Four seeds and counting

I look back and see the seeds of revolution.

Some 14 years ago, I was looking through my parents' wedding photos. The photo above is not them, but, close enough. All decked out in 1950's wear. My dad with a 28 inch waist and my barbie doll mom.  She had a Jackie O pill box hat.

I remarked to my friend Sarah, "Hmm... I guess when you get older you just get big." I said this because my mom and dad, 30 years later, are big. Like 300 lbs big.  

"It WON'T happen to me!", she declared. Her confidence befuddled me. Sarah is a marathon runner and I was not like her.  Not yet.

It was the first time I questioned the inevitability of getting fat. Was there another choice? Did I have a choice about this? I didn't know yet.

 

But, the first seed was planted.

 

Enter the ultramarathon man

8 years ago, I read that book up there.  It was fascinating and fun stuff. Surprisingly, Dean Karnazes is just a man. Who runs. A lot.  Running isn't that hard he explains, it's the mental battle.

The idea of a  'the mental game' was new to me.  Could I  push past comfort and survive? I didn't know.

I still read this book every so often. It is my all time favorite memoir. And I've read thousands.

Working the mental game.

Two seeds now.

Enter bikram yoga 

Around the same 8 years ago, I sought  professional help. There were demons in need of mining. The counselor put me on a program of weight watchers and yoga. For the next nine months, demons flew out at a furious pace. The wind nearly knocked me over.

Once I stopped waging war with my body, I needed to deal with things like a grown up. It was so tough.

It was nine months of hot, sweaty bikram yoga. Buckets and buckets of pain being poured out. Tears came and I let them. Everything that had been done to my body, from age 13, was leaving. On that mat, in that still space, I pushed out mountains of pain. I told Mr. Hall all these horrible things I had never said out loud before. It was so hard.

Yet I wheeled, downward dogged and revolved triangle. I let it all come and let it all go. My body started to feel like home. 

More bikram, more sweaty, more tears and more counting. I bought smaller jeans and marveled at my figure. The pain was gone. I felt amazingly, truly beautiful. Mr. Hall came and partner posed along side me.

Tears and sweat are the healing waters.

Three seeds now.

The next seed begins a year and half ago. My third son was born, making me a mom of five. We have three of our own and two foster kids. My goal was NOT to be the fat mom. Every time I tell people about my family, I want them to see a healthy mom. Something to aspire to so they can be inspired to be like me. And then, more kids will be helped.

So--back to weight watchers I went. I lost 55 lbs and was very happy. Emotionally, it was so much easier. I was ready for the unsteady and now it's ok. I didn't need to see a counselor.

Around this time, a man name Josh walked in with crossfit. Hearing the call of something, I went for a look see. Now, I am smart woman, boardering on genius. (muwhaa haa haa) . This is part of my problem, being a mensa member.

The problem with smart people is the thinking. The living in the head. Like most bloggers, I have a rich interior life. How else would I be able to write these many paragraphs?

Too much living in the head makes the body grow still. Pockets of crazy develop. Left unemptied, they become hard and block the movement of crazy. Make no mistake, I am crazy.

Did I mention the part about my 5 kids? Or my job as a full time mental health nurse practitioner  where I tend to war veterans?  Did I mention that sometimes I feel so blessed I can't breathe? That I feel God's love so much it makes me mute?

 I need to be strong enough to withstand the blessings in my life.



Which brings me to this morning.  To the kettle bell swings that did me in. I started things with a lighter weight I could swing all day. But that's not going to make me stronger. I was given a heavier bell. A simple increase of four pounds winded me. Which is humbling. Huffing and puffing and not being a big shot is humbling. It pops the pockets of crazy like no other.

When it was done I just laid there. Letting the crazy burst and sink into the floor. Just like I use to do in bikram yoga. When I was done, Mr. Hall reached out his hand and helped me up.

It was a good morning indeed.

Using the f bomb doesn't make you an artist, it makes you an idiot. OR A TODDLER

 

I got really irritated at yoga the other day. Irony, I know.

I get irritated at crossfit too.

