Day 35 Dead by 9:30 am
I’m sitting in my car in the Surrey Guildford parking lot, enjoying an Americano misto and some sushi, re-reading Rhoda Janzen’s Mennonite in a Little Black Dress. I promised to take my youngest daughter and her friend shopping, the capper to a girls’ weekend, and their stamina is about two hours longer than mine, and the Starbucks seats are darned uncomfortable.
Besides, it’s kind of fun watching cars come and go in the spots beside me. People jump, startled and a bit embarrassed when they notice me sitting motionless next to them, staring behind my sunglasses. Apparently not a lot of people sit in their cars in parking lots.
Anyway, due to the shopping trip, I did an early class today. Normally, I’m militant about not getting up early on Sundays, having spent, like Rhoda Janzen, much of my childhood in church. Enough that I figure I’ve earned lazy Sunday mornings for the rest of my life.
But today, I got up early. And the universe punished me for it.
Perhaps I was cocky yesterday. Maybe I got overly confident, flexing my yogic karma too much, so that it had to spring back, like a rubber band. Whatever it was, there was nothing rubber-like about my hamstrings; more like cold saltwater taffy, ready to shatter instead of pull.
The girls were chomping at the bit to go as soon as I staggered into the house, so I hustled in and out of the shower, knowing I’d have time to relax once they were set loose on the mall. My second-born daughter, with whom I suffered in the hot room this morning, asked me with sympathy, “Won’t it be great when you don’t have to drive kids around anymore?”
The truth is, I don’t really mind. My kids are so appreciative, I enjoy doing things for them. This is part of my problem these days – there’s less and less for me to do for them, and with them. And I miss it. (Not always, mind you, but we’re talking trends.) I enjoy their company and they seem comfortable in mine. They listen to my stories, they laugh at my jokes, they tell me about their lives, they ask me questions. And it’s not like they’re looking at their watches or texting someone while they’re doing it. They’re with me entirely, and I am cognizant of the rare treasure that this is.
I know how lucky I am.
And I’m so dreading the days when this easy camaraderie is over. I miss my oldest daughter so much some days, yet I wouldn’t hold her back from all her experiences in the past years at UBC for anything. I’m so happy for how she’s grown and changed, how much fun she’s having. But I still miss her.
I hope I’m not holding on too tightly, but I probably am. I know my girls worry about me, their crazy mother who feels everything so deeply, who’s compelled to obsess and analyze everything to death. It’s my job to worry about them, not the other way around. And I’m not that crazy.
So no, I don’t mind sitting in a mall parking lot. It’s perfectly comfortable – at least with the windows cracked to diffuse the faint but persistent yoga fug.
And after that, there’s spearmint and eucalyptus epsom salts for me at home, and an evening of Chuck with my youngest, who’s stuck here with me for at least another year, ha-ha!
And I’m going to enjoy it all thoroughly. While I can.
Day 34 Check-In Time
Well, finally, a day when all the postures seemed to just… flow. So, since I’m thinking about it, here’s where my body and I are at after 34 straight days of Bikram Yoga:
Postures: Pretty solid on all of them. They say that as some postures become easier, others become more difficult, and I’m definitely seeing this. But Standing Head-to-Knee remains my nemesis, still can’t lock that right knee for $&!#
Body parts: Right hip, still a little painful, but nothing like it was. And the noises are mostly gone! I never expected that. Arms: I think they’ve actually gotten bigger. Frick. I look like an East German Olympic swimmer. (A retired one, but still.) Butt: higher. Thighs: leaner. Belly: still jiggles but there’s a faint line of muscle under the flab that I haven’t seen before.
Weight: no change. Well, maybe a pound or two, but it’s hard to take those seriously until they’re joined by a few more.
Brain: clearer, a nice change from my usual fog. I’ve got a book proposal, possibly two, in the works and for the first time in a long time, I feel good about them. Like, I could actually write something meaningful, authentic, that could possibly be sufficiently entertaining to garner a commercial audience. (translation: a decent offer from a decent publisher.)
Heart/soul: as the aches and pains in my body lessen, I’m becoming more aware of the things that hurt on a deeper, more existential level, the losses and disappointments that rear their heads in midlife. Now, I’m fully aware that I live a comfortable upper-middle class life in the best country in the world. I’m aware of Libya and Japan. Terrifyingly aware. Death, destruction, pain, horror, it’s everywhere, on a macro-scale, as well as in the microcosm of each of our teeny-tiny lives. I don’t know what to do with it all somedays. “Life is pain, Highness,” as I quoted earlier.
I guess the upshot at this stage is that it feels good to be doing something hard. I’m so aware of the things I can’t do, or have forgotten or was never particularly good at in the first place. For instance, I’ll never be a Cirque du Soleil Flying Girl, like this:
Professional figure skater is out, as is veterinarian, nurse-midwife, and a host of other things I once aspired to. But what can I be, in the second half of my life? I simply don’t know. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of demand for middle-aged mystics who are good spellers and can bake bread. All I can say for certain is that I’m trying to face the stuff of life, without backing down, without chickening out.
And maybe one day, get my forehead. To. My. God. DAMN. KNEE!
Day 33 Do I Feel Lucky?
No, not today.
The universe, it seems, was conspiring against me making the 3:30 yoga class today, all because I tried to fit a trip to Chapters in first. I left three hours. Plenty, right? Half-hour there, half-hour back, an hour to browse, an hour to spare, no problem, right?
Wrong.
Every single road we tried was undergoing construction, maintenance, repair work, painting, or what could only be flag-person training exercises. On one bypass, I swear they’d closed a lane just because they had traffic cones they weren’t using. But we squeaked back into town with just barely enough time, I figured I could still make it.
Then there was a train. My husband wheeled the car around in a decisive move, determined to do his part. Okay, I still had a chance.
We got home, I whipped my gear together, screamed back down the mountain. Barring parking problems, I might get there before they got started. I could see the studio! Two more lights and I’d be there! My favourite parking spot was empty! Then, a timid left-turner in front of me screwed up my plan. I sat through the red, hearing the seconds tick down. Screeched into the coveted space, dashed to the door, pushed and… it was locked.
Missed it. By that much.
Fine, I can take a hint, I’ll go to the 5:30 class. And in the meantime, I’ll pass on a site I discovered yesterday. It’s called Fatherhood Channel and it’s run by something called the “PAIRS Foundation, Redefining Relationships.” In light of my posting on intimacy yesterday, I thought it was appropos.
It seems to be a mash-up of pop culture gossip and pop psychology with a slant towards celebrity marriages that are trying to be real, instead of, well, celebrity marriages. At least, that’s my first impression. (Caveat emptor: if it turns out to be a cult recruiting ring or something, well… oops.)
But what caught my eye was a list of questions they posted. Even the most seemingly stable relationships go through rough patches and this list is designed to illuminate trouble spots. Be warned; these aren’t easy questions. But I think they’re worth asking, if only of yourself.
- What do I want that I am not getting?
- What am I getting that I don’t want?
- What am I giving that I don’t want to give?
- What would I like to give to you if only things were better between us?
- What am I getting that I do want?
Tough stuff, huh? What do you think would happen if you sat down with your significant other and talked about this? I mean, really talked. And really listened.
I think we could change our lives. So you’ve got to ask yourself one question: do I have the guts? (Well, do ya, punk?)
I’d love to hear about it.