Taught an All Levels class last evening. It's certainly different than a Gentle Class - different energy, different pace, different style. The theme was shoulders, and if I did not get to 1/2 the postures I had penciled in, well, I got to a lot. Some heart opening, shoulder flexing anusara arms in Warrior I that I cribbed from Desiree Rumbaugh. Thread the needle (thanks Carissa!) - which resulted in much rolling over. A little shoulder opener in Warrior II from Barb, I think. Archer. Dolphin and Bird's Wing. Shoulder opener with the strap (Shankara, surely).
Just not enough time to get to it all, I had penciled in floor boat and hands clasped behind the back, eagle warrior and bow. All to get right into those shoulders....
And then, the coup de grace - some inversions. Down dog on the wall. Dolphin on the wall. Feathered peacock (forearm balance). Handstand for those who wanted it. Most of the class tried something.....
Energizing, fun to teach, I still have so much to learn to really orchestrate a class the way my teachers do.....but learning I am.
And this morning, poised between sleep and waking, coming off a class last night and another I am teaching this noon, the world felt right. I felt like I am who I am supposed to be.
A rare gift, that. Trying to savor it.....
Showing posts with label musing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label musing. Show all posts
August 29, 2008
September 11, 2007
Audible Reality Overlap
There is an electrical contractor prowling the halls of the building; pulling some network cable for another tenant. He has something jangly on his belt - a ring of keys or allen wrenches perhaps.
But all I can think of is a native american dancer with anklet bells or perhaps a kirtan dancer with a chemise with bells....so I keep looking for someone a little more colorful and festive. Just the contractor, alas!
But all I can think of is a native american dancer with anklet bells or perhaps a kirtan dancer with a chemise with bells....so I keep looking for someone a little more colorful and festive. Just the contractor, alas!
Rainy Day
It's nice to have the rain, today. It's a contrast to the crystal clear September 11 we had a year ago, and five years before that.
Rain seems more fitting somehow - mourning. Washing away the dust, the pain. Prepping the ground for new growth.
Come rain.
Rain seems more fitting somehow - mourning. Washing away the dust, the pain. Prepping the ground for new growth.
Come rain.
August 20, 2007
August 13, 2007
Dinosaur Kid
Colin McEnroe has been spending some time in NYC with his son, making memories. Pretty cool. It has got me thinking about my own times in NYC. (also, he links here from his blog, and people have been visiting, so I better write something less mundane than my usual pap)
My father hailed from Long Island. We lived in south central PA (think a bit west of Amish) and so my dad and his family seemed urban and sophisticated. Dad was a NY kind of guy, in my eyes. In hindsite, I think Dad feared and hated the city - our visits to his family always involved the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, as if he were circling as far around Manhattan as he could. For years I assumed that bridge was the gateway to New York. So we would head out to the Island - Rockville Center, Massapequa Park, Wantaugh, Amityville. It was urban and exotic enough for this kid. Mostly, my grandma took us to play bingo, show us off to her friends, and smother us with pride and love.
When my dad died, we became estranged from his family - who conspired to hide from my grandmother that her youngest son had been having heart problems. Don't want to worry mom. Instead, she got to say goodbye to her baby in a funeral home. Mom was furious about that, and the rift never healed - I became the conduit between the families. When grandma fell ill, I was the one to drive out to the island to see her in the nursing home - shrunken, with one leg amputated. Her funeral was a debacle for my family - as we drove in a blinding rainstorm from MA down to Long Island. That may be the last time I saw many of my father's family - 20+ years ago.
I remember my dad taking us into the city to visit Museum of Natural History. I was a Dinosaur Kid. That's not particularly odd or problematic these days; kids are weaned on Barney, parking your kid in front of cable TV dinosaur shows is pretty commonplace, and animated dinosaurs have stuffed the coffers of children's museums everywhere. But back in my day - the 60's - being a Dinosaur Kid was different. One had to be cut from a different cloth to find the handful of books dedicated to the subject, there were few toys or models or peers. Dinosaur kids were the hardcore nerds. One of the instances of childhood bullying drilled into my brain was a chant the kids made up "Russell is a fossil of a dinosaur's d*ck"
So my family (my dad, surely, mom was never much for the urban experience) dragged his young family into the city he feared or hated, so his eldest could see some dinosaurs. In hindite, pretty cool. For years, when NYC was discussed, that was my one cultural touchstone.
