The Clown Bar

This is me in the Clown Bar:

This is where I began back in August.

Danny and I came here to visit Doug and Candace. I was still living in the Pearland house. I had decided that the best thing to do was to leave, but I had not moved yet. I had a ticket to use from Southwest from when Sarah was not ready for me to come to New Mexico. The divorce shift was not sitting well with her. I was getting ready to jump. It was close to time for school to start again, still summer, but just barely.

It was a good trip. It did not turn out the way Danny wanted it to, and for that, I lost a friend. It happens. People do not always appreciate the choices made.

Keith drove down from Eureka near the end of the trip.

And this is where this leg of my journey began.

And here I am again.

In the Clown bar.

Things are very different now.

I have begun a new life, left the old one behind. 

I've been reflecting in the Clown Bar, beauty just outside the door. I asked Doug if he knew how lucky he was to live here. I feel fortunate to be here, if only for a little while. I am thankful for these places where I can touch down. It is nice to have places where I can tie down my kite string for a little while, kinda like the character in the move we saw the other night: Inside Llewyn Davis.

 He was a couch surfer. Jim & Valerie have the best couch, ever. I think I need to go to Buda when I get back to Texas, go sit on the porch and sing with Jim, go for a walk with Val, and talk.

I have also appreciated the room with a view that Pat & Mona have provided me with during this transitional time in my life. The security of that room is what made me strong enough to leave my suburban home, to walk away from the house, kitchen, and garden that I was used to tending. They so generously opened up their home to me as a place where I could safely negotiate my new life.

I've realized how important these safety nets have been to me. 

From the Clown Bar, it appears that life is a circus. If that is true, then I feel like I am swinging from the high bars. 

Things change.

Courage on Cat Feet

Courage

I've been looking for my courage, my strength. It comes for me on stealthy cat feet, forcing me to face my fears.
My biggest fear is abandonment.
I've lost my sense of security. I'm not tied to a home, a family. Freedom comes with insecurity attached. Always a price.
I've released most of my attachment to things. I have very few possessions any more, mostly clothes and pictures, some books.
I just sent in the title to my car to the insurance company, since they pronounced it totaled. The car was the last big THING that tied me in.
My idea of home is shifting. I have no home to return to in Texas. I have places to stay, but I have no home.

"It's not the end of everything, it's just the end of everything you know." Bob Schneider

This is my zone of proximal development, where I can learn with help.It's a scary place, the top of the roller coaster, the place where I have a chance to take a different track. Right now it feels like I am standing on the edge of a cliff.
There are a lot of such vistas here. Last night, we had a miraculous view overlooking the city. I feel exhilarated on this precipice, but also terrified.
I know I am just a speck. Looking at the size of these old redwoods, I feel it.

Me & Mr. Cobb

Me & Mr. Cobb

I've been in Eureka a week now, but we've only had the house to ourselves for a few days. We've settled into a nice groove here. The chickens have to be let out in the morning, Annie enjoys her walks, I've settled into cooking again in a strange kitchen.
Keith makes his calls, does his work, talks and talks and talks...I run errands, write, cook, do yoga, listen to him talk :-)
Neither one of us feels as old as we seem to be. We met about 38 years ago. Keith turns 51 in a few days, but I think we both still feel like teenagers inside.
I have a big-old, high school crush on this guy.
I also have a deep, rapturous, adult love for him.
I have never known anyone like him, not since my daddy died.
He's the only man that even comes close to Judge Roy Engelke.
He's honorable, ethical, intelligent, and kind.
He's also stubborn, demanding, and highly opinionated.
He makes me feel safe and cared for, like I am capable of anything.
He not only accepts me as I am, but he encourages me to be a better me, not different, just better.
And I accept him...just as he is.
He listens to me and seems to understand me better than I sometimes do myself.
I've never had anyone be so present with me, and I have never felt so present, either.
I'm cherishing this moment. And the next. And the next.
One at a time.
Breathe.

The Bikram Bitch

"I don't like Bikram style yoga."

