walk around, life becomes more fun.
I'm going to go dance to that song now while I pour out the rest of this cup of coffee.
If you're supposed to be co-leading a presentation and the other person rambles on and on and ON and on and ON AND ON AND on and on and onandonandonandONNNNN, goes off on tangents, ignores you trying to interject, answers questions by going off on further tangents until someone in attendance flat out gets up and says they have to leave - - and YOU get mad, you might be taking their stuff personally. (I just totally channeled Jeff Foxworthy.) Sure, maybe your plan was for you both to be heard. You might be afraid the presentation just bombed. But consider why someone might take to grandstanding - why might they *need* the spotlight so much that they go into autopilot to that degree? Might it be a mask? They're not doing a damn thing to you, not really. It could be a fear of being seen leading them to put up what I call a "word mask", insecurities putting them into performer mode, or never feeling like they're being heard in other areas putting them into a place of, "OH HELL YEAH! It's finally about ME and I am going to SPEAK!" But it's got nothing to do with you, I'll wager, beyond they might feel a little competitive in team settings. Against *anyone*. Again - it's not about you. And it's normal to get pissed about not getting your full share of air time, but don't let it derail you from what you're up to outside of those few moments. The only time anyone tries to steal your sunshine is when they're sick and damned tired of their shade. Oh, hell. Hang on, I've got to - - I've just got to....
If you don't like that song, don't take it personally that I put it up here. But it's there, so you might as well play it and dance, right? Maybe just bob your head? I accidentally typed "boob" there instead of "bob" at first - what if I had left it and someone would have made a joke about it or gotten snarky and said I needed to proofread? Would I have been embarrassed? No. I've had a lot of coffee and type in excess of 100 words per minute. Sometimes shit happens. Would I have snarked right back at the proofreading comment? Mentally - hey, satya, right? But I'd also remind myself not to take it personally, that perhaps that person's being micromanaged somewhere in his or her life, or feels so wrong about stuff that they need to point out one....little.....thing because they just need to feel right about something. Are you ticked that I suggested you dance on a Monday when you have a million things to do and it's time to get down to business? It's an earworm 90's tune. That's all. Maybe you're ticked that I keep suggesting reasons someone might be ticked? It's nothing more than coffee and ideas. Maybe too much of both.
Today, don't take stuff personally. That's not a challenge, it's an invitation. Try it on. And, yeah, you might stand there in the grocery store checkout line after work wanting to slap the glittering snot out of the person who has too many items in the express lane - - but let it go. There could very well be someone checking Facebook on their phone in front of you when the stoplight turns green - - it's not about you. That's their gig. And I'm not telling you to let everything go and be a doormat, because sometimes you absolutely do have to assert yourself - but a lot of times, it's just someone else's shit. Nothing more. You'll know when it's time to do that - - just like you know when it's time to leave something alone. And once you get into that listening, and the little nuisances that used to get in your way become things you just have to walk around, life becomes more fun.
I'm going to go dance to that song now while I pour out the rest of this cup of coffee.
05 September 2013
The way out is through...
I often joke that my life is a cartoon, and that interesting things just - - happen. I'm the queen of random events that spring up and become part of the larger picture, or I'll find myself consenting to be part of things that wind up playing out as a hilarious mini-disaster, like the time my dad decided to use a shop vac to blow a clog out of the central vacuum system hose and dislodged a clog of Christmas tree needles and dust that cannon-balled out with a FOOOMP and made one hell of a mess. In the living room. Which was predominantly off-white. I'm also known for random ideas that double me over into a fit of giggles, sometimes at inopportune moments. But sometimes, other things happen that are equally as seemingly random - but not as much fun.
Lately, I've been waking up mad - and it's weird. I *like* my mornings. I enjoy writing in my journal while having coffee, dancing with my dog, and getting everything in check before I get into my day. Granted, I've been through a highly transformative year - almost nothing is the same as it was this time last year. So anxiety I could wrap my head around - but anger? Literally, "Oh, hell. It's morning, damn it.", will be the first thought that pops to mind.
And it's been heightening as I've been getting back on my mat on a consistent basis. Yoga taps into stuff, I know that. And as amazing as I say the clearings it's helped me reach are, navigating them isn't always what I want to be dealing with. I'm not saying 100% that I'm tapping into things on my mat - but the more I move back into practice, the more it's happening. As much as I would rather put on some cartoons and not deal with it, something I've heard in training after training comes to mind: The way out is through.