As the years tumbled past, I've become more NYC savvy. My first major relationship was to a person who had lived in the city - so there were trips to MoMA, to the Met, to visit old friends, to see some shows. I've worked in the medical field for years, and have been to many of the hospitals strung out along the east side. Later, doing freelance production work during the dot.com era, I've found myself in and out of the city for work - schlepping powerpoint at Joe's Pub, the Rainbow Room, at 1 Chase Manhattan Plaza, at the Harvard Club, at Chelsea Piers, or in the banquet rooms of the old stately hotels. Even back at the Museum of Natural History; at a New School awards dinner, under the whale.
NYC is kind of old hat to me now - I take Metronorth into Grand Central, I jump on the subway. I hum Sondheim's Song and Dance as I wander around Manhattan. "And that drive in the eyes of New York girls; I'd like to be one of them....." I'm perhaps a bit jaded - avoiding the obvious tourist things, not looking up too often, not letting on the delight and surprise to find myself in front of some iconic structure or famous intersection.
But to this day, mention NYC to me, and a small part of my memory flashes back to the Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton (long since remounted in line with current theories of the beast). New York is that dinosaur skeleton to me - ancient, held together with wire and bracing, improbable, fearsome.
My father hailed from Long Island. We lived in south central PA (think a bit west of Amish) and so my dad and his family seemed urban and sophisticated. Dad was a NY kind of guy, in my eyes. In hindsite, I think Dad feared and hated the city - our visits to his family always involved the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, as if he were circling as far around Manhattan as he could. For years I assumed that bridge was the gateway to New York. So we would head out to the Island - Rockville Center, Massapequa Park, Wantaugh, Amityville. It was urban and exotic enough for this kid. Mostly, my grandma took us to play bingo, show us off to her friends, and smother us with pride and love.
When my dad died, we became estranged from his family - who conspired to hide from my grandmother that her youngest son had been having heart problems. Don't want to worry mom. Instead, she got to say goodbye to her baby in a funeral home. Mom was furious about that, and the rift never healed - I became the conduit between the families. When grandma fell ill, I was the one to drive out to the island to see her in the nursing home - shrunken, with one leg amputated. Her funeral was a debacle for my family - as we drove in a blinding rainstorm from MA down to Long Island. That may be the last time I saw many of my father's family - 20+ years ago.
I remember my dad taking us into the city to visit Museum of Natural History. I was a Dinosaur Kid. That's not particularly odd or problematic these days; kids are weaned on Barney, parking your kid in front of cable TV dinosaur shows is pretty commonplace, and animated dinosaurs have stuffed the coffers of children's museums everywhere. But back in my day - the 60's - being a Dinosaur Kid was different. One had to be cut from a different cloth to find the handful of books dedicated to the subject, there were few toys or models or peers. Dinosaur kids were the hardcore nerds. One of the instances of childhood bullying drilled into my brain was a chant the kids made up "Russell is a fossil of a dinosaur's d*ck"
So my family (my dad, surely, mom was never much for the urban experience) dragged his young family into the city he feared or hated, so his eldest could see some dinosaurs. In hindite, pretty cool. For years, when NYC was discussed, that was my one cultural touchstone.
As the years tumbled past, I've become more NYC savvy. My first major relationship was to a person who had lived in the city - so there were trips to MoMA, to the Met, to visit old friends, to see some shows. I've worked in the medical field for years, and have been to many of the hospitals strung out along the east side. Later, doing freelance production work during the dot.com era, I've found myself in and out of the city for work - schlepping powerpoint at Joe's Pub, the Rainbow Room, at 1 Chase Manhattan Plaza, at the Harvard Club, at Chelsea Piers, or in the banquet rooms of the old stately hotels. Even back at the Museum of Natural History; at a New School awards dinner, under the whale.