It's the music. Crossfit people like loud, angry, german RAMSTIEN type music. And heavy gansta rap. With n words. It's bothersome but not overly so. If I'm working hard enough, I can't hear anything expect DEAR GOD MAKE THE PAIN STOP . . WAIT . . I CAN DO THIS . . . I HAVE FIVE MORE ROUNDS OF BURPEES AND THEN I'M DONE!!!



But at yoga, this is suppose to be gentle. Maybe some soft Indian music. Maybe the 'soft alt' channel on pandora. Or the teacher's personal mix of "memories". But they need to be gentle songs, not songs that include the f word and sex talk.

GAH.

So I'm doing the downward dog. Enjoying life. Then music kicks up and the f bombs start and I start shaking my head. I'm a child of God and a full grown Christian woman. I put up with a lot in yoga class. I put up with their psuedo hippy dippy talk of chakras and hugs. I'll get over myself with their meaningless namaste chanting. I'll tolerate their eastern (INSERT HUGE ASS AIR QUOTE) "religion" (INSERT HUGE ASS AIR QUOTE) because it seems well meaning. I studied buddhism for years. It's a great philosphy and very kind in nature. It's still hippy crap though. Again,

 

And make no mistake, yoga will always ALWAYS BE PART OF MY LIFE.

But the f bombs bugged me. REALLY bothered me. And I like the teacher. So I didn't say anyhthing. She's a nurse practitioner just like me. I could totally be her friend.

But, the music. Offt. . . the class starts chattering about the f bombs and she explains, "I don't buy the censored version of songs because that's not how the artist intended the song to be heard."

THE FRICK! SERIOUSLY??!!! THIS IS WHAT I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH?

Using the f bomb doesn't make you an artist, it makes you an idiot. OR A TODDLER.

Either way, I'm above all that. sometimes anyway.

Irony . . . oh sweet I RON KNEE

I was annoyed at the kids because they wouldn't hurry up for 6.00 pm church on Saturday night because they normally don't go to church on Saturday night. I was all, get yer shoes on, get your shoes on and on and on AND OH MY GAW!!! Why do I have to repeat myself sixteen million times to get them to do the most simplest things?

This is a daily, no multiple daily event. The repeating. Kids just don't have a sense of urgency. They feel NO need to stop the potty jokes and giggles long enough to get ready. So, I repeat. GAH. Sometimes I really wonder what people without kids do with all their brain power. With their free time and extra income. I bet they travel to Europe. Paris even. I'm a little jealous. I wanna European vacation.

So I start to get huffy and stuff. They get their shoes on but they won't zip their coats. GAH. But, it get done because we can't go to church on Sunday this week. Because I have a special yoga class on Sunday. A workshop even. It's called:

"Yoga for Fertility Workshop"

Guess my European vacation will have to be a virtual one for a while :P

OH irony. OH SWEET I RON KNEE!!

Ezekiel's hobby

Now that my peace has come, what am I to do with such empty space?

Get a hobby I suppose.

And that may be the key to everything.

I am busy minded woman who is lazy by nature. As such, my head does a lot of living. If I am bored, frightened, scared or left to my own devices- my busyness becomes amplified. Which is no good.

A hobby will help. More hobbies help even more. I'll yoga, use sparkpeople to keep track my diet, start cardio work and be healthy that way. I'll co-lead two bible study groups, play Mah Jong and angry birds. I'll hang out with the kids, do more chores around the house. I'll engage in my own life even more.

That way, when the thoughts kick up, about what to do about a next child, I can let them fade into the ether while I focus on my hobbies.

I do have visions though. I see everything working out ok. I see myself having a full, healthy pregnancy and me not being scared at all. I see myself embracing pregnancy with full, clear eyes. I see happiness and joy. I feel happiness and joy. I see doctor appointments as accessories not necessities. I see a new baby coming and nursing like a champ. I see us holding the baby and feeling such love. I see this all in context of yoga, keeping track of my foods, cardio, leading bible study groups and hanging out with my kids. Which is wonderful. I see it all. I see myself doing it all in God's name.