Whoa, Nelly - right? And right now, reading that? The first thought that comes to mind is, "I don't have time to sit down and deal with it." But I have time to write a blog entry, check the laundry, put a graphics order together, work on something on Facebook for a project that's in the works, sit and stare out the window. Oh, and make a shopping list. If I have time for those things, why do I not have time to sit down, check in, and get the gut-level anger that pops up every....single....morning into words? Writing is a great clearing for me. (It's also a great avoidance tactic. Watch! I can get another paragraph out here!)
So I'm going to do that. And if there's something gnawing at you that you think you don't have time to deal with? I invite you to face up to giving yourself the time to clear it. I've found it rarely takes long, and that the benefits are vast - as vast as the space in my life that clears when I finally sit down, dig in, and distill the swirl to just a few words, letting whatever comes up, come up. I promise - even if you're telling yourself you don't know what's creating something like what I've described - you do. You know.
Trust that knowing, and lets work through it.
(I swear I'm really going to do this.)
(Like, now.)
(Well, after I post this.)
Lately, I've been waking up mad - and it's weird. I *like* my mornings. I enjoy writing in my journal while having coffee, dancing with my dog, and getting everything in check before I get into my day. Granted, I've been through a highly transformative year - almost nothing is the same as it was this time last year. So anxiety I could wrap my head around - but anger? Literally, "Oh, hell. It's morning, damn it.", will be the first thought that pops to mind.
And it's been heightening as I've been getting back on my mat on a consistent basis. Yoga taps into stuff, I know that. And as amazing as I say the clearings it's helped me reach are, navigating them isn't always what I want to be dealing with. I'm not saying 100% that I'm tapping into things on my mat - but the more I move back into practice, the more it's happening. As much as I would rather put on some cartoons and not deal with it, something I've heard in training after training comes to mind: The way out is through.
Whoa, Nelly - right? And right now, reading that? The first thought that comes to mind is, "I don't have time to sit down and deal with it." But I have time to write a blog entry, check the laundry, put a graphics order together, work on something on Facebook for a project that's in the works, sit and stare out the window. Oh, and make a shopping list. If I have time for those things, why do I not have time to sit down, check in, and get the gut-level anger that pops up every....single....morning into words? Writing is a great clearing for me. (It's also a great avoidance tactic. Watch! I can get another paragraph out here!)
So I'm going to do that. And if there's something gnawing at you that you think you don't have time to deal with? I invite you to face up to giving yourself the time to clear it. I've found it rarely takes long, and that the benefits are vast - as vast as the space in my life that clears when I finally sit down, dig in, and distill the swirl to just a few words, letting whatever comes up, come up. I promise - even if you're telling yourself you don't know what's creating something like what I've described - you do. You know.
Trust that knowing, and lets work through it.
(I swear I'm really going to do this.)
(Like, now.)
(Well, after I post this.)
04 September 2013
Keep it simple, ______ ...and yesterday.
I bet I know where your mind went with regards to that last word. But I've been working the word "stupid" out of my vocabulary lately, especially with regards to myself. When addressing myself in situations that lead me call myself that word, I now say, "Keep it simple, Superstar!".
For a few months, I've been scheduling posts on two blogs and getting so caught up in other stuff that I see those two entries in my calendar and get a head cramp. So I'm going to keep it simple and come home to this one. I like this one. It's me. I don't know why I ever strayed.
Now, let me tell you all about yesterday. If there's a moral, I hope I'll find it as I write. Bear in mind that my intention for yesterday was to get to my studio for a practice.
I slept through my alarm, missing my appointment with my chiropractor. Waking up with a jolt set the energy well - before I had finished my coffee I had worked out a solution to quite the potentially epic mistake and called to reschedule a meeting working out that solution caused me to miss. My phone. It began to ring. And ring. No worries - I'm used to that, especially the day after a holiday. I decided to get out of the house - - and go to the grocery store. Straight up - somebody nearly ran over me out of impatience while I was selecting avocados, and I'm a fast picker. (I have a knowing when it comes to avocados.) I couldn't get down an aisle without someone turning their cart sideways in front of mine and answering a phone call. Decided to tone out a little, and went on one of my favorite quick excursions on the way home:
I stopped at the drugstore for a makeup fix to calm down. I *love* going hog wild on makeup at the drugstore. Picked a quiet one, that's usually not crowded, where I could browse aisles and cruise lipsticks. I was oggling a blue nail polish when I heard a cashier say, "She's down again! Call 911!" I thought he was joking about a fellow staff member. They weren't. A woman had pass out at the counter, gotten up, walked outside, and passed out again on the sidewalk - knocking out a tooth when she landed. It was awful. And while it had no direct effect on me - - you know. I went home.