Ok. That's right. I said that, before I tried it. It did not sound pleasant: a room heated to 100 degrees (no, I am not exaggerating; 105 with 46% humidity is considered optimal) and the same 26 postures every single time. I swore I would never do it.
But, I have been operating outside of my comfort zone lately, and when I searched for yoga in Eureka, I found only one studio: Bikram Yoga Humboldt.
Shit.
How could there only be one yoga studio in this hippie town? And why did it have to be a Bikram studio?
Plus, I was called on passing judgement without even trying.
Ok, ok. I'll go.
I thought the heat and humidity would be the worst part, but hell, it was no worse than August in Houston. It actually felt good, made me a little homesick (ok, not really. Who misses Houston in August? Nobody.)
What I was not prepared for was the Bikram bitch.
I have always jokingly called my friend Alex, the Yoga Dom. Ha! Alex is a softie compared to Naveena. This bitch is demanding, barking orders like a drill sergeant and taking no lip!
After practicing Anusara for the past six years, the postures were familiar but different. It was like meeting old friends after a separation and finding them startlingly altered. At one point she was demanding that I point my toes; my foot was behind me and over my head and I just couldn't get them to go in the right direction. I whined, "I'm sorry..I'm not used to.." To which she barked back, "this isn't about what you are used to!"
And you know what? She was right.
It's not about what I'm used to.
If I wanted what I was used to, I'd be back in Texas teaching high school, masquerading as a suburban housewife.
So, after two days of dreading going back. I tried again this morning.
I am not going to say I like Bikram yoga.
But, I can say that there is a lesson to be learned here.
I have three more classes on my introductory 5-class pass.
I'll let you know what it is when I figure it out.
Namaste', bitches!

Writing, yoga, and love...

Things Change...

Just a year ago, life as I had known it was slipping through my fingers, and I was trying desperately to hold on. I couldn't. There was nothing to hold on to. My husband of 17 years had informed me that he didn't love me anymore and wanted me to leave. All the plans of safety and security that I thought were necessary to my survival disappeared in that moment. I wanted change. I just couldn't embrace it. I had already planned to quit my job teaching high school when I finished my Master's so that I could teach at the college level. I just didn't know that I would have to do it alone.
As it turned out, that didn't quite work out either. Just last week after one semester of teaching college writing, my supervisor sent me an email saying that my classes for next semester had low enrollment and that the dean wanted all such classes cancelled. I surprised myself by not being upset about this. It seems like a person would be upset to discover that a job was lost, but I just wasn't. If I felt anything it was relief. I had worked hard to get that Master's, and I have student loans to pay; however, I already knew that academic teaching was not my road. Just like in my marriage, I was on the wrong ride. Just because I stood in a long line to get on didn't mean that I had to stay on and be miserable. So, I got off, gracefully. I didn't need to be thrown off like before.

So, what's next?

I'm waiting to find out. I'm willing to sit quietly and listen. I know a few things:
1) I'm writing. I'm helping others write. I've got things to say, and I am good at helping other people express their ideas in writing.
2) Yoga is a big part of my life. It helps me stay centered, focused, and clear. I want to share it with others; that's why I am working on my teaching certification.
3) I love. I love my kids, my friends, and a man that I have longed for since I was a teenager. I'm a lucky girl to get a second chance.

That seems to be enough for now: writing, yoga, and love. I'm learning what it really means to live in the moment, to neither worry about the future nor regret the past.

It's a beautiful day in Eureka, far from Texas and everything I have known.
Except...I'm not far from everything I've known. I woke up in the arms of a man that I have known, but not known, since I was fourteen-years old. I let out the chickens and fed the animals, did a little yoga, and now I am writing while I listen to him talk on a conference call about how he and others are trying to change society to create real equality for all people. He wants to amend the US Constitution to deny corporations the rights of citizens and get money out of politics. (www.movetoamend.org) In my minds eye, I can see him as a young man speaking with the same passion, if not with the same strength and focus. I hear him laugh, and it's the same laugh that I loved as a young girl.

Life is good.
This may not be where I thought I would be a year ago, but it is most definitely where I am now and where I feel right at home.

The sun is shining and Annie-dog wants a walk. I do too.

Namaste' y'all!

Car Wreck Gratitude

Bye, bye, baby car...

