Yoga – Of Bears and Boating

Things I’ve learned

It’s been a while since my last real blog post. Even longer since my last “things I learned” post. I wondered at that.

But only for a nanosecond.

Let’s get to it. What have I learned?

I learned:

1. I’ve missed yoga. Three years ago I took a yoga class to fulfill a college credit requirement. I registered for the beginning class even though I had previous experience and was probably more transitional intermediate than beginner. I did so out of fear.

A costly miscalculation on my part. As it happened, the instructor was the Antichrist and seemed woefully unaware the course was entitled “Yoga for Beginners.” Think wine-soaked ballerina with severe Adult Attention Deficient Disorder. Who teaches a yoga class set to swinging show tunes?…and sings along…and twirls…oh, so much twirling…She taught the class from her own private padded bubble, offered no modifications, and failed to understand the core principles of yoga.

I have many personality flaws. Chief on the list: Type A. I’m an overachiever. That is especially true if there is something I value at stake. At the time, it was my GPA. I wanted an A and it is not in my nature to quit once I’ve committed.

Oh, the clarity of hindsight.

Three years later, I am still suffering the repercussions of that earned A. My diagnosis: persistent grade 2 hip flexor strain with severe pain and limited ROM. Could be worse. Could be better. But I’m making progress with the help of some wonderful physical therapists. Last week, at their ~~badgering~~ urging, I started to practice yoga again.

I’m not going to lie. The first few dozen sun salutations were rough. But, at the same time, it was an incredible feeling. Of course, I needed an extra day of physical therapy to recover, but they assure me it will get easier. I’m going to choose to believe they are right.

Namaste.

2. The X-Files is returning to television. I’m conflicted. I always loved the X-Files. It was great television. But reboots, remakes, and sequels annoy me. A few years ago, I wrote about it. On the one hand, I am curious to see Mulder, Scully, Skinner, and Cancer Man reunited. They were fascinating characters. On the other hand, I think it is often better to remember something beloved in its original, unblemished state. I probably won’t watch.

Of course, for all of my righteous indignation, I am a total hypocrite. There are two films looming on the horizon – one slated for release later this year, the other next year. Jason Bourne and James Bond. Both are sequels/remakes/reboots. Both make me giddy with excitement.

I thought about arguing the merits of these franchises and how they differ from all the unoriginal rubbish out there. But I don’t need to explain myself to you. Instead, I offer you a peek at the new Bond.

Savor it.

3. I don’t like cherries. I’m forty-two. I’ve spent most of my life believing that I don’t eat cherries because I am allergic to them. Turns out – not true. I just don’t like them.

Strange.

4. Spring in Texas: Bluebonnets and bees. What else is there to say?

5. Miles Davis makes the perfect background for writing. As a general rule, I don’t listen to music when I write. It’s distracting. I do much better with everyday white noise. Well…unless, it’s “screaming toddler Tuesday” or “”where’s the damn coffee in this place’ octogenarian Thursday” at my favorite coffee shop. The latter is always a special treat. There’s nothing quite so entertaining as a group of filter-free, half-deaf senior citizens out for their weekly breakfast social.

Last week, I discovered Miles Davis. I’ve never been much of a jazz fan. I much prefer old-school soul, sixties R&B, anything touched by the hands of the almighty Sting, and Florence and the Machine. Jazz always seemed like too much work to fully appreciate. Does that make sense? Probably not. Sorry.

Anyway, I was researching Jazz artists/albums in reference to a character development I am doing for my current WIP and happened upon Sketches of Spain, a Miles Davis work conducted by Gil Evans (fun fact: Gil Evans and Sting recorded a live album, Last Session, in 1987). I liked the title; the cover art was warm and inviting. I took a listen.

It was spellbinding; yet, subtle and unobtrusive.

I bought it.

This week on “screaming toddler Tuesday”, I plugged in my headphones, turned up Sketches of Spain, set it to repeat, and just wrote.

Fantastic.

Here. Have a listen for yourself.

