Abundant Heart

My heart filled again and again in the week before Christmas, this year. It all began with Occupy Christmas. For a time, I didn't think it was going to be possible to pull off our annual Christmas party, but with the creative thinking of four people, the event was more than I hoped for. My heart was so full with the sound of family after the party that I had trouble going to sleep. What I didn't know was how much that party set the stage for the rest of the week as each day found me doing and experiencing things I never thought possible.

On Monday, Clare and Mary Autumn spent the afternoon with us. Four-year-old Clare is a delightful chatterbox, but my heart melted in conversation with Mary Autumn. As Clare hung out chatting with Cindy, Mary Autumn and I colored and talked-- truly talked. Eight-year-olds aren't usually interested in how their grandmothers spend their days, but Mary Autumn's curiosity was deeply sincere when she said, "What did you do before we came over today?" Her mature inquiry was matched with careful listening and questions about my broken car which I'd taken for repairs and the chores I'd performed. What a joy to find a sympathetic ear in this young granddaughter.

On Tuesday evening, I joined a powerful clan of women for dinner. Each woman had served as Faculty Senate President at the local college, and the group meets three times a year to discuss the challenges of leadership and celebrate successes. After retiring from the college, I stopped attending these gatherings, but one of the gals reminded me that I am always welcome and encouraged me to join the party this year. A surge of energy pulsed in my heart in the presence of all this glowing feminine power. Wit, intelligence, and camaraderie were abundant at the table. I'd misplaced this measure of commanding influence and was thrilled to partake again.

On Wednesday, I enjoyed two heart boosters. At Masters swim practice, I didn't think it was possible to swim six 100s faster than my base time, but nestled in the middle of four lane mates, I gave the task my all and surprised myself with the speed I needed. Later I met with Write-on Women, my writers group. Despite icy roads and December demands, eight creative women made this meeting a priority. Being in the company of others--be it writers or swimmers-- injects my heart with a can-do spirit when most of me is screaming "I don't want to!."

Thursday was a heart melting day all day. My 35 year-old son Raleigh volunteered to accompany me on the three hour drive to San Francisco to see my 90-year-old Uncle Buddy who is in the hospital with delirium and severe back pain. Raleigh infused the trip with his philosophy of love. The city of my birth was beautiful beyond belief from the first clear sighting on the 580 to unsurpassable views from the Chapel in the VA Hospital. Uncle Buddy was sweetly demented in his brown beanie addressing me as the 12 year old he once knew. I held his hand-- deeply veined and pearly translucent-- while Raleigh prayed until Uncle Buddy sank back into his chair and slept. So dear is the arc of life.

Friday night, my dharma buddies had an end-of-the-world-party. The instructions were to wear something we never get to wear and bring a gift to recycle. We also each brought specialty foods for an elegant potluck dinner served on china with crystal glasses and silver flatware. Twelve gorgeous women dressed to the hilt, enjoyed a stellar meal from an amazing table and engaged in several hours of noble conversation. We were prepared to go out on a superior moment! My heart was buoyant with promise and no need to know what would come next.

Saturday was a heart-opening yoga workshop, in which the instructor Rocky Heron had no doubt that students could do things they previously did not think possible. And so with his help, I did my first handstand at age 64. I was overwhelmed, grinning and crying at the same time. My heart was wide open as I headed home to find dear Cindy sweetening the house with her presence, her love of the holidays, and her boundless energy on behalf of our family. Hers is a love that always lifts me higher!

It's risky to step out in the world with my heart wide open, but this week, open-heartedness allowed all manner of joy and love to flow in.

Yoga & Metaphor

Last Sunday, I went to a wonderful Yoga workshop by Rocky Heron, called "Journey into Bliss." The workshop focused on back bending poses which Rocky wanted us to look at as heart opening postures.

I've always been intrigued by the body/mind connection that is intrinsic to yoga, so I particularly like teachers who help me see how a pose is connected to the way that I think and/or hold my body. For instance, Rocky spoke about how much of our day is spent slouched forward with our shoulders curved so the chest cavity encircles our hearts. To bend backward is to open and expose the chest area and therefore the heart. Metaphorically the heart is the seat of emotional experience, so opening that area is to make ourselves vulnerable to feeling.