I got home about ten minutes before the class I wanted to attend was to start, and decided to attend the next. Unloaded the car, put the groceries on the kitchen floor, and started to unload. Picked up a jar of half sour pickles and felt the beginnings of a back spasm. Went to lay down. Stayed the hell there. Let myself stay the hell there longer. Got up, heated the foyer, and had a practice. Ahhhhh. Except for...
I went into the bathroom to take my contacts out for bed, and there, on the door, was a roach the size of a fucking skateboard. It flew, I hollered, and it ran into the bedroom. Ridding my home of that monster took an hour. Just how big was it? *The dog was scared of it.* And she stayed scared until about 2.00am - sitting on my shoulder after I went to bed, not wanting the lights out, nudging me to wake me to make sure things were okay, hiding under all the pillows (Totsi weighs 50 pounds). She's still keeping at least one part of her body in contact with me right now, and if I move, she gets upset.
So - moral? I kept moving yesterday by keeping it simple. (I knew I could find one!)
Create an amazing Wednesday! It's so good to be home.
Namaste, baby!
For a few months, I've been scheduling posts on two blogs and getting so caught up in other stuff that I see those two entries in my calendar and get a head cramp. So I'm going to keep it simple and come home to this one. I like this one. It's me. I don't know why I ever strayed.
Now, let me tell you all about yesterday. If there's a moral, I hope I'll find it as I write. Bear in mind that my intention for yesterday was to get to my studio for a practice.
I slept through my alarm, missing my appointment with my chiropractor. Waking up with a jolt set the energy well - before I had finished my coffee I had worked out a solution to quite the potentially epic mistake and called to reschedule a meeting working out that solution caused me to miss. My phone. It began to ring. And ring. No worries - I'm used to that, especially the day after a holiday. I decided to get out of the house - - and go to the grocery store. Straight up - somebody nearly ran over me out of impatience while I was selecting avocados, and I'm a fast picker. (I have a knowing when it comes to avocados.) I couldn't get down an aisle without someone turning their cart sideways in front of mine and answering a phone call. Decided to tone out a little, and went on one of my favorite quick excursions on the way home:
I stopped at the drugstore for a makeup fix to calm down. I *love* going hog wild on makeup at the drugstore. Picked a quiet one, that's usually not crowded, where I could browse aisles and cruise lipsticks. I was oggling a blue nail polish when I heard a cashier say, "She's down again! Call 911!" I thought he was joking about a fellow staff member. They weren't. A woman had pass out at the counter, gotten up, walked outside, and passed out again on the sidewalk - knocking out a tooth when she landed. It was awful. And while it had no direct effect on me - - you know. I went home.
I got home about ten minutes before the class I wanted to attend was to start, and decided to attend the next. Unloaded the car, put the groceries on the kitchen floor, and started to unload. Picked up a jar of half sour pickles and felt the beginnings of a back spasm. Went to lay down. Stayed the hell there. Let myself stay the hell there longer. Got up, heated the foyer, and had a practice. Ahhhhh. Except for...
I went into the bathroom to take my contacts out for bed, and there, on the door, was a roach the size of a fucking skateboard. It flew, I hollered, and it ran into the bedroom. Ridding my home of that monster took an hour. Just how big was it? *The dog was scared of it.* And she stayed scared until about 2.00am - sitting on my shoulder after I went to bed, not wanting the lights out, nudging me to wake me to make sure things were okay, hiding under all the pillows (Totsi weighs 50 pounds). She's still keeping at least one part of her body in contact with me right now, and if I move, she gets upset.
So - moral? I kept moving yesterday by keeping it simple. (I knew I could find one!)
Create an amazing Wednesday! It's so good to be home.
Namaste, baby!
08 August 2013
Cleanup...
Let's be totally frank:
When I get stressed out and go into reaction over the twists, turns, and other directional moves my life can make, I eat foods that do not support me.
Further totally frank:
When I ziz, I eat fries, and lots of 'em.