So wonderful feeling this of peace.


:)

Hushing the Holler

Behold! My blue yoga mat, red yoga towel (to catch the sweat drippings and help me NOT slip off my mat), and black sweater in our sun room. Pancake's yoga mat is the pink one. The flowery thing is my purse, co-sewed my daughter and I.

When I woke up this morning a small voice spoke in my head.

It said, no, don't go to yoga at 7.30 am. Stay in the nice warm bed, you can go later. Or, said the voice, don't go at all, you can always use your treadmill.

That voice is bullshit. If I don't go, I don't do anything.

But, it got louder the closer it came for me to leave.

It started yelling, then hollering.

And for one brief moment I almost gave in.

But I didn't. I just got my yoga clothes on and left.

And ON this day, hushing the holler,

well,

It was huge!

Then I came home all sweaty an hour and half later. It felt wonderful.

GO ME!!

reasons I need to yoga number 7879

Day 10 of the 21 day challenge yo. (where I go to hot yoga every day for 21 days).

There are about 6 different teachers at my yoga studio. Some of crisp and fluent. Some are more stoner. Feel the energy dude. Which irks me, the stoner teachers don't run the class fast enough. Which made me realize something. I DIDN'T THINK THE YOGA CLASS WAS MOVING FAST ENOUGH. Then I thought, wow, I'm a special kinda crazy. So yeah, need more yoga. :)

I can say that yoga is gluing me back together. Walking with my shoulders back and everything.

moving the body is awakening the real Mrs. Hall.

down 15 lbs too.

BABE STATUS...

here I come.

Obsessions are the best

Thank you all for the comments on yesterday's post. Little Mac is getting good reports these days. All sorts of listening. :)

I have to remember when teachers approach me about my child's behavior, I can gently take the reins. I can model calmness and appreciation. I can talk them through what I know of my child and how to help bring out the best in him. If I stick with my strengths-compassion, empathy, warmth and a healthy sense of humor, I can set the tone. Then, we can collaborate.

SEE THAT RIGHT THERE??!!!

That kind of thinking happens when I yoga a lot.

Yoga is kind of a bait and switch. I started practicing yoga, lo these nine years ago, as a way to help lose weight. Turns out, it grabbed me in all sorts of unexpected ways. It teaches me to slow, to lean in and divide up the bits that hurt and the bits that give joy. It calms my ADD-addled brain. It allows the hands of God to reach in and sooth my sore spots.

It also gives me a focus right now. Because my brain is a busy brain that thrives in obsessions. Right now, this 21 day yoga challenge is my obsession. But, the more I go, the less obsessed I become.

Like with this pose, called the extended side angle with a bind. The bind part is the arms.


TODAY, I ALMOST BINDED. MY FINGERS TOUCHED!!!

And i've never felt more unbound!
:)

En route to babe status, tenderly

Picked up my son from preschool yesterday. He was all snotty nose and face down. I could tell it was a bad day. Which one has when one is four. Then his teacher came out and talked about what happened. He wouldn't line up, gave her lip and was disrepectful.

First off, I don't really deal well with teachers telling me bad things about my kids. I go into this shame-embarrassed-then hyperdefensive spiral. It's a spiral where I feel embarrased and ashamed then get really mad because he's my SON. And how dare she talk smack about him??

He's four, he is learning how to listen. She's with him for only 3 hours a day, he's a good boy, he just needs TIME. JUST LIKE AT SWIM CLASS, JUST LIKE AT GYMNASTICS!!! HE IS A GOOD KID!!!! HE HAS A BIG GIGANTIC HEART AND CARES A LOT!! AND HE'S SO SMART!!! HE JUST HAS PROBLEMS FOLLOWING RULES!! (just like his momma ;)

And she's talking to me, and I'm feeling my way through the spiral and I realize I'm getting way too worked up. I realize I'm about to cry, just like Mac. Then I cut her off and say, slowly, "Well, it's a work in progress." And she nods, we exchange polite smiles/shoulder shrugs and I leave because I don't want to listen to her anymore.