Things I learned this week

I learned this week…

…that Donald “Duck” Dunn has died. You might not recognize his name, but I guarantee you that at some point, you’ve heard his telltale bass line. He was a member of the studio band at Stax Records in Memphis and played with such artist as The Blues Brothers (he was in the movie), Eric Clapton, Arthur Conley, Neil Young (with whom he extensively toured), CCR, Wilson Pickett, Bob Dylan (who you all know I loathe), Rod Stewart, Otis Redding – just to name a few. One of my favorite songs is a little ditty called “Green Onions” by Booker T & the MGs. He wasn’t the original bassist on the 1962 recording, but I think he does it best.

…that Donna Summer has died at the age of 63. I often talk about how my father’s love of old school country, early rock & roll, and 60s R&B influenced my taste in music. However, in all honesty, my mother probably had a greater impact on my personal “musicology.” She is a lover of all music. She doesn’t discriminate – from old Dean Martin and Sinatra to Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons and the Beatles to Gordon Lightfoot and Simon & Garfunkel and everything in between and beyond. When I was a kid, one of my mother’s favorite things to do was to throw open the windows, cue up a homemade reel to reel tape and crank the volume until music filled the house – and the neighborhood. Sometimes we listened to oldies, sometimes to folk, sometimes to country, but more often than not, we listened to disco. What could be better than doing your Saturday morning chores to the infectious beat of ABBA, the Bee Gees, and yes, Donna Summer? She will be sorely missed in my house. My friend Kelly said “disco died today.” Perhaps it did.

…that I have been nominated for the Kreativ Blogger Award by kittyb78. She’s a fellow writer who just happens to be a Black Dragon Kung Fu instructor. I’m not sure what that is, but it sounds very cool and makes me want to write her into one of my stories as that bad ass character who…okay I digress. Many thanks to kittyb78 for bestowing such an honor on me. I appreciate it very much.

Of course, these things come with rules. I’m supposed to tell you seven interesting things about myself and then pay the award forward to a few bloggers I think are deserving.

I give good stink-eye, and not always intentionally. I have an odd face with a heavy brow and a natural frown. It makes me look angry – even when I’m not. It serves me well. People leave me alone. Usually.
I hate the sound of people eating. Seriously. I hate it.
I am cynical by nature, but I try very hard to use humor to stave off the negativity. It’s made me a happier person.
I am a James Bond fanatic.
I have no natural rhythm and no amount of alcohol can change that. Ask my BFF how long it took her to teach me the Electric Slide back in the day.
I have an affinity for dates.
I love striped pants.

Now to pay it forward:

Check ’em out. They are all creative, innovative, and worthy of your time.

…that yoga for a grade is like a bad penny. It just won’t leave me in peace. As a memento of our time together, it has left me with a little hip injury. Nothing too serious, just some tendonitis. They tell me it will go away – with a little time and four weeks of physical therapy.

…that I am captivated by the train-wreck that is Ancient Aliens. I spend the entire hour yelling at the television, snorting in disbelief, and cursing their flawed logic, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to change the channel.

…that last, but not least, this weeks awww moment is brought to you by a pair of small woodpeckers who distracted me from my gardening this week. From their behavior, I can only assume they were a mother and her lazy child who refused to get off his ass and get a job. I could be wrong, though.

Things I learned this week

I learned this week..

…that I’ve successfully conquered another semester – with all A’s, thank you very much. It’s a great feeling, like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders and the road to a carefree summer is now within my grasp. As I drove away from campus yesterday, I was feeling good. I had the windows down, the wind in my hair, and my new Sting compilation cranked up for the whole world to hear. I’m not a believer in a lot of intangible things, but sometimes, ever so subtly, the universe speaks to me. As if on cue, a song with a distinct island vibe began to play. The hustle of midday traffic faded away and I found myself standing on a beach with velvety sand between my toes, a warm sea breeze caressing my skin, and a frozen rum-filled concoction in my hand. Swaying in time to the intoxicating rhythm, I danced in slow drunken circles across the sand, feeling blissfully numb, and raised my glass in one final salutation to the sun as it descended into the abyss…

HONK!

Sigh.

Reality bites.

Yes, I realize that this imagery is probably not what Sting intended when he wrote Love is the Seventh Wave. More likely his intention was to protest Cold War proliferation and all of the evil that went along with it. I’m going to choose to overlook that (and the ridiculous 80’s video) and focus on the drunken beach vacation aspect of it instead.