And lately it's been going in waves. I'll eat in a way that helps me feel amazing, and then I'll get into my head about things and down the emotional and dietary trough I go. While I will never give up indulging on occasion - lately, it's been a little bit out of control. Like, I almost had myself convinced my Orange Julius was a healthy option while looking at my fries and doing this:
Out of the blue one morning, I realized I felt like I smelled like a drive-through and felt like I had been soaked in grease. I felt - - saturated. That's the word. So I restocked and in one day overhauled my diet, all the way back to my most virtuous days five or six years ago. I totally took myself out of thinking I would need to ease back into smoothies with flax seeds and eating lots of kale and spinach. Potential for bloating be damned, I just hauled off and did it.
And I feel *amazing*. It's been eight days, and I feel like a new person. My thoughts aren't as muddled, I have more energy, and a lot of the lingering soreness and stiffness from all the injury stuff is *gone*. Just *gone*. It left within just a couple of days. Granted, I caved in to the siren call of Little Caesar's Crazy Bread last night, but so what? I didn't earn it, there are no points, it wasn't a reward for being virtuous. I wanted it - so I had it and will have a yumtastic blueberry smoothie this morning like nothing ever happened.
A little more about those smoothies - I have fallen in love with frozen blueberries and flax seeds. For reals. I take a couple of spins on these depending on the time of day or if it's a meal or a snack, but for the most part, I follow a super-easy basic smoothie principle. (I call this "Grimace in a Glass". Not that it makes me grimace - it's the COLOR of Grimace. You know, the walking giant eggplant who hawks MacDonald's.)
Frozen blueberries - about a cup, sometimes more
Almond/coconut milk blend *or* coconut water (this one's post-yoga) - to fully cover the berries, plus a little more
Flax seeds - about half a tablespoon. Not too much, though, or they will turn your smoothie to Jello!
Sunflower butter - a good tablespoon-sized dollop
Honey - optional
Sometimes I add a scoop of berry-flavored Amazing Grass.
Put it in the blender and whizz the bejeezus out of it. Boom - you're done. Drink up! (Put it in a glass or not - I'm not here to judge.)
My biggest discovery through all of this, though, is that getting back to this way of eating hasn't put a dent in my amount of free time *at all* - if anything, I have more. How's that? I have more energy and focus, so I get more done in less time. No joke! (This has been a HUGE bonus for me! )
So if you've been struggling with cleaning up your diet a bit and think you don't have time - try! Grab the big bags of frozen fruit and some basic smoothie supplies. Let yourself do the best you can with what you have, and be honest with yourself about how much time you're willing to invest. Dust off the bread machine and bake your own bread overnight or while you're working on a project. Just do it - and tell me how it's going!
24 July 2013
In keeping with my tradition...
I would show you pictures, but - damn. That would mean looking at what I created again.
It started with the laundry closet doors. They fell *off*. One fell into the other, and BAM! And I got PISSED. I moved them into the living room, went to a large discount store that I normally avoid like every single kind of plague imaginable, and bought a tension rod and a shower curtain. Came home, put that bad boy up, and noticed it was too short. Got mad again, shouted that my house was totally fucked, and said, "To hell with this." And then I got myself a Magic Hat Cucumber Hibiscus Ale and a little bowl of Cheez-Its and pouted.
I had a plan. I made a notebook, a nice one, with ideas and lists and order and control. But when the closet doors played TIMBERRRR and wound up on the living room floor and the laundry closet wound up wearing high waters, I decided I would just go with the messy flow and pulled every last cotton picking thing out of my storage room. And it is all over my house. No, really - all over my house. It is all. Over. My. House. You know that side of Goodwill where they sell housewares and you see things like floor lamps next to computer monitors from the age of Prodigy and Compuserve with lace doilies laying on top? You've got it. I can't see my living room. I mean, I can if I stand on the balcony and look down, but - nope, can't see it otherwise. But I'm going to go with it. From this place of chaos, I'm going back to my plan. Why am I telling you this?
Well, because I haven't written in a while, but also to tell you that sometimes the first step towards what you want might be a domestic throw-down with the very thing you've been wanting to avoid. (On more levels than one, but we'll get to that later.) When I wrote about the notebook, I suggested going with "What pisses you off the most?", and realized that's a moving scale. In my case, it was pushed when those doors hit the floor. I brought what I was avoiding out into the open and let it tick me off good and proper, and now? I'm even more ready to rumble. Sometimes it's like that - avoid nothing, just embrace the bigger mess and go. (And I was avoiding that storage room as much as I avoid that big discount store.)
