Advanced Pose

    I stretched out on the floor with my eyes closed. Her voice gently tickled and encouraged its way into my psyche. A huge yawn escaped me and she reflected that this was our bodies' way of cooling down the brain (hot head. Ha!).

   "It also serves to give us more energy", she advised. With limbs the weight of oak trees and  an attempt to stretch arms to the skies, I had to agree. That yawn must have given me some energy, as I could not lift them overhead at day break when little people were curling in to bed with me. Now my leaves unfurled with passion. I was a mighty tree with roots reaching down into the earth, as other swaying trees tried to distract my touch with the heavens.

   Breath. Advance pose for those that want to try it; curl the corners of your lips upwards as well. It's called a smile and she can always get one from me. She is beautiful. A red-tipped flame we all flock to for strength and approval. "So what", she says at our off days. We are here, now, and present. That is my present. Yes, to me. To breath and take on the advanced poses with that tricky little action called a smile. For so long I could not accomplish that tricky trick. Today, I forced myself to drag into the studio, hoping not to fall asleep in savasana. A little piece of me knew better. My yawn and closed eyes opened to a new day. I had energy and life and that little thing called a smile to carry forth into the rest of my day.

Namaste to you, my teacher V. Namaste to my fellow yoginis who teach me so much about life on and off the mat (and introduced me to a new Japanese restaurant today. Yum!). Namaste to me, for being present and showing up on the mat and sharing my smile with the world. Peace unto you.

Date with the past

   I am trying hard not to listen to that practiced little voice in my head. I can hear it. Oh, yes I can. I am trying really hard to not give it substance though. This is the struggle that I have been grappling with for the last little while. Ok, more like long while. Despite making headway with several avenues of my  life, I am sliding back into self-doubt with an imminent date with my past. Sigh, I just cannot be good enough. shit

   Excuse me, I do not like to be vulgar or swear here. That is not what I need to do in my blog. I want to write, grow, be creative and learn with this process. All of these things I have done (I think?). I do not have a huge following by any stretch, but I do have friends that swing by to see what is happening in my world on a regular basis. I love that. I really do. As I have noted recently, I think that this process is bringing me to a more creative forte. I am becoming a better writer, in my eyes anyway. So I truly value this place and the process that is bringing me this worth.

   So what is my problem today? I am meeting up with a relative of my husband's for dinner this evening. We have seen each other pretty infrequently since he passed. We do talk on the computer, probably more than any other of his relatives. She has marginal contact with Brad's parents (their relationship is not quite as strong as it could be, I have been told). There might not be a spot of our conversation that goes beyond the bounds of McDs, but then again there might be. Does it matter? I guess my stewing right now tells me that it does. Damn, why do I let things haunt me? You see my relationship with my husband's kin kind of dissolved not long after he died. It is truly a shame, as I regret my children losing a Father, but also a big chunk of family after the fact. Marginal contact with a few aunts on both of his sides exists, but not the same as on my side of the family. I struggled with these relationships after Brad died and tried to make peace with where things were. And I have. At some point, I may go back and make more amends, but I am not ready yet. Part of that has been my self-worth. I have struggled for me to be good enough for me. I have jockeyed with this in my mind as my status with other people too, but ultimately it comes down to me. Right now, I am feeling better about myself. I am sure sunshine helps that along, but really many more days find smiles.

   Today though my mind twists. I imagine the conversation tonight. "How are you and the girls?" fine "What is new with everyone?" everything and nothing "What are you doing with yourself nowadays?" ack! Whatever answer I concoct, will it be good enough? I stand by truth, but you still present and form it into an acceptable picture for others. STOP! stopstopstop

   Ok, I am going to clean my house (so that I can feel like a better house wife?) and maybe sort through some clothes for my donation pickup on Friday (so altruistic!). I am going to turn on some music, so that I can distract myself. And I am going to let it all go. Thank you for letting me vent. I am sure I will be fine. Back to me another day...