This is why Mr. Hall deals with the teachers.

So, I think about this. I realize that I had yoga class right before I picked him up. My yoga practice is coming back to life. Not only am I feeling my emotions again, I'm feeling all sorts of muscles and moving around like I own my body. I'm kind of exploding on the inside.

Which is great, cause that means I'm en route to babe status. Lost about 13 lbs so far. Size 10 jeans here I come.

Except I've signed up for a challenge. I've signed up for 21 straight days of yoga. Which should help shrink my chubby quite nicely. I'm scared though. There is an emotional aspect that comes roaring to life when I yoga regularly.

Not sure what will happen when I do yoga 21 days straight.

wish me luck!

Not overthinking the crow

Haven't had much to say lately. So, let's talk about crow.

That up there, my good people, is the crow pose. I've been practicing yoga at a new studio. I hadn't been at my old yoga studio in a year. I've been avoiding it because they knew me when I was pregnant. I thought a lapse in classes would cause them to forget me.

So I called and asked if I had anymore classes on my account. They not only remembered me, but they asked about Mr. Hall. I don't know why I think people don't remember me. People always tell me that I don't have to reintroduce my self. Maybe I like to hope I'm anonymous.

I think most bloggers are introverts. This is why we have a blog. Yet, I am actively challenging this. Each and every day I am breaking the wall between me and the others. THE OTHERS I SAY!!!

ANYWHOODLE

I went to my old yoga studio and there was a new teacher.. She was kinda loud. And funny. Then, she looked right at me and said, "HOLLY, WHY DON'T YOU TRY THE CROW POSE." She didn't really shout it or ask it. She just sorta told me, in no uncertain, yet very friendly terms, that I would be doing the crow pose. Which I've tried for years but can't seem to do.

But I did it.

The key is not thinking, not analyzing, just going for it.

And while I only held the pose for 2 seconds, I did it.

BOOYAH!!

:)

And that's when I snapped

I am enjoying the hot yoga.

Last night it was a class of two. Me and a guy in his fifties. He was chattery. Made small AND long talk with the teacher. He had a running commentary on his performance. Dude wouldn't shut up. Then, when the teacher had us repeat a pose three times and said, "Third times a charm." He replied, "Expect in marriage, my third wife was a bitch!"

AND THAT'S WHEN I SNAPPED.

Well, not at that exact moment. But it was coming.

To talk during yoga is to short change the poses. The poses are the key. You physically move yourself into different positions, moving unspoken things inside you. It requires deep, deep breathing. Inhaling through the nose, exhaling like you are fogging up a mirror. The breathing is like the engine pushing the train.

These poses, these are when the hands of God reach out and heal me. He cups my sad, sad energies in his hands. Lifting them from me and taking them away.

But.

None of that can happen if I have to block out Dude's yammering.

So.

When he turned to me and started chatting, I made pleasant small talk. Again, it was a small class and the teacher was new. They had both made attempts to get to know me. I can also do some poses very easily. Like this one called "supta vajrasana or fixed firm" . They were intrigued.


I told them I've been practicing yoga for nine years. Then I told them I've been on a five month break. They asked why. And I told them. I was pregnant but I lost the baby. So now I am back at yoga. They were sad about it.

On a side note, that was completely weird for me, telling them this. But I'm no good at lying or making up stories. So out the truth came.

Then.

Dude kept talking to me. I turned my head towards him. As I tried to shoot lasers out of my eyes, I said, "I like to focus on my breathing during yoga." And made a thumbs up sign.

He then backed off. And for the rest of the class I breathed, sweated, posed and healed some more.

DOWNWARD DOG BIATCHES

Went back to yoga tonight.

The last time I saw my yoga teacher,

I'd just turned positive on the pregnancy test.

So, she knew when I walked in.

She did the tilted head,

hand on the heart

OH, i'm so sorry thing.

Which again, is ok.

And I felt a little bit ok on the mat.

But it was tough because

JEBUS I AM CHUBBY

The poses don't go so well when you are

'bigger'.

my friggin yoga stretchy pants

were vedy vedy tight.

eeek.