I'm going to dust off my notebook.
It started with the laundry closet doors. They fell *off*. One fell into the other, and BAM! And I got PISSED. I moved them into the living room, went to a large discount store that I normally avoid like every single kind of plague imaginable, and bought a tension rod and a shower curtain. Came home, put that bad boy up, and noticed it was too short. Got mad again, shouted that my house was totally fucked, and said, "To hell with this." And then I got myself a Magic Hat Cucumber Hibiscus Ale and a little bowl of Cheez-Its and pouted.
I had a plan. I made a notebook, a nice one, with ideas and lists and order and control. But when the closet doors played TIMBERRRR and wound up on the living room floor and the laundry closet wound up wearing high waters, I decided I would just go with the messy flow and pulled every last cotton picking thing out of my storage room. And it is all over my house. No, really - all over my house. It is all. Over. My. House. You know that side of Goodwill where they sell housewares and you see things like floor lamps next to computer monitors from the age of Prodigy and Compuserve with lace doilies laying on top? You've got it. I can't see my living room. I mean, I can if I stand on the balcony and look down, but - nope, can't see it otherwise. But I'm going to go with it. From this place of chaos, I'm going back to my plan. Why am I telling you this?
Well, because I haven't written in a while, but also to tell you that sometimes the first step towards what you want might be a domestic throw-down with the very thing you've been wanting to avoid. (On more levels than one, but we'll get to that later.) When I wrote about the notebook, I suggested going with "What pisses you off the most?", and realized that's a moving scale. In my case, it was pushed when those doors hit the floor. I brought what I was avoiding out into the open and let it tick me off good and proper, and now? I'm even more ready to rumble. Sometimes it's like that - avoid nothing, just embrace the bigger mess and go. (And I was avoiding that storage room as much as I avoid that big discount store.)
I'm going to dust off my notebook.
19 June 2013
It's not my Filofax. It's my FIELD GUIDE.
That's my name for it, and I'm stickin' to it. Without this thing, I feel lost - - it's goes everywhere I go, stores my most vivid ideas and shopping lists (which are sometimes combined), and serves as a little hot pink anchor of sanity in my sometimes crazy busy life. I've had a planner since I was in the third grade, and I've been through Daytimers to Hipster PDA's to keeping a running to-do list in a composition book to PlannerPads to Coach agendas to - yeah. You get the idea. But a couple of summers ago, I saw an entry on Gala Darling's blog, and said, "Oooooooooo! Pink!" - and ordered just that planner. Used it for a while, and went back to PlannerPad - which I love, but which I have a strong tendency to overwhelm myself with. When I realized I was gritting my teeth while planning one night, I decided to design my own system - one that works with how my brain likes to work. I ordered a HUGE amount of white ruled notepaper from Filofax and started thinking.
Most things start with Hello Kitty for me.
It took a few weeks for me to finally reach Field Guide bliss. When I couldn't drum up an arrangement that would land for me, I went back to the article that started the whole thing for inspiration. Over the course of a retreat day, I dug in and set it up - - starting by listing out what I wanted it to help out with besides the obvious calendar and to-do's, and putting some thought into how I could set it up with the divider pages I had already printed out, because the images resonated with such strength when I made them that I knew I had to keep them. (I unapologetically sometimes get woo-woo. It is all about the woo-woo in my world.) I wanted a visions and goals section, an ideas section for my endless brainstorming and other lists, and a calendar section with my monthly and daily stuff.
In keeping it with how my brain goes, the manifesting/visions/goals stuff went right smack dab in the front behind the Dee Dee Ramone divider. Why Dee Dee? Because. Because DAMNED WELL DEE DEE RAMONE! Amen.
I loves me some Dee Dee Ramone. In this section, there's a detailed write-up of what my life will look like about a year from now, a manifesting list just like the one in Gala's, some specific goals that I'm fleshing out and putting into action steps, and a gratitude section (another idea from Gala - - I should probably write that I am thankful for Gala's Filofax in my list). I can't get into words why this all had to go in the Dee Dee Ramone section, but it did. And it wasn't just that I had set up this divider as the front one - - had I decided to put it at the back, I would have made a new one.
Next, all my lists. I love lists. I borrowed another idea from Gala and flagged my lists with colored tabs marked with little images or as simple a word as I could get to to describe what the list is about. At the back end of it is a section for planning events at my studio - one page (or more) per event, with everything that's going on around getting it together.