I was in a car wreck a couple of days ago. I had just stopped to get coffee for the ride home. I pulled out of the Starbuck's parking lot and was proceeding down the feeder when a car racing off the freeway slammed into my side. For a few seconds, the world just seemed to stop. Suddenly, everything changed. There was a deafening noise of metal on metal and a burning smell. My body was jolted about in my seat as far as the seat belt would let me go. It was enough for me to hit the back of my head on the side of the car. Dazed, I managed to bring the car to a stop and even pulled the parking brake. Thoughts rushed through my head but nothing seemed to stick. I just sat there letting them rush by. The first thought that stuck was that I needed to notify someone. I called 911 and then texted my guy. Help and affection, in that order. I knew better than to move, since I had hit my head and wrenched my spine. A sweet, off-duty volunteer fire fighter with beautiful blue eyes appeared in my window. Lonnie stayed and talked to me until the ambulance came. He even cut out the side airbags that deployed so that I wouldn't feel trapped. I really do find myself relying on the kindness of strangers.
The EMT's taped me to a backboard and took me to the hospital for x-rays. They wanted to leave me taped to the board, but being claustrophobic, I refused. They caught on pretty quickly that leaving me like that was way more dangerous than letting me up. I must have been in shock, because I couldn't stop crying. I can't remember the last time I felt as alone as I did there in that hospital room, while I waited. The orderly came to take me to x-ray, brought me back, and again, I waited.
When the door opened and my daughter Sarah came in, I felt reborn. Sweet Sarah held me while I cried against her chest like a little child. I was so grateful to have someone I loved there. And that was what was really important. The car being a possible lost cause, the injustice of the ticket the sheriff gave me even though there was no way I could have seen that car coming off of the freeway, the hospital bill for an emergency room visit with no health insurance, none of those things were important anymore. My daughter was here. She grilled the nurse like a pro, gathered up all my belongings, and she and Kerry took me home. For the last two days, she, David (her boyfriend), and Kerry (his mother and my friend) took care of me. I was so happy to have this time with them that I am grateful for the car wreck. My ex-husband even called to check on me and brought the boys over to see that I was ok. For the first time since the separation and divorce, my family was all in one room laughing and joking. If that car hadn't hit me, that wouldn't have happened, at least not so soon. All the grief from the past year just disappeared. I am so lucky, so blessed. A few inches to the right and that car could have turned out my lights for good. But it didn't. It jolted me, but it didn't break me.
Yep, things change.

Christmas Cut and Run

Christmas Cut and Run

My family put up the Christmas tree, but I wasn't there.

Christmas is a time of family togetherness. Love it or hate it. That's what it is. So, what happens when the family splits up? The traditions aren't there anymore, unless somebody holds that space. That person is not me, so I am thankful that there is someone willing to do it.
My ex-husband loves Christmas. Every year he would start with the carols and the ornaments and the tree. We even got married right before Christmas. A lot of the ornaments are from a shower a friend of mine gave us. Most of the others were made by the kids. Yesterday I went to pick up my son and saw that they had put the tree up. My daughter had told me earlier that she had been at Dad's the night before but hadn't mentioned that it was tree trimming night. I guess she didn't want to hurt my feelings. It was the first time the family tree went up without me.
Does it hurt my feelings? Not really. I am glad my ex is able to hold that space for our kids. I can't do it. It's not that I don't like Christmas. I just don't feel it this year. It's possible I haven't felt it for a long time.
I was glad to see the tree up. Just like I was relieved not to have to cook a Thanksgiving meal. I think I have been just going through the motions of the holidays for years, not really feeling them, just playing the role, like in a movie. This role has come to an end, so I am leaving. I don't plan to celebrate Christmas this year. Certainly not in the traditional manner. Seeing the tree up just made it real. Christmas will go on without me. And, that's ok.

We used to watch "Love, Actually" as our Christmas movie. It's a series of sometimes connected vignettes of different individuals dealing with Christmas. There is a man who is raising his young son after the death of his wife, an aging rock star who releases a perfectly horrible but popular Christmas song, a man who is in love with his best friends new wife, and a young prime minister who finds love with his employee, to name a few. The one that hit home for me the last couple of years was the woman played by Emma Thompson. She is the mother of two children getting ready for a Christmas pageant, who finds a beautiful necklace in her husband's pocket. Of course, she believes it is for her and thinks that her old, fuddy-duddy husband is finally sparking some romance. He is, but it's aimed at his sexy secretary, not her. On Christmas eve, she excitedly opens her present to find a Joni Mitchell CD, not the beautiful necklace she expects. For the sake of Christmas, she pushes down her emotions, drys her tears, and puts on a smile for the family, but something has changed. When she confronts her husband, she wonders if she should stay knowing life would always be "just a little bit worse" or should she "cut and run?" She stays, but in the last scene of the movie, when she is picking him up at the airport with the kids, it is evident that she is not happy, life is "a bit worse." She sacrificed her own happiness to keep her family together. For the last few years, I have felt like that character. I can't play that role anymore. My children are mostly grown. I hope they understand. I am glad my ex is willing to keep up the traditions he loves so much. It makes me happy to see that tree up in the house. I won't be celebrating Christmas with my family this year.  I've decided to "cut and run."