…that yoga for a grade is over. Of course, as one final insult to the emotional injuries we’ve sustained over the course of the semester, my instructor decided it would be fun to have a party on the day designated for our final exam. If you will remember from last week, we had our final early. We were instructed to bring food – preferably something healthy, in order to keep with the spirit of the class. We all brought store-bought cookies. It was our little bit of revenge. Of course, revenge is one of those things in life that tends to come back and bite you in the ass. In response to our cookie rebellion, she made us watch the video she made of our final. Oh, the agony of defeat.

…that in all the years I’ve watched the summer Olympics, I have never bothered to sit through any of the Equestrian events. It’s not that I don’t like horses, I do. It’s just that I’d much rather watch paint dry than watch a horse and rider navigate through a mindless obstacle course. This year it will be different. I don’t usually watch real-time television. I rely heavily on my DVR. But the other night I happened to catch Rock Center when I was supposed to be studying for my Sociology exam. Harry Smith (who I really sort of despise) did a story about a horse and rider who have both been through serious hell and have barely lived to tell about it. Needless to say, I bawled like a baby and have now committed myself to watching every Equestrian event these two will compete in. I feel that, as an American, it is my patriot duty. Check out Harry Smith’s story Horse Power, but grab a box of tissues first.

…that the Blue Jay who visits the feeder in my backyard teases and taunts me. For weeks, I’ve seen him feeding – nearly every day. For weeks, I’ve tried to sneak a few photographs of him. For weeks, he’s alluded me. No worries, though. I will prevail…if its’ the last thing I do.

…and last, but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by my fat cat, Rollo. Aptly named, he is enjoying a little nap in the warm afternoon sun. What a rough life he leads.

Things I learned this week

This week I learned…

…that sometimes being a responsible adult sucks. It’s that time of year again when everything converges and there just isn’t enough hours in the day to get it all done. There’s certainly no time to do the things I want to do – read, write, sacrifice a few brain cells sitting on my couch wearing holey pjs, eating ding dongs, and watching everything the Bravo channel can throw my way. It’s just the nature of things, and usually I am very good at accepting that this is the journey I chose to embark upon – you know, that whole personal growth bullshit. This year, however, my rebellious self seems to be having a little trouble keeping his eye on the prize. Spring is warm, sunny, and intoxicating, and the allure of it all, is just so damned tempting. So, what do you do when you have a nagging conformist on one shoulder and a mocking rebel on the other? You lock the conformist in the closet, and you go out to play. Duh. Of course, these little bursts of self-indulgence are not without their consequences. I’ve spent the last week or so digging out from a stack of homework so deep it surely rivals Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stouts’ garbage pile.

…that after sitting through a lecture on sleep deprivation, I realize that I should probably reevaluate my anti-napping ideology. My husband will be relieved to hear this, and I’m sure he will take full advantage of it should I decide to change my stance.

…that just when I thought I might actually miss “yoga for a grade”, the instructor goes and does something that makes me want to roll up my mat, go home, and say screw the GPA. From the onset, this class has been disorganized – and that, I feel, is being generous. Goals and expectation were never established and we’ve had very little guidance in the actual fundamentals of yoga practice. All of these shortcomings and failures could be overlooked, indeed forgiven, because for the most part, I enjoyed the physicality of the class. We did, of course, have that little incident early on with the humiliating quiz – you remember, the one where we had to each perform a single pose at the front of the room for our classmates to guess. Charades for a grade. Couldn’t get much worse than that, right? Guess what? I was wrong. I should have seen it coming, but alas, I did not. Two weeks before scheduled final exams, she dropped the ultimate bomb on us. It was nuclear. It seemed our final exam would require us to come up with a sequence of yoga poses, combine them into cohesive segments, and then teach them to the class. But wait, there’s more. We had just two class periods to get with a partners, choose the poses, arrange the poses, practice the poses, and choose our accompaniment music because she wanted to do our final a week early. Oh, and by the way, our performances would be videotaped so that we could relive our most humiliating moment at the end of semester party she’d planned. I’m sure I will see the humor in all this someday – when the scars have healed.

…that there are few things in life more enjoyable than sitting poolside with my BFF, a little drunk on wine, trading child rearing war stories.