Yes, that's CBGB on the divider - and that reason is one I can get words for. In 2000, a very dear and now departed friend invited me to New York; he was in a band playing CMJ (they were at the Continental). I had never been to CBGB, but had wanted to go since I was about eleven. He took me on this ride around the city - taking a detour into Brooklyn, going hither and yon, always telling me to look out the window and keeping me totally absorbed in my surroundings. It was *crafty*. Finally, he stopped the car while asking me what weird thing was going on across the street out the driver's side window. I finally looked forward and saw the awning. And then I pitched a fucking fit like a six year old on the best Christmas morning EVER. That awning represents the thrill of getting where I want to go while taking in everything along the way. It holds *strong* magic for me.
And last, but not least:
My calendars. And I just like the picture - no other reason. Monthly at the front, then daily - one day on each page, with to-do's and notes at the top and appointments at the bottom. I'm deciding between a day-per-page or a day-on-two-pages Filofax calendar at the moment, and will order a proper one when I've made up my mind - writing in the dates *does* get a little old.
One more thing: For my to-do lists, I use Wunderlist. (Guess who's blog I found that idea on?) I have them broken down into categories, and every couple of days I star items, which I then jot into my Field Guide. When I'm finished with one set of starred items, I star another batch, and get going again. I've been using this system for just a few weeks, and it's made a TREMENDOUS difference in keeping me on track and helping keep my head clear. How do I remember to do that?
And that's it. From Filofax to full-on Field Guide. With this and my iPhone, I can pretty much rule the world - - or at least my little corner of it.
And that's it. From Filofax to full-on Field Guide. With this and my iPhone, I can pretty much rule the world - - or at least my little corner of it.
29 May 2013
It's me again!
It's been - ages? A year? More? Less? So - nutshell version: May 2012, graduated teacher training. August 2012, opened Dancing Dogs Yoga - Augusta. Some more training happened over the fall. Last week of February 2013, completed Level One training with Baron Baptiste - and was supposed to be in Level Two in Mexico right now, but I zinged my back and got some bed rest time. Level Two will be in Austin, TX this coming October. Uh - I got a new car, because Baby the Cabrio informed me he was ready to retire, and started another blog - - but am too attached to this one to let it go. So I decided to share my varied and growing collection of life hacks here, along with ideas for staycations, personalized retreats, grilling tips, domestic horror stories, time management booyahs, and anything else that has helped me streamline how incredibly busy my life has become over the past twelve months. Seriously, folks, my mind is as such that I need a place for my musings and another for the collection of harebrained schemes that honestly seem to make my life run more smoothly or make me so happy I squeal. Or not. Sometimes the not is dead-on entertaining (but we will never speak of the pizza crust that baked up three inches thick).
What's happening now is I'm in a state of shock over my house. It needs work, it needs help, and I need help getting to work on it. I've been through a series of starts that I let life interfere with, and during my recent down time I started researching plans and approaches that helped other people transform chaotic spaces into kickass pads. Yesterday, I freshened up the bedroom, lit some Nag Champa, and got to work drafting a plan. (The bedroom was step one - - I need a haven from the chaos that's about to come out of the chaos as the transformation gets underway.)
My original idea was to do what I did when I moved into this place and was struggling with organizing/cleaning/unpacking. I went through area by area, and made a plan that consisted of one big project and two or three small ones per day. But this time, I needed an extra kick to decide to where to start, and I don't just want a quick fix - - I want to get down to the nitty gritty and give this place some soul, so instead of unpack/arrange/have a beer it's clean and purge/repair/decorate/have a party. That seemed a little more daunting, so much so that I couldn't decide where to begin. How did I finally decide the starting point (other than setting up the bedroom haven)? One very important question:
*What pisses me off the most?*
Yep. If you're wondering where to start on a household project, ask yourself that. It works! What's pissing you off the most? And it's totally not focusing on something bad, it's kicking yourself into gear to take on what needs to be taken on. Once I wrote that part of it down and started working on it, my whole day brightened up. Ideas started popping. Next up:
*What do I do every day?*
For me, that meant work on the bathroom, my closet, and the kitchen next. And finally:
*What is the BIG THING that's going to take a few days?*
Boom. Storage room. May the gods have mercy on my soul.