NYC is kind of old hat to me now - I take Metronorth into Grand Central, I jump on the subway. I hum Sondheim's Song and Dance as I wander around Manhattan. "And that drive in the eyes of New York girls; I'd like to be one of them....." I'm perhaps a bit jaded - avoiding the obvious tourist things, not looking up too often, not letting on the delight and surprise to find myself in front of some iconic structure or famous intersection.
But to this day, mention NYC to me, and a small part of my memory flashes back to the Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton (long since remounted in line with current theories of the beast). New York is that dinosaur skeleton to me - ancient, held together with wire and bracing, improbable, fearsome.
August 12, 2007
Twelve Hours Off
My friend Helen and I often joke about being 12 hours off. I'm usually getting up around the time she is heading to bed, as evidenced by our emails and various message board posts.
Maybe its a New York City thing. I'm up early this morning (the dogs were stirring and I have an appointment to go balloon crewing). I jump online to find Colin McEnroe finishing up a blog post from his NYC vacation.
I'm jealous - he's having fun. So's Helen. (Being young and hot and trendy helps.) Maybe it's because they are both writers.....there's a certain bon vivant lifestyle and a need to live an interesting life so as to write about it that we mere mortals lack.
Then again, in this week's Courant column (which they upload earlier than the news portion of the website, being a Sunday morning early bird has taught me that), Colin writes "....we take the subways, even though, in the summer, the lower tracks appear to be heated by the molten core of the earth....the heat was so vicious down on those lower tracks that it felt like subway poison crowding every other toxin out of my pores."
I think I'll stick to hot yoga for a good detox....the NYC subway sweat, not so much.
That being said, reading about and vicariously living Colin's father-son adventures is good for the soul, a little balm for the wounds left from my own father's somewhat aloof parenting style and premature departure from my life.....
Maybe its a New York City thing. I'm up early this morning (the dogs were stirring and I have an appointment to go balloon crewing). I jump online to find Colin McEnroe finishing up a blog post from his NYC vacation.
I'm jealous - he's having fun. So's Helen. (Being young and hot and trendy helps.) Maybe it's because they are both writers.....there's a certain bon vivant lifestyle and a need to live an interesting life so as to write about it that we mere mortals lack.
Then again, in this week's Courant column (which they upload earlier than the news portion of the website, being a Sunday morning early bird has taught me that), Colin writes "....we take the subways, even though, in the summer, the lower tracks appear to be heated by the molten core of the earth....the heat was so vicious down on those lower tracks that it felt like subway poison crowding every other toxin out of my pores."
I think I'll stick to hot yoga for a good detox....the NYC subway sweat, not so much.
That being said, reading about and vicariously living Colin's father-son adventures is good for the soul, a little balm for the wounds left from my own father's somewhat aloof parenting style and premature departure from my life.....
January 03, 2006
Franchised Yurts
Inspired by Colin McEnroe's radio show (and blog) last night, listened to en route from Hartford to Milford. I would have called in but I was speeding down the Merritt and it was raining and nasty out....
First, the Great Room - the lamented merging of family room, kitchen, dining room, where kids do homework, parents cook meals, TV is watched, videogames played. This strikes me not so much as a deconstruction of Victorian properness and "a place for everything, everything in its place" ethos, as perhaps an evolution to a more eastern style of living and being. I am reminded of a movie we recently rented, wherein an extended family all lived in a yurt. A great room, indeed.
As for the franchising of America, the prevailing of corporate franchised food experiences over local eateries, well, I ate at the much discussed Macaroni Grill - on a recent trip to Tustin CA (as opposed to West Hartford). I submit that our franchise culture, even as it digests our cities and regions, binds us together across state and regional lines, across red state / blue state boundaries.
Not sure if thats a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, I enjoy popping in to Jazzercise franchises all across the country, and am universally welcomed and find a familiar workout experience. Are we liberals less strange to the heartlanders for having sat down to a similar meal at Chilis?