Back bends are my least favorite pose while I adore forward bends. It probably comes as no surprise then that I'm also much more comfortable with thought than I am with feeling. But I knew what the workshop was about, and I was willing-- in fact eager-- to expand my chest along with my interest and skill in these poses.

Rocky is a very fine teacher, moving the class gradually and expertly into deeper more expansive chest opening postures. I was really enjoying myself, and about 2/3 of the way through the class, I experienced one of those physically transcendent moments. My chest filled with fluid warmth and the room seemed bathed in sea green light. I felt a smile come to my lips. I knew that I had discovered the joy of backward bending poses. I left the class confident that I had a new relationship to chest expansion and perhaps even to emotional vulnerability.

This confidence glowed all the next day. When I dove into the pool for Masters swim practice, I was thinking about how I might apply chest expansion to swimming. About halfway through the workout, I crashed into another swimmer as she was pushing off the wall. Her head hit me full force in the sternum. The pain was excruciating. Somehow I finished the workout, showered, and drove home. But by then, breathing had become painful. Bending forward was nearly unbearable.

Now almost a week later, the injury is only about 50% improved, and I'm learning about chest expansion from a different point of view. To avoid pain, I have to keep my shoulders back and lead with my heart. Forward bends haven't been fun this past week. Pushing anything away from me (be it a wheelbarrow in the garden or the floor during chaturanga dandasana) is nearly impossible.

And so the metaphor of opening the heart invades my body in a deeply physical way. I wish I had listened more closely to how Rocky explained the Sanskrit word meaning bliss. I suspect it included the pain of my injured sternum as well as that of sea green euphoria.

In Training

I hesitate to say that I'm training for a triathlon when I have yet to run a mile nor is my bike in working order, so I'll just say that I'm seriously thinking about doing a triathlon next October.

Watching my daughter-in-law do a sprint triathlon last October instigated this thought. The event was exhilirating, and when I spotted a woman who had the number 63 on her leg, her age category, I began to think about participating in 2011.

I took preliminary steps in December by joining the gym and asking for the book The Slow Fat Triathlete as Christmas gift. Reading the book was motivating. I immediately bought a little blank calendar booklet to create a training guide. Here are the things I've done so far to get my body ready:

1.) To develop core strength, I go to yoga 4-5 times a week. This month I added a pilates class and just recently, I noticed a little indentation in my abs. Might they be the beginning of a 6-pack?
2) To build cardiovascular capacity, I have been going to aerobics classes at the gym 3-4 times a week.
3) Last week, I went to my first spin class. Whoa! That's one tough class. I'm hoping it will prep my for the bicycle which is definitely going to be the most challenging segment for me.
4) I am going to the track once a week where I walk/jogging to remind my body about running. It's eager, but I'm taking it easy. I also read the book Born to Run which really got my mind pointed toward the joy of running and planted some new ideas about shoes, among other things.
5) On Monday, I start Masters 101, a swim refresher course. Actually, I'm on the waiting list for the class, but I intend to show up and beg to get in.

I'm not ready to say I'm doing this yet, but I'm headed toward a triathlon. As soon as I get my bike fixed and go for the first ride, and right after I run one whole mile without stoppping, I will say I'm in training.

I Love Fridays

Friday is my favorite day of the week. I've survived the overwhelming fatigue I always feel by the end of a Thursday. I wake refreshed and ready for the fluidity of the day which often starts with blogging after which I head to yoga class. Brother John is usually at Friday yoga class, and I get to marvel at the agility of his 59-year-old body.
















The rest of the day unfolds differently each week. For instance, on this past Friday, I had Cindy's truck loaded with two bicycles for grandson Cody who builds bikes from a mish-mash of old bike parts. When I saw a couple of bikes at Fred's and Bonnie's yard sale, I was pretty sure Cody would be interested and he was. I was impressed by his knowledge of these older bikes. He explained the differences in the gear configurations on each bike and recognized one of the bikes as the kind his mom had owned as a girl.
















