winter love
there is a privacy about it which no other season gives you.... in spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself.
~ruth stou
i'm over here
i've been a bit under the water weather.
holiday cheer can make katie a dull girl.
i wax and wane.
one minute i'm vomiting holly and tinsel on every eave and tabletop,
a day later i'm stomping my boots in fury at being honked at for letting a pregnant pedestrian, pushing a stroller, have the ride of way.
{by the way, never in my life have i not minded going to jail, than when i put my car in park intending to kick the horn honker's ass...luckily-for me-he drove away}.
but enough of these unsettled seas.
today my boots are only for toe tapping.
my christmas tree is up, it's beautiful, and yes, it's pink again.
happy tuesday m'loves.
polly
to the jerk-off who tore up my car yesterday without leaving a note,
i hope santa not only bypasses your house, but one of his reindeer soils on your roof mid-flight.
you are the mayor of suck-ville.
polly the prius needs major reconstructive surgery; she'll finally feel at home amongst all the newport beach housewives.
so fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la to you, you criminal coward.
the silver lining in this situation is that i'm not you.
i actually can't imagine the person you'd have to be, to not leave a note after hitting someone's car in a parking lot.
it really must suck to be you.
a return to love
i am thankful for humility.
the angst i feel toward some is really just my own self distrust.
fear disguised as spite.
hurrah to pluck and faith.
happy thanksgiving to the bright side.
morning meditation
cheers to another chance.
courage in my cup, i recommit myself to expelling the naysayer in last night's slippers.
she hasn't served me.
it's a sweet farewell.
the dreamer has sat sideline too long.
an illusion no more,
hour by hour the scale tips further into fearless.
here. now.
trying not to react to my hash-brain which keeps showing up for breakfast.
one big, blend of besprinkled thoughts twirling around in my head;
propelling me into a fit of emotions.
good-naturedly rigid, i ground all ten toes into my sandbox of sanity.
this casserole of contradiction needs to kindle.
i'll wait.
the banjos duel it out: peace, rage, love, hate, safety, fear.
it may take a while, but that's ok.
in the meantime i'll be making sandcastles.
intellectual idleness
philosophy will clip an angel's wings - john keats
i'm giving my brain a breather.
enough of this hard lined rationale.
decoding, interpreting, attempting to manage and react
to every mite of information that swirls in my heady eddy.
guessing with my gut, hankering with my heart, selecting from spirit.
the fit of these glass slippers is sublime.
ears open, eyes wide, barely able to contain the giddy.
not so faraway land
every morning i wake up in fairy-tale land.
don't get me wrong;
the shires of my fanciful kingdom are also filled with death, disease, discourtesy, and deception.
yesterday, it took all of robin hood's outlaws, and one lady in waiting to reign in my tongue; as i let someone take a favor i did for them, and twist it into a giant, ugly fat lip for me.
i could choose to dwell in darkness.
to hate, to plot, and to stew.
i never feel better though.
i'm guilty of my own bitchy, bad-mannered days, where i'm sure someone feels like giving me a lashing or two.
yet, for me bitterness fades when i try to relate to those who hurt me.
they become less big, bad wolf and more frail, weak, insecure granny;
hiding from the world beneath the covers.
someone i can relate to and love.
this ilk of living allows me to wake up in each morning in katie-land.
{sometimes with a new friend too}
rainy days and mondays
sorry ms carpenter i take issue with your libretto.
if i had my way, rain would appear weekly to wash away our muck.
her windy sidekick tagging along every so often, for extra exfoliation.
and every monday it's my chance to windshield wipe aside my baggage (typically pride and fear) that swaddles me tight in my anxiety blanket.
relief. breath. trust.
rainy days and mondays always get me right.
perspective
for me the glass isn't half full nor is it half empty.
thirst is what counts.
i've wasted too much time focusing on the contents of the cup.
slurping up buckets and buckets of excess for fear of another drought;
resulting in regret. the shameful, severing kind.
a qualm nonetheless.
only i can quell and quench the stirrings in my ping-pong brain.
no matter how full or how hydrating someone/something seems to appear;
i am my own deepest, most flourishing well.
you're here
tap. tap. tap.
tap. tap. tap.
the sweet rap of raindrops scampering across our roof come three o'clock this morning.
my two crusty beasts and their surlier human all barked disgruntled disfavor to the interrupted slumber.
as hostess of the household it was my duty to welcome and usher in our new seasons' alms.
i robed up and received the first hints of fall:
big, giant gumdrops of rain, a charcoal sky, and 60'F (tee hee).
so maybe i'm not wearing a parka, but at least the flip flops are put away {for a day}.
happy puddle splashing.
disabled
friday i entered the studio to teach my last class after a long, stressful week. my two-day vacation {first one in some time} was about to begin in 65 minutes; i glided in giddy, only one more hour, and it was teaching one of my favorite classes: a classical pilates, level 2, with all of my regulars, and many other fellow instructors.
in an instant, the glee turned into gloom when my studio advisor told me i'd be having a new student in class:
mike, a gentleman in his 60's, had broken his neck. he was wheelchair bound and had never taken a pilates class. he was coming to take mine.
my skin began to clam, my stomach knotted, and my heart raced.