From there it was a matter of working out everything in between the every day things and the big thing. I even set up a notebook so I can keep all of this in one place - my detailed to-do's are at the front with a tabbed-off section for shopping lists, one section is becoming an arsenal of DIY cleaning supplies and repair how-to's, and another houses the numerous brainstorms I'm known for generating - everything from how to turn bi-fold doors into a headboard to what size dome tent will fit on my deck for back yard glamping. This isn't so much to create a reference book as it is to help me not lose things in my ever-moving shuffle of notes in my hot pink field guide (aka my Filofax). I'm still trying to generate a name for it - - thought about Black Mamba, since it's a black spiral notebook. But I don't like snakes. Anyway...
Consider yourself updated! I'm off to wrap up today's list and get more ideas into my still-nameless notebook.
What's happening now is I'm in a state of shock over my house. It needs work, it needs help, and I need help getting to work on it. I've been through a series of starts that I let life interfere with, and during my recent down time I started researching plans and approaches that helped other people transform chaotic spaces into kickass pads. Yesterday, I freshened up the bedroom, lit some Nag Champa, and got to work drafting a plan. (The bedroom was step one - - I need a haven from the chaos that's about to come out of the chaos as the transformation gets underway.)
My original idea was to do what I did when I moved into this place and was struggling with organizing/cleaning/unpacking. I went through area by area, and made a plan that consisted of one big project and two or three small ones per day. But this time, I needed an extra kick to decide to where to start, and I don't just want a quick fix - - I want to get down to the nitty gritty and give this place some soul, so instead of unpack/arrange/have a beer it's clean and purge/repair/decorate/have a party. That seemed a little more daunting, so much so that I couldn't decide where to begin. How did I finally decide the starting point (other than setting up the bedroom haven)? One very important question:
*What pisses me off the most?*
Yep. If you're wondering where to start on a household project, ask yourself that. It works! What's pissing you off the most? And it's totally not focusing on something bad, it's kicking yourself into gear to take on what needs to be taken on. Once I wrote that part of it down and started working on it, my whole day brightened up. Ideas started popping. Next up:
*What do I do every day?*
For me, that meant work on the bathroom, my closet, and the kitchen next. And finally:
*What is the BIG THING that's going to take a few days?*
Boom. Storage room. May the gods have mercy on my soul.
From there it was a matter of working out everything in between the every day things and the big thing. I even set up a notebook so I can keep all of this in one place - my detailed to-do's are at the front with a tabbed-off section for shopping lists, one section is becoming an arsenal of DIY cleaning supplies and repair how-to's, and another houses the numerous brainstorms I'm known for generating - everything from how to turn bi-fold doors into a headboard to what size dome tent will fit on my deck for back yard glamping. This isn't so much to create a reference book as it is to help me not lose things in my ever-moving shuffle of notes in my hot pink field guide (aka my Filofax). I'm still trying to generate a name for it - - thought about Black Mamba, since it's a black spiral notebook. But I don't like snakes. Anyway...
Consider yourself updated! I'm off to wrap up today's list and get more ideas into my still-nameless notebook.
12 May 2013
Work in progress - me, AND the blog.
So, what if I told you I had this HUGE brainstorm and got the mother of all ideas for where to take this blog? I had this HUGE brainstorm - - and, yeah. The rest of that.
And what if I told you that I hurt my back and have been in bed since Monday, and that part of the gift of that has been that flash of - why not? Let's have two and run with it! (Well, not run. My chiropractor will be telling me when I can run again soon.)
(Suffice to say I busted my ass again.)
I've picked up blogging again at One Little Yoga Chick, and will be back here soon. (Well, as soon as I can move with more velocity, because that's the crux for this one. Kind of. You'll see.)
And what if I told you that I hurt my back and have been in bed since Monday, and that part of the gift of that has been that flash of - why not? Let's have two and run with it! (Well, not run. My chiropractor will be telling me when I can run again soon.)
(Suffice to say I busted my ass again.)
I've picked up blogging again at One Little Yoga Chick, and will be back here soon. (Well, as soon as I can move with more velocity, because that's the crux for this one. Kind of. You'll see.)
14 January 2013
So - where'd I go?
I took a break from blogging and got a whole new life. No, seriously!
Here's my new blog:
One Little Yoga Chick
Come see me! I'll be picking up the GoKittenGo gig again once I figure out what direction to take it in, but visit me in the new place until I get that sorted.
Here's my new blog:
One Little Yoga Chick
Come see me! I'll be picking up the GoKittenGo gig again once I figure out what direction to take it in, but visit me in the new place until I get that sorted.
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