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!!

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!
:)

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.

Mistaking comfort for happiness

One of my favorite books of all times is "Ultra Marathon Man". The man is Dan Karnazes and he not only runs marathons, he runs them back to back. Like six marathons in a row, in one day. Only the marathons are through the rocky mountains, death valley or other forsaken real estate.

The book chronicles how and why he became an ultra marathon runner. The man started running to escape the pain of losing a sister. He started running after a night of bad tequila and almost starting an affair. He put on his gardening shoes and took off.

It's a read I return to again and again for inspiration.

I read it because of how he talks about the pain. Not so much the emotional pain but the physical pain he endures while running. About how, after a triple marathon, he went pack to his car and his body seized up. Then he proceeded to puke all over his dashboard.

That's awesome stuff I dare say! It's awesome because he's not mistaking comfort for happiness. He's going for it. Again and again.

Which brings me to this.



At one time I had a passion for yoga. It was my first brush with facing down the mental game of sport. If you think about it, yoga is putting yourself in poses and staying there. Just like running is well, running. Both sound easy but once you get into it, it doesn't stay easy for long. Thus begins the mental game. Of not listening to that voice that says stop. This is too hard.

Because I'm not listening. I went to kickboxing and dammit, I can't really walk today because of it. Seriously. I.can't.walk. I hobble and limp and wince and really OW OW OWOWOWOWOW I'm just trying to sit down on the couch. . . . It's awesome.

I've been mistaking comfort for happiness.

So I'm going to class again.

Once I can start walking again I'm heading back to class.

:)

Epiphanies during Wii Boxing

First off I must say that the Wii boxing is no joke. It passes my sweat/sore test. It makes me sweat buckets and I'm sore the next day. Any workout that does not do this-- does not count in my book.

That being said, I've never boxed and dang wow, it's really hard. Until this morning.

I had an epiphany. Well. Epiphanies actually.

The power of the punch does not come from the arms. Which is a good thing. I have but wimpy girly arms. The power comes from a transfer of power from the legs, belly and back. Shift the weight just right, twist the side, snap that forward and KAPOW!!



The arm is just the deliverer.

Boxing a lot like yoga. It's mind and body. My doctor said to ease off of yoga and really, I'll never take the advice to ease off exercising again. Because the more I work myself, the more I pull power from my belly core, the more it rises. "It" is frustration and anger and sad and crazy and yuck and ugly snot bubble cry from the inside. Boxing moves the enemy to the outside.

Don't get me wrong. I am smart and let God embrace my pain and yay that's awesome. I have never been more healed.

But the body, it still holds onto the ugly, enemy energies. And my belly grows and my posture sloops and I feel less connected to the world I walk upon.

So I fight back. Not only being thankful for the blessings of such a body, but acting like it.

And now, here's a song that illustrates what the snot bubble ugly cry sounds like when it's coming up and when I'm fighting it.

Yeah. good times indeed!

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.

I got really drunk last night

I got really drunk last night.

I've always prided myself on being the type of person who doesn't start out a story that way, yet, there it is.

Last night I made myself a cosmo from this bottle after the kids went to bed. Only, we didn't have a cosmo glass.



We do have a big brandy sifter (like the one in the photo uptop) and thus I used that.

We put in a movie. I sipped. I probably should have stopped when my lips got tingly and numb. But there was still half the sifter left. Then the top of my thighs started going numb too. Then everything got really funny. I was giggly and floppy and sexy all at the same time.

It was really, really nice. And funny. I am normally a very VERY giggly girl, but get me a little sauced and I laugh 50 times more. It was really nice being drunk.

Because the day before I went to yoga, the yoga with the heated room.



Before we began class, the teacher said, "Please take a few minutes to dedicate your practice today. Think about whatever brought you to the mat and let it be your purpose for the next hour." So I closed my eyes and chose 'healing'.

It was a really hard class. It was the advanced class and I was really working hard at the poses. Plus the temp is like 100 degrees and sweat was pouring off me. Then there was this pose, the half pigeon pose.