…that Adam Yauch of the Beastie Boys has died. There have been a lot of notable deaths of late, but I find his to be one of the saddest. I can’t say that I am an ardent fan of Beastie Boys’ entire body of work, but their first album brings back fond memories of my favorite summer. It would be my last carefree summer; not long after, the reality of adulthood reached up and bitch slapped me.

…that the three seat belts in the backseat of my car are deceiving. It is nearly impossible to fit three passengers back there. Guess I should have considered that before I volunteered to carpool a Sunday field trip to Boyd.

…that I was nominated for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award by my fellow writer Julie over at Word Flows. It’s always so nice to receive an acknowledgement from one’s peers. It is doubly nice when it comes from someone you admire and respect. She, herself, is one inspiring lady. Go check her out.

…that my work in progress, Retribution, has evolved into something quite different from my original vision. I blame the outlining.

…that when you add a warm late spring day, a community swimming pool, and a tennis ball together with a group of twelve-year-old boys you will get stupidity to the ninth power.

…that last, but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by this little creeper who has taken up residence on my back patio for the duration of the season.

Things I learned this week

I learned this week…

…that inversion poses are where it’s at in yoga, and the handstand is king. A notch down from the handstand is a head stand. I can do neither. However, this week in “yoga for a grade” I learned a pose that serves as a stepping stone toward a true head stand. Tripod balance pose. It’s not the most comfortable pose, certainly not the most elegant, and I wasn’t able to hold it for very long, but I did it. And that’s all that matters to me.

…that sometime when I wasn’t looking, my daughter discovered that she likes my t-shirts. I’m not sure which I’m more upset about, the fact that she is borrowing my clothes or that they actually fit her.

…that traffic will invariably flow contradictory to my immediate needs.

…that my daughter has been asked to the Spring dance at her middle school – and she’s going to go! Last time she was asked, she declined because she was going to have to – EGADS – wear a dress. This time around there is a more relaxed dress code. Good thing, too. My daughter’s idea of dressing up is a white button up shirt and low top Converse sneakers.

…that as I age, the fit of a good tennis shoe trumps aesthetic. Recently, I spent two days scouring athletic shoe stores looking for replacement sneakers. It was a trying process – it always is. I can’t just walk into a store and buy the first shoe that strikes my fancy. There are important factors that must be considered. Do my prescription orthotics fit? Are they made from natural material or synthetic? Are they lightweight? Breathable? Cross trainer or walker? Is the tongue thick? Does it ride too high? Too low? Are they narrow across the bridge? Do my bunions cry out in agony with every step I take? These are all valid questions that must be asked before committing to such an important purchase. After torturing a half a dozen salespeople, I finally settled on a pair of Nikes. I usually steer clear of that particular brand because of their tendency toward a narrow bridge and a thick tongue, but I found a pair that fits all my requirements. Of course, they are neon pink, likely glow in the dark, and are perhaps the ugliest things I’ve ever put on my feet, but who gives a shit. They adequately serve their purpose.

…that I didn’t win the Mega Millions Jackpot. Bummer.

…that five little words of criticism – “not as complete as usual” – written on an in-class discussion assignment will cause me a great amount of internal suffering – indeed, eat at my very soul. I will obsess over this negative review until it encapsulates my every thought and I’m left with no alternative but to email the professor in an effort to explain my shortcomings as a student. Of course, the realization that he likely never gave the note a second thought just adds to my level of frustration and humiliation. I need to learn to let these things go.

Yeah, right. Who am I trying to kid?

…that I am becoming a photography junkie. I want to take pictures of everything. Here’s one I took a couple of days ago of the Knock Out roses in my backyard.

…and last, but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by this little miniature schnauzer named Bear. I had the pleasure of spending my Monday with him. He was rescued from a puppy mill and is up for adoption through a local schnauzer rescue group. Photograph is courtesy of Efrain Sain, a local photographer, attorney, and musician, who office shares with our law firm.

Things I learned this week…

I learned this week…

…that “yoga for a grade” is the gift that keeps on giving. I realize that perhaps I am beating a proverbial dead horse with this one, but good grief, in every class something jaw-droppingly fabulous/horrific occurs. I can’t sit idly by and not write about it. So, please, bear with me. The end of the semester will come soon enough.