THAT BEING SAID.

I KICKED OPEN THE MAT.

GOT BACK TO MY PRACTICE OF SOME 9 YEARS.

I DID IT.

I BREATHED.

I LAUNCHED

SIX LBS OF SWEAT CAME OUT OF ME.

I FELT SLIPPERY

I BENDED

STRETCHED

and i felt my sore spots.

It was like my back and belly were made of hammered down soil.

i've forgotten how to move them.

i 'm relearning though

BUT I DID IT.

I got back to my mat.

to my beloved hot yoga.

because i am

because i can

because i know this heals me.

It calms the hyper in my head.

It heals the sad in my heart.

I feel the hands of God on my mat.

And for this, i am so thankful.

And it may not feel that way now

but in a few more classes

it'll feel awesome.

What did the Buddhist monk say to the hot dog vendor?

Life can be incredibly messy and crazy. It can catch even the best of us unawares. This includes me.

Take for instance my recent bout of migraines. I had never had migraines before. This was no good. Then there my recent bout of feeling sad. People had been saying, "Holly, you just aren't your chipper self lately." And what they had said-- this was true.

So I went to a counselor a few weeks back. We couldn't find the origin of yon migraines or sad. So we chalked it up to work stress. Maybe the new birth control pills had something to do with it. It didn't even occur to bring up my miscarriages. She advised more yoga. And thus I went on my merry way.

So more yoga then. This resulted in me getting more emotional during yoga. THIS SUCKS AND IS AWESOME AT THE SAME TIME. Because yoga makes emotional yucky come out through sweat and the tears. They don't call it detoxifying for nothing!

Then there was this yoga visit. The one with the pregnant woman. The one were I lost it. It didn't occur to me that something darker might be lurking underneath.

An so, the lack of chipper persisted. The migraines, complete with facial numbness, disturbed vision and trouble speaking, these have faded. I still got headaches but I attributed this to stress. Really, nothing wrong here, nothing to see, move along.

Then, on Sunday I went to a five hour meditation retreat conducted by a Buddhist monk. He travels around the world and there he was, at my local yoga studio. I went to the event. I volunteered to sit in the front. Directly infront of the Buddhist Monk. Because really, in my mind, it was a matter of GO BIG OR GO HOME. And I am nothing if not a straight A student. I always sit in the front by the teacher!

Beside, I reasoned, I am healthy and balanced. No worrries! Should be fun!-thought me.

Four hours later, after much deep breathing, examining within and singing bowls, the class had reached a place of down deep. We were in the state of openness and vastness. I felt really relaxed, like I had taken a big bong hit. Well, truth be told, I have never smoked marijuana, so I can only guess. Either way, I was chillaxed beyond compare.



Then this happened.

During this state of deep chillaxing, when people were discussing painful experiences and people that were hurting them, I felt it coming. Deep in mah belly, a storm was abrewin'. Much like the recent storms during yoga, it was a pattern of scattered showers and gusty winds. Nothing I hadn't shoved down before, nothing I haven't delayed until I reached my car. Piece. of. cake.

But Holy Christ almighty I could not hold this down. It was a veritable hurricane of twisty tornadoes pulsing forward. Paroxysms of tears I tells ya. I started wiping the tears and that made it worse. Soon I was just out and out bawling. I literally had to leave the room and do a big ole snot bubble cry in the ladies room down the hall. It wasn't pretty. I was hyperventilating.

I was so embarrassed I could have JUST DIED.

Then, I collected my ass and calmed down. I stood outside the bathroom door and contemplated leaving. Except my yoga mat and car keys were still in there, on the yoga studio floor. In the same spot I had sitting. In front of the Buddhist Monk. A+ student spot. I had to go back.

So, I climbed out of the fox hole, donned my helmet and went back in.



I really struggled to stay present during the last half hour. I could not lift my eyes, nor my head to make contact with the monk. I focused on keeping my tears down and not making a fool of myself again.

Afterwards, when everyone was packing up to go home, he approached me and offered a one on one session. I eventually took him up on it.

