June is the month I recommit to my practice. I do hope you won't mind all the yoga-talk.
Yesterday morning I went to a Yin & Flow class. Savonn was teaching. There's something just right for me in Savonn's classes - no matter what sort of class she's leading. I'm not sure what it is, but I walk into Savonn's class, and I'm centered. Even when I'm struggling with a pose, I'm present, I'm there, and I somehow embrace even the struggle. She's made of magic.
Yesterday's practice started with pigeon pose (Eka Pada Rajakapotasana) - auspicious; I think pigeon is probably my favorite seated pose. Savonn came by and gave me the best adjustment. (Why do I ever stop making time?)We ended with double-pigeon. The flow in the middle was just enough to come up to the edge of kicking my ass - we stopped right before we got there. (When did I get so out of shape?) Today I am not precisely sore, but I can feel my practice this morning. streeeeeeeetch
I'll be at Bill's 9:30 flow class at Bernal Yoga tomorrow. Anyone want to join me?
Gyre wants you all to know: was 78 degrees in Cupertino when I pulled into the Apple parking lot a 9:45 this morning.
My weather widget would like you all to know that it is scheduled to hit 79 degrees in San Francisco today.
Maybe we should increase the length of the drip on the tree for a while.
I should always remember that Pigface and Meg Lee Chin and Murder Inc and and and all the other fabulous industrial music is my prescription when I'm ground and down about work and life. It really does make me feel better. Nobody plays the drums like Mr. Atkins.
We have been worthless, we have been safe, in minds belittled by the threat, of our own ice age.
A fall distorts us, and where we've been, rewriting bastards as contenders-
sight unseen. In place of angels, butchers hands, too wide to fit through doors of virtue, blame, demand.
Blame and demand.
We count for distance, from human nerves, we count for all the things we take, that we don't deserve, all contradictions will make us stand to fake the end as the beginning - blame, demand.
Blame and demand.
Sometimes the most magical of moments can be identified by the ugent desire to have a camera on hand and the confrontation of the equally urgent glee that you don't have one - and so must live completely and utterly in the moment. And so was the moment tonight, from the tippy-top of Bernal Hll Park.
My day started early - a cup or two of coffee, a little knitting, and then accompanying 3 of my favorite people to the airport. Fetched their car home to the Mission, loved on Soosh a bit, and had a leisurely walk home (stopping in at the local bakery for warm apple turnovers and pain au chocolat from the blue-haired-baker-girl-i-might-just-have-a-crush-on.)
Shared breakfast and coffee with my dearest. Did some chores around the house, and some lazy. Got up and went to the hardware store, and the Alemany farmers market. Acquired bits and bobs and drip watering system supplies at the former, and asparagus and baby squashes and new cherries and meyer lemons and blood oranges and green garlic and young leeks and honey and fresh cherry juice and dried tomatoes and fava beans at the latter.
Came home. We worked about the house - hung a plant, repaired a towel bar, framed and hung a menu, weeded the garden, swept the patio, potted a plant, put in a drip system for the tree, did a ton of laundry, swept and vacuumed, made a great salad for lunch and ate it in the company of our travel books. (Me asking for pronunciation guidance on the French words, him for guidance on the Spanish.)
Some more work around and about. A delightful, blitzkreig visit from old friends with their dearest (so glad to finally meet them!) with a stack of cocktails and tasty roasted nutmeats on balcony in the gorgeous May weather. Customized (and delivered!) stuffed pizza. A bit of CJ Cregg.
And then the grand finale - at 9 we marched up three blocks to the top of Bernal Hill. The KFOG Kaboom fireworks show was just starting - and most of Bernal was stretched down the hill, on blankets - watching. There were plenty of boomboxes on tables - we could all hear the music. The silhouette of my 'hood stretched in front of me, in the foreground of the truly stunning fireworks. Out of the fireworks, to the left, emerged the Bay Bridge (my fave of the SF bridges), and then the lights of the financial district, and on. Behind us, a nearly full moon. (Thanks, Lisa. Without you, we wouldn't have known to go and look.)
I'm a lucky girl. The week ground me to bonemeal, but the weekend is already proving to be great succor. (If only I'd had a camera...)
My Wishlist for a Restorative Weekend
by meriko borogove, age 31.
-- drip watering system repaired and jumpstarted out front
-- some time in the garden in the back
-- plant shopping for the front tree nook
-- a long, long bath
-- read one of the tasty travel books. I have plane tickets, you know.
-- clean laundry.
-- cooking. Cooking soothes the savage meriko.
-- a glass of wine, a fountain pen full of ink, some stationary, and thou.
-- fireworks from my deck with friends
-- bunny bunny bunny bunny
-- pasta primavera. The herbs in the garden are haywire.
-- cookbook surfing and menu planning. I have a 6-course birthday dinner to plan....
-- daydreaming in the twilight
What are you wishing for this weekend?
After a weekend of fun with my parents (including the Bay to Breakers on Sunday), I am capping off 2 hours of early-morning Monday work with the breakfast of champions: cafe americano & a slice of Rubicon's Le Bete Noire.
This week will be better than last, right?
Tickets are firmly purchased.
November 2: SFO-->BARCELONA
November 11: BARCELONA-->PARIS
November 20: PARIS--SFO
We're going away, away, away.......
How To Know You've Turned Into The Old People In The Club
by meriko borogove, age 31
1. You recognize precisely one other person there. And he only recognizes you. And you're both grateful to recognize SOMEONE.
2. You're also both outraged. You want to know where all the whippersnappers came from. (I kid you not. We used that word.)
3. You discuss the company party you were both at earlier during the day, comparing escapades. (Embarrassing. Truly embarrassing.)
4. You pantomime using your walker while you wait for the band to come on.
5. You stand around, sleeeepy, while you slowly become closer and closer to bitterly resentful that the band you're there to see doesn't grace the stage until 12:15.
6. You stop pogoing because your knees are bugging you, not because you're going to collapse from lack of oxygen.
7. You wake up the next morning tired, but with no hangover and clear hearing. (Yes, we wore our earplugs like good oldsters.)
But nonetheless, you have a rockin' time when your fave band comes out and gets going. I telll you - noone can play the drums like Martin Atkins. Noone. (I guess getting old isn't so bad, afterall....)