…that, in keeping with the above theme, my yoga instructor’s idea of a quiz is my worst nightmare. Last week, she gave us a nifty little handout with elementary drawings of various poses and a listing of their correct names. We could expect our first quiz the following week [this week]. Okay. No big deal, after all, this is a “for grade” course. Grades have to come from somewhere. So, on quiz day, she comes in five minutes late, disheveled, and lugging a stack of unorganized copy paper. She proceeds to sit down on the floor, in a graceful position only a seasoned dancer could muster, and pulls out a pair of scissors. We all sat on our mats staring at her, confused by her odd behavior. She didn’t keep us in suspense for long. As she cut a single sheet of paper into thin strips, she leveled the room with a bomb of such magnitude that its reverberation could be felt clear to the Oklahoma state line. Our quiz, it turns out, would not entail a grouping of pictures and a word bank – as so promised. It wouldn’t even have anything to do with the handout she provided to us. No, instead we would be required to demonstrate an assigned pose at the front of the class, with the wall of ~~shame~~ mirrors at our backs. Holy shit batman, shoot me now. I count myself as one who came out of this horrifying experience largely unscathed. While I did receive the dreaded number one slot, I escaped any real humiliation. My pose was simple – Prayer pose. However, there were those among us who did not fare so well. I feel quite certain the girl who was saddled with the dreaded “happy baby” pose is plotting some fantastic revenge. The glint in her eye at the end of class was downright frightening.

…that today is Dr. Seuss’ birthday. I did know this, but I didn’t remember until I stumbled across the headline on my favorite news outlet’s website. Of course, the headline also asked readers to vote for their top pick of Seuss movies. This kinda irked me. Dr. Seuss wrote books. I think it would be a more interesting poll, and one truer to the memory of Seuss’ legacy, to ask readers to give the name of their favorite book. So, I ask: What is your favorite Dr. Seuss book? Mine is And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street.

…that there is a “war on women” brewing in this country. Though, I can’t help but wonder if it is all just an elaborate smoke screen fabricated to distract voters from the fact that none of this country’s politicians – and I mean none of them – know what the heck they are doing.

…that this week the great State of Texas will celebrate 176 years of independence. I’m not a native Texan. I was born in Florida to parents that hail from New England. My father was in the military so I’ve lived in my share of locations – some of them wildly wonderful, some of them not so much. Of them all, Texas is by far the most unique place I’ve ever called home. I didn’t always feel that way, but once the culture shock wore off, I got a whiff of something in the air – something intangible. Something that smelled a lot like pride. There is an independent spirit here that transcends even national patriotism. Don’t get me wrong, Texans have a deep love for their country, they just love their state a smidgen more. It’s an infectious thing. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Well…of course, that is unless the American people jump the shark and elect Newt or Rick to the presidency. If that happens, I’m moving back to Europe. Texas independent spirit and pride be damned.

…that Davy Jones died. I’ve long maintained that the 60s produced some of the greatest Rock & Roll music ever attributed to the genre. I don’t care if you agree with my assessment or not. I know good music when I hear it. Now, I will admit that The Monkeys pale in comparison to say…the Beatles, but they are still relevant to the overall cultural phenomenon of the musical era. Plus, they were just great fun. Davy Jones will be missed.

…and last, but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by this adorable kitty. Is he stuck? Is he stalking you? I don’t know, but I bet if you venture a little closer, you’re sure to find out.

***Big thanks to Bill Chance for providing me with this link:

Source: http://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_ltdqe7UarB1qds2rfo1_1280.jpg?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJ6IHWSU3BX3X7X3Q&Expires=1330761447&Signature=Y11SR21KH5EFC3SFOnYUiJaqpGo%3D