So, last night, it was me and him and his personal physician at her house. Having a follow up discussion on my basket case moment.

What came of it was this.

During the basket case event, I kept thinking about those birth control pills and what they meant to me. What they mean is pain and failure. Every day, taking the pills that made me feel this way. Only I didn't realize it and I didn't say it outloud. I haven't verbalized any of this. I had thought I was done with the pain of my loss, the pain of my miscarriages. This is not the case.

In fact, I had been living most days with huge cement blocks strapped to my back as I trudge foward through the mud. No wonder I was having migraines and sad. That stuff is heavy!

I have a lot of healing to do. I am still affected by my miscarriages. The pain of my loss, it is mighty and strong and still affects me every day. It is now my task to lean into it, to embrace all of it, the fear, the anger, the sad, the everything--because this is how I will get better.

And when I am better, I will cast off the birth control pills and jump around all naked with my husband and seek to create another life. I will no longer be in the kung fu grip of fear. I will find peace and calm and joy.

But first, I just have to put some shoulder behind my basket case and lean into it.

"We're in a weird demographic," says Mr. Hall

Went to the women's ministry breakfast today, at my church. The Tribe Called Hall officially HAVE A CHURCH NOW. After searching high and low we picked the one with the rock band in front.

It was a very pleasant breakfast, there was discussion on Esther. She is woman who was scared to speak, but was called upon to speak nonetheless. She fasts and prays for three days and this is when she is given the courage to speak up. Because she was called to speak by God and God will provide the equipment to get the job done. The pastor's wife was reading the story and telling us how it applied to her life.

She hates public speaking. Which is ironic considering her husband's job. "But," she says, "I feel called to stand here and speak to you. To share and to celebrate all that we are as women. Because God has given us special gifts and talents.", she said. And she went on to explain the special gifts and it felt really good and nurturing. I truly agree that softness of women is our strength. And that was the message today.

It was very nice. I was with my new mommy friend and there were crepes.

Then I got kind of salty. I mean, there I was, at a table of lovelies, all chatting away about kids, cruises and camping. Then I started talking about yoga. Because someone had mentioned it. Then I was struck by how such a seemingly universal practice is a like a foreign novelty in this town.

GAAAAH!!!!!

Then there were rumbles of stupidness because when people live a sheltered life they fear what they don't understand.

And my jaw dropped when I figured out this included yoga.

Who fears yoga?

It was my new mommy friend. And I was so angry because we had been getting on so well. I mean, she wasn't a total fit, but still. I thought that because she was a teacher she would have some knowledge of the outside world. That eastern philosophy and yoga is not a threat to Christianity but can enhance a person's relationship with Jesus and God. I know it does mine.

But no. She asked me questions like, "I thought yoga was like, a Buddhist gathering or something. Like you pray to some four armed elephant god or something."

I was so mad when she said this. I mean, yoga is so special to me. It will be a part of my life forever. She didn't understand how she was hurting me by saying what she was saying. But, it was at the end of the gathering and we all went home.

I tell all of this to Mr. Hall. And I get sad because I really really want a bestie. I talk about maybe going to another church, near the local liberal arts university. And Mr. Hall says, "Well, I doubt you'll find what you are looking for at a church babe. We're in a weird demographic, not a lot of liberal artsy people go to a Christian Church." And I thought about it. And it's true.

A lot of artsy liberal folks do indeed frown upon Christianity. I mean, whenever I write these posts, talking about church, I really only get one or two supportive comments in the comment box. People have preconceived notions, personal vendettas and baggage to spare when it comes to Christianity. If I was studying Buddhism the love would flow much easier. But I'm not. So thank you for keeping it civil if not positive.

Because talking about my beginning faith is harder to write about then anything I have written about. It's harder than talking about the times I dated a girl or two, harder then telling about the time I cheated on a man I loved, harder than talking about anything in the world.

And it means so much to me. And so does this blog. So here I am, speaking up. Using my voice.

Thanks for reading.

P.S.