The afternoon was spent with 16 Waldorf kids age 3-6 years old. Andrea volunteered to do childcare while their moms set up the Fall Festival at the school. Since I live close by she asked if she might bring the kids here where it would be easy for the mom's to collect them after the work was done. In addition to Andrea, three other moms stayed to help. I arranged to open the clubhouse in the park and the kids played on the play structure, rode bikes and trikes that Andrea brought, and played inside with building blocks, memory games, and child-size cooking paraphernalia. They also ate sliced apples with almond butter, pretzels, and popcorn. The kids were fantastic about sharing and getting along. The whole thing was so successful that Andrea announced that she thought this might be the "First Annual Pre-Fall Festival Childcare at Rawhide MobileHomepark."
















Cindy got home from work shortly after the last child was picked up and we started getting ready for our evening event, the annual Fall-o-Weenie Party hosted by our friends Morgan and Lynn. It's always fun to see the crazy goulish decorations Morgan has on display, and of course it's a treat to visit with friends whose company we don't have enough opportunites to enjoy. I fell into bed after this long luscious Friday and slept wonderfully against the backdrop of wind and rain.

The Bandhas

WARNING: Graphic anatomical discussion. (Translation: Might be more than you want to know.)

Yesterday, I felt my uterus! Such a statement is probably meaningless to a menstruating women (or to a guy), but to a post-menopausal woman like me, it's a pretty remarkable sensation. It happened at yoga when we were practicing Mula Bundha and Uddiyana Bundha, two interior body locks.

Let me give a little background: After three pregnancies and deliveries, my pelvic floor has seen better days. I'm one of those gals who crosses her legs when she sneezes or coughs. I can't run very far or play volleyball without leaking urine. I'm sure this breakdown of muscle tissue is hereditary as my mom had surgery to put things right again after six pregnancies. I sure don't want to resort to surgery, but after a recent bout with the flu, things got much worse. Three weeks of violent coughing completely thrashed my perineum so that I felt like the muscle was sagging like the belly of spayed female cat. It was so bad that I could not consciously contract the muscle at all. Most women know how to do a Kegel exercise-- where you contract and relax the pelvic floor. They are recommended during and after pregnancy to strengthen the very muscle I was having trouble with. Well, that exercise had become impossible for me to perform. I'd try, but I could not get engage muscle. It was like my brain sent a message that my body did not hear.

Fearing the surgery option and disliking the repercussions of not being able to contract this muscle, I consulted my yoga teacher. I was certain there had to be a way to reconnect the nerve impulse to my perineum. Cherie suggested several exercises but the one that worked was amusing and much harder than you can possibly imagine. Once a day, I practiced stopping the flow of urine midstream. At first, this was nearly impossible. My brain would send the signal but the muscle would not work. After several days of trying, I managed to stop the flow and within about 10 days, I was stopping and starting at will. (Warning: the "experts" suggest only doing this once a day.)

Meanwhile, at yoga class and at other times throughout the day (driving or standing at the sink), I began practicing Mula Bandha- isolating the perineum and drawing it up without holding my breath. At first, I had to simply concentrate on engaging this muscle, but once I had the nerve impulses making the connection again, I would engage and lock and then practice other movements like warrior pose or forearm plank or when I was out on my walk. This simple contraction is incredibly stabilizing, especially in combination with Uddiyana Bandha (drawing the belly button area back and up under the ribcage, again while continuing to breathe).

So yesterday during yoga class while practicing the two bandhas, I suddenly felt my uterus contract (it felt like a mild menstrual cramp). YEHAW! I never thought I'd welcome that sensation, but I knew it was a sign that my pelvic floor was getting as strong as the other muscles that are exercised during yoga. No surgery for me! Yoga class is the remedy.

ph

Upside Down Birthday

Today is my 60th birthday. When my good friend Christine turned 60, she sang a song for the guests at her party. She had always wanted to sing before an audience and actually took voice lessons in preparation for the event. She sang beautifully, and I decided then that I wanted to do something "hard" when I turned 60.