Things change.

Thanksgiving was the day my daughter decide to become a vegetarian

 

Thanksgiving was the day my daughter decided to become vegetarian.

It was just going to be the two of us. For the first time, we weren't going to travel to my parent's house for the big dinner, but she still wanted all her favorite foods. I bought a little turkey, made cornbread stuffing,and the Cajun spinach recipe from my sister-in-law. I don't remember making my grandmother's rolls, but I must have, as those are the magic, spirit-invoking addition to the dinner.
As I cooked in the little galley kitchen of the condo we shared, Sarah watched cartoons in the living area. The two of us had moved into this space with nothing but her crib furniture a year or so earlier, when I had determined that life with her alcoholic, musician-father was not contributing to the growth of either of us. I was 27; she had just turned four.
Earlier that year, we had taken a tri-generational trip with my mother to Disneyworld. Sarah had balked at a huge joint of meat that had landed on our table in a restaurant in the German section of Epcot. She had made small, childish noises about not eating meat before, but she had insisted, in that way only a four year old who knows she will always get her way can do, that even though we were not going to Grammy's house this year, she wanted a "real" Thanksgiving. So, even though I was cooking just for myself and my little girl, I was determined to make this a special meal.
I watched a cartoon about saving the Thanksgiving turkey with one part of my brain while I made the finishing touches on the meal. It was an old one, where Miss Peach's students make him into the star of their play in order to save him from being the meal. When our turkey was ready to eat, Sarah would have none of it. What was I to do? On the one hand, I had worked for hours to give her what she said that she wanted, but now she was invoking her sensitivity to animal rights.
I had a lot of leftover turkey.

This wasn't the first Thanksgiving that I thought of this morning. I actually was thinking of the last one I remember spending with ALL of my family at my mother's house. It was six years ago, before Sarah graduated from Rice and before my ex-husband and our boys moved back to where I grew up. You could say that particular Thanksgiving was the beginning of the end. Sarah graduated that spring and went off on her own adventure; my mother would hang up on me and refused to speak to me again in December; and although we would still make the move back to the Houston-Galveston area, something inexplicable at the time would seep into my marriage.
My mother and I made the regular turkey, but Sarah brought her own turkey. She had shot it herself with her college room-mate's father. She was still a vegetarian then, but since she had shot this bird herself, she was determined to eat it and wanted us to have some, too. Wild meat didn't taste the same as what we were used to. This time it was her turn to have leftovers.

This is my first Thanksgiving not to cook. My first day to not have a huge bird defrosting in the sink and a day of cooking in front of me. Instead I am curled up on the Corry's comfortable couch while Jim flips channels to catch all the parades and Valerie starts on the green-bean casserole that will be her addition to her son's wife's dinner.

Yeah, things change.

Dixie Doesn't Do Yoga

It's the little things that make me happy, like trading pants that are too big for jeans that fit (and look good on my ass!), getting my radio reset by the sweet Honda dealer guy after my recent engine rebuild (I had to drive all the way to San Marcos from Houston without car tunes! I listened to my ithingy, but I think it's dangerous. I need my hearing to drive proficiently.), or just being at my favorite people's house with my four-legged friend Dixie doing yoga and listening to my all my Bob Schneider music on shuffle (85 songs. Am I obsessed?).
Happy Thanksgiving!

Something about Yoga

Angela Farmer & Victor van Kooten

I came to Albuquerque to go to this workshop with these three yoga teachers, all in their 70's and all trained by Iyengar. All three have rejected a strict practice in favor of an intuitive one, based on the needs of the individual body. Victor is especially funny. He usually speaks with his eyes closed, his talks are meditative and sprinkled with beautiful metaphors. Occasionally, he will crack a somewhat off-color joke, which prompts him to open his eyes wide making him look like a miscreant school boy.  Angela also seems more like a teenager than a woman in her 70's. They are truly delightful. Spending time with them has made me feel as if there is nothing I could do that would be wrong, as long as it seems right and natural to me and in my own body. I love that. There is no judgement, no pressure to be anything other than exactly who I am, no role that must be fulfilled in order to achieve a societal norm. This is the seat of true creativity, this freedom to be....just be.

