WORK that extra pat of butter, dahlin’

17 01 2012

Love this.

Rock on with your strong self. Inside and out.

 





penalty box

21 03 2011

Drat. Absolutely unequivocally confirmed that yes, do indeed have carpel tunnel. So yeah, lots of modifying of poses, and challenges all around.

Turns out, it very well could be an old never-fully-healed nerve *thang* at C7/T1 rearing it’s ugly head again. Me being stubborn and living life in spite of it, has been a great boon and gotten me way farther than expected. The irony is that now that same determination is what’s gotten me back into the penalty box for a while, having to watch a lot of the game from the sidelines.

MRI scheduled for later in the week. Heck, if being in the penalty box means finally getting some answers about the 15+ year old C7 craptastic nerve stuff, then HELL YEAH! Sign me up!

Cross your fingers, er carpals, that the penalty box turns out to be the best seat in the house.





guilty as charged

1 03 2011

 

Started yoga teacher training in January. Found a site with loads of observations, some gave me a giggle — and I added to it a bit too:

  • Not wearing body lotion because it messes up your grip.
  • Barely recognizing your classmates fully clothed, or dry, or with hair/makeup coiffed.
  • Freezing in any environment that’s less than 80 degrees.
  • Realizing that Sanskrit no longer sounds foreign.
  • Buying underwear based on how quickly it dries, and if it will peek out whilst in a full forward fold.




it’s not about YOU, it’s about THEM

25 01 2011

When someone’s horribly injured, or terminally ill, it seems I hear an astonishing number of people say that they didn’t go see someone because they don’t want to remember someone “that way”.

Horse-shit.

I’m all for honoring yourself and your limits, but come on. Get over yourself. Yes, I clearly remember her discomfort, her puffy face, her scant scraggly bits of remaining hair, the flaky grey skin that wasn’t quite hers, and even at the end: her struggles, sweats, and gasps.

Yes, that memory is very clear. Crystal clear. But so what?

I loved her. Any discomfort I might have of what images might linger wasn’t diddly squat compared to what she was up against. There are loads of other memories. It wouldn’t have even crossed my mind to NOT be there. How could it?

She needed comfort. Most especially right at those very moments. And what a privilege for me to be able to be there and hold her hand, stroke what was left of her hair, breathe with and maybe even FOR her at times, and speak soothing memories and comforts to her as she endured the pain and fear until she was freed into the big peaceful unknown. Most of us aren’t so lucky– squashed on the highway, heart-attack alone, and if you’re one of the lucky ones you’re in a home for years and years only to end up choking on the mashed peas– I just hope I’m as lucky to have that kind of love surrounding me when it’s my time.

As awful as those long minutes were, and as much as I wanted them to pass, both for her to be out of discomfort and for myself to be out of it too, at the same time I wanted to hold onto every last precious second we had together.

So yeah, I remember. Some may call those images ugly. And I suppose they are in some ways.

But I see it differently.

Sure, I still cry when those images come. Because they were beautiful.





i get on my own nerves too, don’tchu worry

19 01 2011

I’m an only child.

Well, sorta.

I do have a baby half-brother. He’s a full 15 years behind me, so in essence, we’re BOTH only children. I was out of the house before he was out of diapers, plus mother was a completely different person by then, with different circumstances, etc, as you might guess.

So now that she’s gone, I’ve become the matriarch, and therefore also the mother figure. Which is fine. Really. He’s really one of the sweetest souls I know. He’s got his own problems and gets in his own way, but then again don’t we all?

Point being, I confess: sometimes it’s hard to not be annoyed. And DAMN, I know it shows, no matter how hard I try for it not to.

It’s my problem, not his. I didn’t have the prep time of having the baby/toddler/kid/tween/teen progression beforehand, I just skipped straight from baby to Young Adult. And my official “I’m Practicing Kindness” mindset this year mandates that I not only of course show kindness and patience to him as his inner-self grows to match his size 13 shoes, but also that I show kindness and patience to myself as I adjust too.

Just the same, it makes me realize that what I found mildly irritating, is likely because on some level I cringe that I probably used to do whatever that is too (and please GAWD, hopefully I have grown out of it otherwise I wouldn’t be recognizing it in him when it goes awry.). All minor things, none of which are a crime of course, but still, *sigh*.

And yeah, even still: every now and then, just like watching him, I also watch myself. I see my own lips flapping, and I am powerless to stop my own annoying self. I’m choosing to find it “mildly, charmingly, annoying”. (I’m trying really hard here, work with me…)

Pesky “witness”.

Phone conversations rather than face-to-face might have something to do with it, but fortunately so far, I think I’ve been pretty good with him not noticing the occasional eyeroll.

The Witness agrees.

(whew)

And that is all for tonight.





infinite pixels

8 01 2011

Who knew taking a photo a day would be so challenging? I see 1000+ things to take a pic of, but either camera is never nearby, or I’m stuck using my smartphone camera (complete with one broken button and a second completely missing button).

Still. It’s fun to see a tiny pixel of my day.





eat that frog

8 12 2010

No, I don’t mean frog-legs, although I have to admit they’re mighty tasty if done properly.

You know when you NEED to do Something, and you know that the Something really isn’t all THAT bad, but yet still you find yourself defrosting the deepfreeze rather than tackling the Something instead?

Yeah. I’ve had a few of those lately.

“Eat a live frog every morning, and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day.” -Mark Twain

Do the icky thing first. Get it over with. NOW. The pain of not doing is greater than the pain of doing.

You heard me. So go. Do.

And if you absolutely can’t bear to eat that frog, put ketchup on it and hold your nose.