I wanted to stand on my head, something I had been afraid to do for 20 years though I was able to do it when I was younger.

I DID IT after yoga class yesterday, the day before my 60th birthday!

My teacher Cherie and yoga buddy Kath were there to cheer me on. With Cherie's gentle coaching, I got in position next to a wall for security and kicked up my legs. Viola! I was there and it was easy. I stayed upside down for a good 5 plus minutes, talking and laughing with Kath and Cherie while they took photos. Though I went up next to the wall, I stood free most of the time.

I was high all day, grateful for a strong healthy body and a smart teacher who knew before I that I was ready to do it. No doubt, it was all the blood feeding my brain that kept me up way past my bedtime last night. It was so much fun that I intend to stand on my head again and again ALL year!

Retirement Anniversary

This past weekend marked my one year anniversary in retirement. Being the goal oriented woman that I am, I had a clear idea of what I would do when I retired. My plan was to spend more time with my family, my garden, and my writing. If this past week is any measure, I'm right on track with those plans. Here are some pictures to illustrate.

Monday: What teacher Cherie called a "family tree" at yoga class with me, Uncle John, and August.















Tuesday: A homeschool field trip with Uncle Andy to study the ditch system in Tuolumne County. Andy took this picture during our hike of Taylor, me, Nell, Cody, Candice, Jenny, Kyle, and .














Wednesday and Thursday were spent on big writing projects of which I have 3 that are due this week. No pictures of me writing as all the color was hopefully happening in my head. Friday was Anna Mae's birthday and Bonnie and Fred arrived for the weekend. (I already wrote about our trip to the Celebration & Remembrance Event).

On Sunday I was gifted with major help in my garden when Bonnie & Fred and friends Becky & Marianne worked all day helping me build beds in my newly enlarged fenced garden.


















My life may be a bit over full but it is truly blessed.
ph

Time Warp

Yesterday, I felt like I was in a time warp. All day the sky tried to drop snow but kept sending sleet and that's what my brain felt like— slushy splats of history hitting me in the face.

It all started during home school with Taylor and Cody. I decided to use Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I had a dream" speech as the focus of the lesson. We were reviewing comma conventions. I gave them copies of the speech and read it aloud. Since the vocabulary is dense for kids in 5^th and 7^th grade, I told them to circle words that were unfamiliar and we would discuss their meaning after I read the speech.

Simply reading King's speech dropped me back in time to my high school days when the construct of desegregation was driving its way into my brain. Reading the speech, I recalled vivid black and white TV images from Alabama and Mississippi. Then I got yanked into the present when 10 year old Taylor asked what "negro" meant. I grew up with the word "negro." It was the polite way to describe dark skinned people and highly preferable to the N-word, as the more derogatory term is now called. I don't remember hearing the term African American until the late 70s or maybe even the 80s. I can't describe the feeling that arose when Taylor asked for the meaning of this word. It seemed like progress in terms of the language we use about race, but it also revealed a piece of history that was yet unknown to her especially when one of the other terms she asked about was Emancipation Proclamation. Both the Civil War and Civil Rights are part of her history lessons, and I had lived through one of those lessons.

When I drove away from home school, sleet was hitting the windshield and a segment of This American Life was playing on my iPod. It was a story about blacks in the Navy during WWII, men who were stationed at Port Chicago, an ammunition dump near San Francisco. Apparently Port Chicago was the site of the worst stateside loss of life during the war. Fifty-eight black Navy men died and many more were seriously injured when two ships loaded with ammunition exploded in 1944. But here is the detestable part of the story (not withstanding that blacks were not allowed to man guns in the Navy during WWII but were assigned to handle dangerous ammunition). After the explosion, 50 men refused to go back to work loading the dangerous cargo, so they were charged with mutiny and sentenced to 20 years in prison. Even today, the Navy refuses to speak about the Port Chicago incident or to exonerate the men who were charged with mutiny. This American Life interviewed 5 survivors of the explosion who were jailed. By the time I got to the post office where the sleet had turned to rain, my heart was heavy with sorrow. How simple it would be to apologize to these men for this degrading mistreatment.