Things I learned this week

I learned this week…

…that there is no place for pride in Yoga. At its core, it embodies a deep spirituality that melds body and soul through the rhythm of breath and meditation. I’d like to tell you that I’ve connected with Yoga on a level that goes beyond just moving through the poses, but that would be a barefaced lie. This week, as I sat poised in a slightly modified version of the open-leg seated balance pose, staring at my reflection in the wall of ~~shame~~ mirrors, I was struck by a sense familiarity – perhaps even a bit of deja vu. At first, I was confused, then like a tsunami, it all came rushing back to me. I’ve been in a similar position before – twice actually – during the birth of my children. Of course, at that time, my enduring degradation was overridden by my overwhelming desire to rectify my condition, and bring the little beings inside of me into the world. And so, I sat balancing quite impressively, if I do say so myself, feeling ridiculous and very much exposed. I tried to mentally reassure myself that I was not alone in this, after all I was surrounded by several other students, all spread eagle and I’m sure they felt every bit as vulnerable as I did. Plus, how much worse could it get – I mean, really? Oh, silly me. How naive I can be sometimes. My Yoga instructor, as if to drive home the fact that we were required to check our egos at the door, had us end class in “happy baby”. My shame has come full circle.

…that baby tortoises have belly buttons. Who knew? Not me. Check out becomingcliche’s blog entry regarding this little bit of animal kingdom trivia and much more. Very interesting.

…that it’s quite shocking when a story I haven’t touched in quite a long time – a couple of years, in fact – resurrects itself and begins to speak to me again. While outlining the relationship between two characters for a new story I am working on, I was suddenly reminded of two characters who I loved dearly, but could never fully reconcile their conflict. It came to me in a burst of clarity that I can only describe as electrifying. Looks like Max and Lola are going to get another go at it. It’s a good thing, too. It’s always bothered be that I came very close on that one.

…that Retribution has been making some subtle rumblings in my subconscious, as well. This week I wrote a short filler scene despite the fact that I told myself that this story is not workable and complete and utter garbage. Perhaps there is hope there, too.

…that there is no place on earth as cozy as my bed when I’m sick. I have the most comfortable bed in the world. The only thing that can make it better is catching a Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon on Bravo. Don’t judge me. I’m sick.

***Warning Pet Peeve of the Week***

…that I really dislike individuals that find it necessary to tell me how intelligent they are and that everyone they come in contact with loves them. Okay, I’m all for a positive sense of self-worth, it’s what drives us to do great things, but you have to really wonder about someone who takes it to a whole other level. Who are they trying to convince? Me or them?

…and last but not least…this week’s awww moment is brought to you by this little “Brookesia micra” chameleon perched on a match head. His species is believed to be among the smallest of chameleons found on Madagascar. I just wanna hug him and squeeze him…yeah, not really. I’m a little scared of his tongue action, but still, he’s really darn cute.

Source: http://www.redorbit.com/news/science/1112475371/mini-reptiles-discovered-in-madagascar/

Things I learned this week…

I learned this week…

…that oral presentations aren’t all that bad. (insert cheesy laugh track here) I’m just kidding. Oral presentations suck. However, they do get easier. And by easier, I mean that I only wanted to pass out once or twice and the uncontrollable shaking only lasted for half of the class period this time. Progress.

…that middle school crushes are complicated. My daughter likes a boy. He likes her back. Sounds simple so far – trust me it’s not. Just getting to that admission was mind-blowing. Now, as Valentine’s Day approaches, the question of what to give this boy in celebration of the Hallmark holiday has surfaced. Card? Stuffed bear? Box of chocolates. This week, I quietly trailed behind her in the seasonal aisle of my favorite big box store as she grappled with this difficult decision. After twenty minutes or so, she decided on an oversize Hersey Kiss. I thought it was a good call. Getting a boy something too affectionate or personal at this stage of the game is risky business. Equally risky, I’ve discovered, is the mode of delivery. She tells me that she can’t very well roll up to the park on her bike and hand him a giant Hersey Kiss in front of his friends. That would be the kiss of death (har har). No, she’s given this a lot of thought, consulted with many of her little girlfriends. The general consensus among the great minds – she should most definitely drop, ring, and run. This should prove interesting.