Darwin weighs in

    My gaze flicked the horizon for tell-tale signs of the animals that we had been surrounded by whilst in the Okavengo Delta. Occasionally the fleeting form of an antelope of some sort or another would bound out of view. My face was beginning to hurt from all the smiles that had dwelt there over the past few days. I was in awe at the beauty of Botswana’s back country. From the inherent safety of our mokoros, I reflected back on our time in the Delta. One day we had been taken to a dry plain within the vastness of the swamp, where we had explored our surroundings on foot. The day started early, as decent game viewing was only accomplished at dawn. While feeling the twinges of apprehension at exposing ourselves to the dangers of the wilds, and protected by the merest of cautions offered by our guides, we set forth with cameras in hand to capture our surroundings. Elephants and giraffes grazed ahead of us, not quite far enough to be called distant. Wildebeest moved along with herds of zebras. I refused to believe that anything as dangerous as a lion or hyena would cross our path as we walked along on foot. By the time the heat of the day sent the animals into hiding for siesta, we too were ready to seek out our shelters and rest. Later in the afternoon, we bathed in groups in the warm waters of the Okavengo River. Even close to camp, we heeded the caution that was put forth. More stories of crocodiles coming to snatch us from our feet, kept us close to shore. We had gone back to a primordial time, where survival of the fittest was a fact of life. This reality was not lost on us, as even Darwin joined us around the campfire at night. From the security of memory, I drifted.

No Great Mischief

"No Great Mischief" written by Alistair MacLeod (© 1999, McClelland and Stewart Ltd.)

It is that time of the month in my world. Yup, book club. Well, it has actually been postponed a week, but I finished the book last night. I thought that I would write a review of this month's title, as it was a good read. I find it interesting to review myself, before we discuss the merits of the book in question with our little group. Sometimes opinions change, so here is my two cents worth today.

Last night as I turned the light out on the last page of "No Great Mischief", a tear slid from my eye. I am a sentimentalist at heart and never fail to be moved by a well written story. Turning the last page and snuffling back my goodbyes, it is safe to say that this book touched me. 

While wandering through the reflections of a life lived, the reader is offered a glimpse of some of the hardships to be had in living a life linked to the sea in Cape Breton. This is where the story begins for the man known by everyone as gille bhig ruaidh, (little red-haired boy), this for his looks and links to the clann Chalum Ruaidh. The Gaelic language plays heavily throughout the story, giving the characters roots that travel back several generations to the Scotland of their fore-fathers. At times the story wanders back to the generations past and the protagonist and his kin think on these past players with an almost melancholy loss. The history is reflected like it happened just yesterday and the tragedies that played out then, are still felt and mourned today by the present clann. While this personalizing of a past that is ancient in memory is interesting and gives some insight into how MacLeod's characters play out their scenes, the story gains depth as ancient history is translated into present day.

"No Great Mischief" is narrated by Alexander MacDonald  as he wanders back through a life struck by tragedies, but not shattered by them. He reflects on the losses starting with that of his parents and brother, when he and his twin sister are only three years of age. With the loss of his parents his eldest three brothers (14, 15 and 16 years) strike out on their own to find their own roots and beliefs. While the burdens of an adult life thrust upon them so young is a challenge and struggle, kin always plays a pivotal role. 

Much of the novel focuses on the eldest brother Calum and his strengths and struggles along the way. He is labelled a trouble-maker, but 'ille bhig ruaidh gives us a picture that paints understanding and strength of character for the solitary figure of Calum. The ancient losses from generations gone are compounded with the more recent losses of parents to be worn with the solidarity of kinship pride. The feeling of melancholy that weaves throughout the story is poignant. That kinship follows from the Cape Breton coast, to mining towns around the world, from the distant shores of Scotland to the busy streets of Toronto. Having lost my own father at an age where imagined memory is all I can muster, I understand the searching that 'ille bhig ruaidh is struggling with. The clann Chalum Ruaidh might suffer its losses, but they do not forget and no one is left behind. So while some actions are not always acceptable to polite society or different pockets of the world (like the French Canadians they meet in the mining camps),  the clann Chalum Ruaidh never wavers but to carry on. 

While I did not have the string of the tale fully grasped at the beginning of the novel, by the end Macleod had all my sympathies and heart. In the book, Grandma is often fond of quoting "Blood is thicker than water". This is the string that wends its way through the pages. It is also what won Alistair MacLeod an International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. My opinion; Thumbs up from me.

Bowling and Birthdays Begin

Little feet

treading into new territory

with an independent air

and jaunty swing

born from friendship

that dreams the way to tomorrow.