At the post office there was a card from a long ago friend, Janet. She was my best friend when my 37 year old daughter was a baby. She sent pictures of her grandsons. The resemblance between one of the boys and his mother who I knew as a little girl shot me back in time again to the 1970s and young motherhood. My friend closed her note with "I think of you often and I love you." WHEW!! The tug on my heart to visit this friend was powerful as I drove back up the hill through heavy sleet toward the charter school where 3 grandkids were giving oral presentations that I'd helped them prepare. Can you feel the warp? Thinking about my friend and our children at 4, then 7, then 10 as I drove to see my grandkids, ages 8, 10, and 13 give their speeches.

You'd think after all this mental time travel that yoga would be a welcome relief, but NO! This was the day my yoga teacher took a democratic vote: get in down dog, raise your right leg if while we do yoga you want to listen to a radical CD with Martin Luther King and JFK and Ani DiFranco talking against a back drop of rap and other alternative music?? I did not raise my leg. I'd had enough radical time travel for one day. But it was a democratic vote and my choice lost. No soothing Indian chants or Dali Lama Oms for me. Instead I tried to do yoga while the sound of JFK and Willie Nelson and DiFrano rocked my fragile spirit, bringing tears that dripped from my cheeks while I held strong in forearm plank.

ph

Energy

For my college yoga class, I had to write a one page paper on the topic of energy. The assignment allows students to address the topic in any manner they choose. Here is what I wrote:

My body is alive with energy. My fingers tap energetically on the computer keyboard. My hands deploy energy pushing little ones on the swing or whipping tapioca with a whisk. My arms surround family and friends with the energy of big familiar hugs. I shoulder grocery bags, suitcases, book bags, and kids of all ages with a certain energy. A noble energetic pedestal, my neck lifts my head high. My head nods affirmative energy. My chest is a chamber that holds the energy of my cycling breath—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. My diaphragm spasms with giggling and hiccupping energy. My belly’s jiggling energy can be harnessed into powerful mulabhandas and uddiyana bhandas or gyrate in kapalabhati breathing. My pelvis presses energetically against a yoga mat for cobra pose and shelters the growing energy of a baby in my womb. My thighs retain volumes of energy in every cell for marching up mountains, running marathons, standing in warrior poses, or making a lap for nursing infants or snuggling cats. My knees bend, expelling energetic pops that musically accompany every squat. The curving muscles of my calves contain the most satisfying stretch of energy. My feet hold all the energy I need for standing tall and walking firmly. My toes spread in a luxurious reach to clasp the earth and gather more energy.
ph

Yesterday's Lessons

Some days I learn things. . . like yesterday.

Yoga Lessons:

• with each transition there are feelings (indirect quote but you get the idea)
  
• ugai breathing needs to be louder than the chatter in one's brain
  

Financial Lessons:

• over-extended credit is a conundrum that takes imagination and baby steps to rectify;


• once in a life-time is enough times to fall into the credit hole (It's too embarrassing to be almost 60 and learning a lesson taught in the Game of Life that I played when I was 10)

Aging Lessons

• as the body ages, its chemistry changes, affecting perspiration and breath (These days, I frequently have B.O. and bad breath and a housemate who kindly tells me so)
  

I think I'll sit on the couch all day. I don't feel like learning anything new today.
ph

Easy Face

The Family

For those of you who don't get the local paper and those who live far away, my daughter's family made the news last night. (See how beautiful they be)

Here is a link to the article if you want to take a peek. It's longish but tells a version of one of my favorite love stories, that between my daughter and her husband:

http://www.uniondemocrat.com/news/story.cfm?story_no=24655

Here is what my 10 year old grand-daughter had to say to her mother after reading the article: "They make you and Papa sound like the funniest people and like we are all a bunch of sanguine people happily doing the housework together."

Her mother's reply: "Well, I guess that's our goal dear. "

Yoga class lesson today

(not a direct quote but close enough) When moving into a place of intensity, assume an easy face.

This is a little like "fake it until you make it" combined with "smile and the world smiles with you." My mantra for today and the next and the next is going to be: "Easy face."