…that I am an introvert. This is not a revelation, I took the Myers-Brigg personality test years ago – several times, in fact, just in case I was doing it wrong. I am a ISTJ and scored 1oo% introvert every single time. As I age, I’ve learned to deal with it, and what I once viewed as a near crippling personality flaw, I’ve grown to accept and even, embrace. This enlightenment, if you will, has aided in my journey of self-discovery, given me the courage to try new things, and overall, helped me grow comfortable in my own skin. Susan Cain’s book Quiet – The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking is a must read for introverts trying to find their place and purpose in this life. I’ve got a list of folks who could use a copy of this book. Maybe if they understood me a bit better they would stop bugging me to speak up and contribute to debates I find pointless and beneath me. Yes, I know – I am an elitist introvert. Or so my husband tells me. Sue me.

…that Nicholas Cage is not a vampire. This is good information. For a minute there, I was worried.

…that another great musical voice has been silenced. I am saddened and aggrieved by the loss of Whitney Houston. Premature death, no matter the circumstances, is a tragic thing and one that deserves a measure of understanding and compassion, if for no other reason, than for those who are left behind to grieve the unimaginable loss of a loved one.

…that four weeks into “Yoga for a Grade” I find myself looking forward to the class. I still think the instructor is a flake, and that she has failed to read the college’s catalog description of the course. There is no way this class is beginner level, but I’ve kept up, and though my hamstrings have not quite gotten with the program, I feel my core strengthening and my stamina increasing. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I enjoy this class, but I don’t dread it. Now, that might change if she makes us do another elementary level art project. That was just humiliating.

***Warning! Pet Peeve of the Week***

…that nothing make me angrier (and this is a bold statement because there is a lot of things that make me angry) than being manipulated and threatened, no matter how veiled.

…and last, but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by this adorable, and quite photogenic, kitty getting all spruced up for a night out. I don’t know the source of this photo because my husband shared it with me. If you don’t smile at this picture, then you need to see a doctor about that heartless whole in your chest. Enjoy.

Things I learned this week

I learned this week…

…that I am old. Or so my health insurance carrier tells me. I received a very nice letter from them informing me that my recent birthday (the one that isn’t until mid-June) has pushed me into a higher age bracket and, though it pains them greatly, they must raise my rate by 2% effective April 1st. Bastards.

…that once again, I find that I am a few steps behind everyone else when it comes to discovering new and exciting television. First, the BBC’s Sherlock, and now PBS’s Downton Abbey. I need to get with the program. Both of these shows are well-written, well-acted, and well…just plain brilliant.

…that if civilization as we know it should end and the burden of rebuilding and repopulating the world falls to the brilliant minds of the students in my Sociology class, we are all screwed. Newt Gringrich’s moon colony might not be such a bad idea after all.

…that my daughter’s sixth grade band is amazing. I am very proud of her. She’s come a long way in five months.

…that as the daughter of a breast cancer survivor, I’ve always had the highest respect for Susan G. Komen for the Cure. Not anymore.

…that I really don’t like making my own coffee in the morning. That makes me sound spoiled, doesn’t it. Well, I am. My husband makes coffee every night at bedtime, sets the little timer thing, and BAM! I have coffee when I roll out of bed at 5 a.m. He’s out-of-town. I have to make my own coffee this week. It sucks.

…that my fat cat has lost weight. This a good thing for he tipped the scales at 19 lbs at his last vet check up. I am happy to report that his “high fiber, low-calorie food that costs me a fortune” actually worked. He’s down to a svelte 15 lbs. Of course, he thinks he’s starving to death and has taken to counter hopping in search of something left unattended. I turned around the other night and found him perched by the sink, staring a hole through me. I was a little scared. For a minute, I thought he was contemplating my nutritional value.

…that me and old Thomas Hobbes are not going to be good friends.

…that I find reminders of my dad in the strangest places. This week on my way to the office, I was listening to a 60s themed satellite radio station I like and a song I haven’t heard in years came on. (Don’t judge me. I’ve made no secret of my opinion on the music produced during that decade – BEST MUSIC EVER) As it began to play, recognition took hold, and all I could see was my father dancing around in his stocking feet, lip syncing the words, and making Groucho Marx faces. I miss my dad.

***Warning: Pet peeve of the week***

…that I hate pointless art projects. I hate pointless art projects even more when they are completely irrelevant to class curriculum. In Yoga for a Grade, we were instructed to make a new friend (shoot me now), ask them ~~asinine~~ personal questions, and create a collage of their life based on what we learned in a ten minute conversation. We are expected to present them to the class when next we meet. Really? I think I preferred the Down Dog into Plank (hold for one minute), then down and up into Up Dog sequences she made us do – fifteen times in a row! – during the last class.