That mommy friend is going with me to yoga. Which means a lot. Let's hope she doesn't freak out by the chicken sacrifices. ;)

Yeah, I got nothing but the Pigeon

FYI: This post will be up a while while I gather the information from below.

In the meantime, if you have already read this, look around, there is bound to be something of interest.
******************************************************

Yesterday, I started a brand new Yoga class in this tiny two horse town.

This pose is called "Eka Pada Kapotasana"

Or "Pigeon Crescent"

The pigeon part is the front leg, the Crescent (think moon) is the back leg I think.

Either way, I did this for the first time, during the first class.

Never tried this pose before, but I nailed it!

Yeah, I'm a bad ass yogi !

I now have every other Tuesday off. And every weekend and most holidays.

This will make up for the seven years I spent as a nurse, doing every other

weekend. Every other holiday. Night shift, day shift and pm shift rotations. And

MANDATORY OVERTIME.

So, I went to the salon. The girl kept asking me, "When was the last time you had your hair colored?" and "When was the last time you had your eyebrows waxed?" and "When was the last time you . . . "

I couldn't remember when. Was it in October? Jesus, who the hell knows?

The self neglect of a Mom can turn into a bottomless pit if you are not vigilant about keeping it not so.

An so, what should have been an hour appointment lasted almost two. She didn't dye it my normal auburn, but a deeper shade of red brown. Some might call it black. Well, most would call it black with subtle red highlights. The last people would be right. And she cut my bangs too short.

Which is fine really. I kind of look like Betty Page. Really, it is quite striking. And what can I say about the eyebrows? GAWD she did such a good job! Really looks sultry. Whew! :)

But, all of this prattling on and on means I have nothing to write about. After such a emotional post (such as yesterday) I run dry. And my life is evening out. Which is good. I am kinda tired of laying my emotions everyday. I want to write about something new.

SO!

Let's play word association. Ya'll leave one (or two) word in the comments. I will whip up a post.

Words suggested thus far:
Temperature
Elevate
Slide (well, that one was me, but still)
Dream

AND GO!!!

White people with dreadlocks

When I started posting videos like this, I know it is time to go back to yoga. I went and had a couple of epipha-trees.

Wherever I am, geographically, work wise, what have you, I bristle. I actively engage in rebellion. Of course, being a productive and stand up citizen, it is subversive rebellion. Subterfuge sabotage.

For instance, at work, when I am handed tasks that I don't want to do, or I disagree with, I don't do them. I never say this out loud or complain about it. This is an advantage I have being a nurse. There is a LARGE shortage of nurses out there people. They need all the help they can get.

Sometimes, I work with nurses that are of questionable quality. This does not apply to me. I am a fantastic nurse.

I do what is important and do it really well. I spend my energy wisely like that. After, I play dumb about the stuff I don't want to do. And because they need me, and because both the nurses and the nurses in management are overloaded, I get away with it.

Mhwah haa haa! (That's an evil genius laugh right there)

Rage against the machine, old school style

Also, I never, ever raise a fuss. I don't bring emotional drama, rage against the machine energy, or active substance abuse issues to the office. (This is what I mean by questionable quality). Overall, I am a very, very low maintenance worker. My former employers love me. My former coworkers love me. LOVE ME.

Even if I never learned how to do those TPS reports.

This subterfuge sabotage happens outside the work. I live in a very liberal town right now. There is a large percentage of white people with dreadlocks.

Ok, let me say that again....

and please click on the word for visual proof...

WHITE PEOPLE WITH DREADLOCKS.

Thus, I subtlely poke fun of the hippies.This is very very easy. Their inherent rage against the machine is always churning, always ripe for the picking. Very easy to get someone all riled up. Just compliment Sarah Palin.

And why can't people just lighten the fuck up about politics and religion? Ya know, we all have a choice here.

IT CAN BE FUN OR SUCK, YOUR CHOICE!

In the core of me, deep down, is a glowing orb of happy and positive. I see the absurdity of it all. And really, I know what can and cannot be done. The universe is filled with ugly and good. I do good, very good. However, there will be no conquering all the evil. And no, this does not make me mad or make me want to rage against the machine. It is what it is. The truth.That truth was another epipha-tree during yoga.