NO!!! i snarled. you can't let him. it's too dangerous! he needs to do a yoga therapeutics, or a pilates private. you can't let him take my class!
she was concerned too, but much more composed and lovely than my shade of ugly. apparently, mike was not going to take no for an answer. he was coming to take pilates come hell or highwater.
i. was. terrified.
i didn't want him to get hurt. i was worried about liability. i didn't want him to feel uncomfortable with a room of advanced students. i didn't want him to feel unsuccessful or discouraged. he hadn't even shown up, and already i had spun myself into a dreidel of nerves and defenses.
rather than admit my fear, i acted like a bratty child, not getting her way.
i stomped around dramatically, eyes wide on the lookout, hoping to intercept him, and kindly discourage him from coming in.
class began. no mike. i was so relieved. he had changed his mind.
then i heard the clankety clank of an elevator {we have an elevator in this building???}, and realized he was late because our zig-zag, aztec-shaped building: hard enough to traverse even on two, healthy legs, is close to impossible to ascend in a wheelchair.
mike made it. his injury is no joke. from the tips of his toes, to the tops of his ears he is severely affected.
he cannot walk.
but he did get himself on his mat, and from there MY lesson began.
i conducted class like i normally do:
planks, push ups, crisscross, scissors, leg lifts, the gamut. i had two advanced instructors taking class so it wasn't like i could do an hour of diaphragmatic breathing.
mike worked at every exercise i called out. many looked agonizing. because of his injury some weren't workable; 99% of the participants can't do every exercise though. i don't give special attention, nor did he need any. this man's focus and determination could win simultaneous chess and wrestling matches. he heard every word i said. every right, left, lift, lower, breathe in, out. my cues, modifications, corrections had to be laser sharp, clear, and simple.
my body was fine from the demonstration, my brain was fried within the first 15 minutes.
after class, when everyone had left the room and mike was getting himself back into his chair i introduced myself and thanked him for coming. i was moved and emotional. in less than an hour i had undeniably changed roles from that of teacher to student. i was embarrassed by my earlier resistant and ignorant behavior to ban mike from class. rather than projectile vomit my insecurities all over the place {my propensity when faced with those who rock my world}, i just let mike talk.
he explained his injury and informed me it was his third time EVER out of his wheelchair. he was visiting from hawaii, and his wife is afraid to let him do things that involve leaving his chair. he said "but, katie!!, sometimes you just got to live life." and living life last friday meant taking my class no matter what.
no matter how wretched the stair, ramp, elevator system is in our building, regardless of the instructor's provincial and birdbrained attitude about having someone new or different in her class; living life meant not letting a physical body impede a mental and emotional resolve.
one of us walked into that room handicapped. his name wasn't mike.
hazed not confused
sometimes this is my clearest lens in life.
many a time these blurry eyes have saved me from feelings hurt or cheeks turned that way.
we can in engage in the scrappy dogfights, get scratched up and bit;
or
we can choose not to play with those silly, boorish puppies misbehaving in their pen.
we can love them, but we don't have to get up on all fours with them.
amazing grace
as in nature, as in art, so in grace; it is rough treatment that gives souls, as well as stones, their luster.~thomas guthrie
that kind of day
yesterday i asked the baristas to make all my venti drips with room for ativan.
i watched a student practically bleed out during spin class, and still try to keep time to tempo.
last night i took the chardonnay into the tub with me.
darlings pick me, dance me a gig, sing me a song, tell me your favorite color butterfly.
anything to forget yesterday's wretchedness.
till then i'm investigating if they have wifi.
{i may need to be blogging somewhere anew}
my theology
when i do good, i feel good.
when i do bad, i feel bad.
that's my religion.
-abraham lincoln
click images for source
awareness....much?
i've been writing in this journal since march.
i've furiously scribbled fears and foibles i wish to erase.
i've exhumed memories which never needed revisiting.
with pen in hand, i've vigorously quarried and tunneled for the quiet mind, the peaceful heart.
anxiety ridden pages anguishing over moments missed; taking myself to task for not savoring the sweet in each second.
today is the first day i noticed what is written on its cover.
the meditation isn't working....
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!
i need earplugs for the silence!
my {many} attempts to go inward and still have rendered me in slobbering fits.
i want to pluck a banjo whilst wearing a tutu;
not find my breathy bliss sans pretty pictures in my head.
how do you nutjobs people do it?
is my music not sitar-fused enough? my kundalini too j. crew?help please.
i'm determined to nail this zen shit.