…and last but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by Cousin Violet, the Dowager Countess of Grantham (Maggie Smith) from Downton Abbey. She is quite warm and loving in her own way – really.

Things I learned this week

This week I learned…

…that Beginning Yoga for a grade is really a combination of intermediate Yoga and Pilates for a grade. This is something that I feel is grossly misrepresented in the course description. The instructor, a tiny woman with Madonna arms and the flexibility of a Circus du Soleil performer, is surely the spawn of the devil. She is an unsympathetic, anti-whining, whip cracker who doesn’t understand why we all showed up to the second class limping and chugging bottles of over-the-counter anti-inflammatory medicines. I am happy to say that I did make it through the week without disgracing myself. I managed to perform every single pose she threw my way. They might not have been pretty, but I did them. Of course, I can still barely walk. Hopefully, my body will forgive me by Monday when I have to start it all over again.

…that I don’t like change. Yes, I know this is no revelation, but sometimes I forget how uncompromising I can be. Lately, I’ve had an issue with getting through the books stacked on my bedside table. After a four-month struggle to finish one novel, I finally resorted to an audiobook. I’ve always sorta looked down my nose at audiobooks, like they were a means of cheating. Of course, now that it benefits me, I have had a complete change of heart. I’m fickle like that. What can I say, I’m a Gemini. In the last week, I’ve finished two novels. Both Gabriel Allon spy novels by Daniel Silva, and both read by the same man, John Lee. I have come to associate his warm, accented voice with these characters that I love so much. This morning, I popped my little flash drive in the handy-dandy USB port in my car, and settled in as the opening chapter of Prince of Fire began to play. What is this? No John Lee? Where’s John Lee? As it turns out, John Lee is not the reader for this next installment of Gabriel Allon’s adventures. This new reader is terrible and his Ari Shamron interpretation sucks. I may never recover.

…that sometimes I forget that my daughter is a girl. I know that sounds strange, but if you knew her, you would know exactly what I mean. She is a tomboy, through and through. She doesn’t wear frills or ruffles or anything with a skirt. No pink or purple. No glitz or glitter. She wears dark jeans with a flared leg, graphic tees, sneakers, and a hoodie – right now she is in love with her lime green Invader Zim hoodie that comes complete with ears. She will only wear her thick blonde hair in a severe, slicked back ponytail. No earrings or bracelets, though she does like necklaces – of course, those must meet a certain criteria and cannot be overtly feminine. These are the rules. Any deviation from such will result in a big sigh and an eye roll. So it is not unreasonable for me to sometimes forget that she is, indeed, a girl. Today is a big day for her. She plays the clarinet in the sixth grade band and they are doing a performance tour of our local elementary schools. This morning she dressed with extra care, made sure she didn’t have a hair out-of-place and then, as she studied herself critically in the mirror, announced, “I’m as pale as a vampire, Mom. I need to use some of your powder and blush.” Um…okay. Excuse me while I pick my jaw up off of the bathroom floor.

…that Roger Federer allowed himself to be ousted from yet another major by Rafael Nadal. This time the Australian Open. I hope Novak Djokovic kicks Nadal’s ass in the final, and if he does, I am swearing off my allegiance to Federer for good.

…that after my little temper tantrum last week, I find that I am feeling better about my writing, though I still don’t want to talk about the Retribution implosion. This week I have started work on a short story and have fallen in love with a very flawed old man with a penchant for old books and aged scotch. His past is peppered with unimaginable pain and the horrors of a war. I hope to find him a measure of redemption, but it’s too soon to tell if he will know absolution or fall victim to his crushing guilt.

…that my hockey player problem has resolved itself. I am happy to report that half of them have dropped and the other half have decided that the young blonde two tables over is more their speed. I am grateful. I can hear the professor again. Now, if only the girl with the weird bouffant hairdo that sits in front of me would move so that I can see all of the projection screen…

…that I don’t have a pet peeve of the week! OMG.

…that last but not least, this week’s awww moment is brought to you by this adorable little baby otter named Cayucos.