My glowing orb of happy makes me smile and make jokes. People seem to like me. If I let them. Positive confidence, friendliness and charity--this attracts people. People are attracted to me.

Yet, there is this subversiveness. This urchin quality to me. I don't accept the invitations from others, usually. And when I practiced the Bikram Yoga I asked myself why. And as always, I had the answer in the end.

Nothing, and I mean nothing except the tribe called Hall, is permanent for me. Even this move, this new job. It will be for two or three years tops. I will aways be a nurse turned nurse practitioner. Just not in the same place. Honestly though, I want to settle into permanent outside the tribe, it just won't happen until I can set down roots.

Thus the poking fun of the white people with dreadlocks.

WHITE PEOPLE WITH DREADLOCKS PEOPLE!


Making fun or playing dumb allows me to keep a small and sturdy wall up. Yet there is a change coming. I feel it. After all, I try not to write posts just to state the obvious status or me and mine. Well, at least not anymore.

Time will tell if I can stop being a brat. I will however, never ever stop making fun of

WHITE PEOPLE WITH DREADLOCKS!



I mean, what the hell! Dude, that is sooooooooooooo nasty. ug.

Shoring up the blog

When I started this blog, I really had no theme in mind. There were many routes to take like Mommy Blog, Wife Blog, Self-help blog. There are plenty of those out there. I didn't want a theme.

Each day my thoughts buzz around me like insistent little hunny bees. They munch on the essays being rattled off in my head. This flood of thoughts began to flow at around age nine. I am always think, think, thinking. Write, write, writing in my head. It use to be tortuous, this constant chatter. But then I found Yoga. I found that I could actually calm the tides. And then I got my sleep pattern back. Wee-hee!

The essays I have running in my head, are varied. They are the seeds of my posts. I could poop out four a day if I wanted. But, like Willie Nelson says, "Writing a song is easy, it's writing a good one, that's the hard part." It feels grand though, finally having a place to pound out the thoughts. Some place besides Mr. Hall.

My intention in posting is to have an emotional arc. A passionate arc if you will. I have lots of passion. It varies though. It is dependant on my motivation. For example, my passion for helping others, for being of service to others, leads to posts under the label of 'nurse'.

Kids are endless fodder for passionate posts. They are labeled Pancake, Mac (formerly Mac-n-Cheese). As is the marriage between Mr. Hall and I. See labels marriage, Mr. Hall.

I am unsure what is driving me to write all this. Part of it is unmet social needs. Everyday, I have twenty dollars worth of energy to spend. Everyday, fifteen dollars is automatically deducted because I am a wife, mom and nurse. And those last five? Those are spent carefully.

It is difficult forming relations with others when you are a mom. You can make instant friend with other moms. But it is instant soup. Making friends outside the Mommy set is difficult. Chicks are complex and intricate. Delicate negotiations are needed. And the problem is, I am one.

Overall, I am attached to my lovely offspring 24/7. To get away is to be separated. And this requires a babysitter. Money. Babysitters are very nice. But they are young and not the Mommy or Daddy. Our baby sitter, Josephine, is young. And has a young life. We do love her so. She called me twice when I was at yoga one time. Couldn't find the top to the sippy cup . . . .

Unmet social needs are not the only reason. When I started to compose essays in my head, at the wee age of nine, I started writing out loud. This didn't really end until I started to become a nurse. Becoming a nurse and a nurse practitioner requires fortitude. And copious amount of time and energy. It ain't easy. It shouldn't be. And this learning I hold so dear, will never stop. I will never stop learning for my job. Wee-hee!

However, there is still this writer inside me. Using words like they are lollipops. Tasting them, turning them around in my head. Finding ways to use them in everyday life. In everyday posts. I love them so.

And now I am downshifted. I have a balance and some time and here I am. In blog form.

Welcome one and all.

:)

Mrs. Hall

P.S. If any of you see misspellings, please let me know. I don't want to look stoopid.