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.