I met Rama at the Texas Yoga Retreat in October. http://texasyoga.com/ I was so inspired by her dialogue of yoga as a means to achieve peace. Yesterday, we chanted freely at the end of practice, and I heard and felt the sound of love and peace.

Today is my last day in Albuquerque. It's been exactly what I needed. I am so thankful for this opportunity.

Namaste' y'all!

Rama Vernon

 

"Things Change" 

All you have to do is wait.

It's quiet here at the B&B tonight. Almost too quiet. It was quiet last night, too. Being alone can be scary, if you let it.

I'm staying in what is called the "Spy House" because it was the apartment house where David Greenglass lived with his wife Ruth before he turned over the files for the Atomic Bomb to the Soviets.

The maids came to clean up after the wedding party today and left the door to the room across the hall from mine open. I'm glad I'm not staying in there. I think it's haunted. At the least, it's creepy.

See? I was sure there would be a ghost.



 

But, it's really just my over-active imagination. :-)

 

I've been taking the bus to get from my lodgings to the yoga studio every day. Using public transportation can really help put life in perspective. If you are ever feeling sorry for yourself, hop on a bus. I guarantee there will be someone on there less fortunate than you; probably a whole bus full of them.

On the first night that I got on the bus, it was bitter cold. The bus driver told me the fare was $1 one-way or, for $2, I could ride all night. I paid my dollar, naively wondering to myself why I would want to "ride all night." Then I looked around the bus. People were sleeping. It was warm. Riding all night didn't seem so silly.

Yesterday, I talked to a homeless veteran who had nearly died from an infection he got from removing a fingernail using less-than-hygienic means after he had slammed his thumb in a door. He showed me the lines that were still running from his thumb up his arm. He was on his way to get it looked at again. He said he felt fine now, but the doctor at the VA wanted him to come back to make sure, and he had nothing better to do.

This morning I struck up a conversation with a lady who had come to Albuquerque looking for work. She had left behind her three children with her mother. She showed me their picture on her beat-up phone. We talked about how hard it was to leave your kids. She said she had tried to give blood at the plasma center for money, but they wouldn't let her since her drivers license was expired. I asked her how much she needed to take care of that and gave her the twenty I had in my pocket. When the bus came, I saw she was crying.

 

This is the season to be thankful.

I'm thankful that I have a warm place to sleep, that I'm healthy, and that my kids are safe.

"If I had no place to fall, and I needed to, could I count on you...to lay me down?"

 -Townes Van Zandt
 

I just got divorced.

Please don't say your sorry; it makes me feel like an object of pity and I'm not.
Granted, I felt that way a year ago.
But as the old cigarette commercial used to claim, I've "come a long way, baby!"

I came to Albuquerque to get away, to go to a yoga workshop, and to be alone. I rented myself a room in a little Bed & Breakfast run by a sweet couple named Steve & Kara Grant. If you ever need to spend time in Albuquerque, look them up. ( Downtown Historic Bed & Breakfast)

When I got here yesterday, Kara was setting up for a wedding.
The irony was not lost on me; I was a literature major.
Last night when I got "home" from my yoga class, the wedding party was in full tilt mode.
I was tired. I drew myself a bath and tried to tell myself the soft jazz and sounds of laughter were "charming."
But, if you've ever been to a wedding (and lets face it, who hasn't been to a wedding?), you know that after a few drinks the celebration tends to escalate. This was not the peace and quiet I had envisioned when I booked this trip, but I was determined to not let it bother me. I took a sleeping pill and turned up Deva Premal.
At breakfast this morning, the bride was wearing a tiara and the family and friends were still celebrating. Loudly.
I tried not to look conspicuous, but I was the ONLY person not a part of the party.
The universe has a way of sticking lessons in my face. I have learned to pay attention.
Getting upset was not going to happen. I know that hurts no one but me.
But what is the lesson?
Life goes on; people are still going to get married.
Just because I want peace and quiet doesn't mean everyone else does.
It's not about me.
It's not.