Perhaps the blue / red divide will be forded and national schism will be avoided not through deft politicking but rather through a pretty decent entree and a waitron who will be taking care of you tonight.....regardless of who you voted for in the last election.
First, the Great Room - the lamented merging of family room, kitchen, dining room, where kids do homework, parents cook meals, TV is watched, videogames played. This strikes me not so much as a deconstruction of Victorian properness and "a place for everything, everything in its place" ethos, as perhaps an evolution to a more eastern style of living and being. I am reminded of a movie we recently rented, wherein an extended family all lived in a yurt. A great room, indeed.
As for the franchising of America, the prevailing of corporate franchised food experiences over local eateries, well, I ate at the much discussed Macaroni Grill - on a recent trip to Tustin CA (as opposed to West Hartford). I submit that our franchise culture, even as it digests our cities and regions, binds us together across state and regional lines, across red state / blue state boundaries.
Not sure if thats a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, I enjoy popping in to Jazzercise franchises all across the country, and am universally welcomed and find a familiar workout experience. Are we liberals less strange to the heartlanders for having sat down to a similar meal at Chilis?
Perhaps the blue / red divide will be forded and national schism will be avoided not through deft politicking but rather through a pretty decent entree and a waitron who will be taking care of you tonight.....regardless of who you voted for in the last election.
December 30, 2005
Nature's Packaging
I just ate a hard-boiled egg. "Aha, she's not a vegan!" - fill in the corresponding dot in your worksheets, you'll suss me out yet. I aspire to lacto-ovarian vegetarianism but I am far from realizing this level of gastro-enlightenment....I'm lazily omnivorous.
Anyway, I was struck by the usefulness and efficiency of the hard-boiled egg from a packaging and presentation perspective. The shell is protective yet easy to remove, the overall shape of the naked egg is pleasing and ergonomic (and many agree). And there is a panoply of eccentric egg utensils, accoutrements, and accessories.
Since one of the definitions of panoply is a protective covering or defense, this officially counts as clever wordplay. My second today, I am still chuckling over Ohmic Enlightenment.
About the only thing that would make a hard-boiled egg better would be to have the shell removable in one or two pieces. Apparently, there is an official way to peel an orange, but truth be told, I prefer a more mischievous way - in which a great circle is carefully scored around the orange, and by careful peeling and prying in an incremental, circular way, one can remove the peel in two full hemispheres. It would be great if hard-boiled eggs peeled that way.
Of course the real purpose for this is to eat the fruit, and reassemble the orange peel carefully, placing it somewhere like a ticking empty fruit time bomb - someone will inevitably pick it up and be amused to find a hollow orange. Situational surrealism.
Props to Al Perrins (aka "Doc") for turning me on to this sort of tom-foolery at my first job, circa 1983-85. Not the first thing he has invented.
Anyway, I was struck by the usefulness and efficiency of the hard-boiled egg from a packaging and presentation perspective. The shell is protective yet easy to remove, the overall shape of the naked egg is pleasing and ergonomic (and many agree). And there is a panoply of eccentric egg utensils, accoutrements, and accessories.
Since one of the definitions of panoply is a protective covering or defense, this officially counts as clever wordplay. My second today, I am still chuckling over Ohmic Enlightenment.
About the only thing that would make a hard-boiled egg better would be to have the shell removable in one or two pieces. Apparently, there is an official way to peel an orange, but truth be told, I prefer a more mischievous way - in which a great circle is carefully scored around the orange, and by careful peeling and prying in an incremental, circular way, one can remove the peel in two full hemispheres. It would be great if hard-boiled eggs peeled that way.
Of course the real purpose for this is to eat the fruit, and reassemble the orange peel carefully, placing it somewhere like a ticking empty fruit time bomb - someone will inevitably pick it up and be amused to find a hollow orange. Situational surrealism.
Props to Al Perrins (aka "Doc") for turning me on to this sort of tom-foolery at my first job, circa 1983-85. Not the first thing he has invented.
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