During that pose, while my chest and head were laying on the mat, that's when the teacher spoke up. She likes to read from a book call, "Meditations from the Mat".

She said, "Yoga teaches us to accept ourselves as who we are. We are perfect just the way we are. We do not need be more than we are."

Yep..... THAT'S WHEN I STARTED SOBBING AND CRYING AND DAMMIT RIGHT THERE ON THE MAT I LOST IT .... Of course I had to hold it in and do all these silent sob vibrating chest bobs. But, all sorts of stuff was coming out.

It's the "We do not need to be more than we are." That got me.

Because I have spent the last six or seven months in this race to get pregnant, stay pregnant, recover from my miscarriage, then another try for another one, then lose that pregnancy. And now I have to wait three months, then two to try again.

I have been measuring my life in ovulation cycles and 28 day calenders. Only I don't have to. I don't have to put all this weight on myself. I can just be. I can just be me with my awesome two kids and husband is beyond the best and I can just be.

Because I don't have to be more than I am. I don't have to be pregnant or waiting until I can try again, checking off the days.

I can just be me, because I don't have to be more.

AND THAT MY FRIENDS, that revelation right there, that deserved a round of drinks indeed!! :)


drinks are on me!

Do I smell dog food?

The downward facing dog pose (I can almost get my heels to touch the floor!!):


When I was at yoga I smelled the weirdest smell--dog food. I mean, the yoga studio is on the third floor of an old office building down town.

So I thought, maybe the teacher brings her dog, puts out some kibble, and I look around looking for a bowl while doing the extended triangle pose and the half moon pose.



The Extended triangle pose (I love this pose because it kills my inner thighs-thus rendering the thigh master a non-needed item in my life):



And the smell gets stronger and I'm like WTF?? Am I having a stroke? Then I remember, it's a burning hair smell people smell before they stroke out--not dog kibble.


The half moon pose (The key to this pose is keeping abs tight, because THAT'S WHERE THE BALANCE COMES FROM-not your feet) I just figured that out recently, makes a huge difference:



THEN I SEE IT!! I am directly in front of a vent. Someone in the building must have a dog.

WEIRD AND FUN ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

AND OH YEAH. The teacher is from Finland and had the same accent as the Swedish chef from the muppets. WHICH WAS EFFING HILARIOUS :)

good times, good times.



Now get out there and GET BENDY!!

"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. ;)

Upside down Jeeps and other soft violence

Mr. Hall and I were in Hawaii once, and we saw a Jeep flip over. It was on the tip of one of the islands. There were off roading trails and walking trails next to each other. No trees or greenery, just rocky terrain.

The jeep tried to go up a hill but tipped backwards and gently landed on it's back. It was a slow and graceful maneuver as the Jeep was going about 2 miles an hour. The driver got out and sort of shook his head, laughing. Then another jeep pulled up near it and they both laughed together. They must have been friends.

And I thought, "Huh, how soft." I mean, if a jeep were to flip over on a highway there would have been sparks a flying, metal crunching, gears screeching and cars piling up. There would have been fear. But here, it was soft violence.

So, now, let's talk about the rabbit.



No, not that kind of rabbit, but Rabbit pose. As seen below.



This has got to be one of my favorite poses in yoga. Ever.

About 2 or three years ago I was in this pose. I was at the tail end of losing 35 lbs on weight watchers and shedding all this emotional ick in the process. The emotional ick was flaming and pulsing most of the time. But I used yoga to heal.

So, there I was, in this pose when I felt a gush and a formation. Under my curved spine, in the cave it formed between my belly and chest, I felt ball of energy materialize. It was emanating from my belly and it felt like an orb. It was all my pain, all my sexual trauma, all my ick--right there. It scared me a little.

Then I started to get really scared. I mean, what was going to happen when I straightened up? I mean, that kind of pain was really hard to carry. But I just couldn't release it. I mean, it was flaming pain! I didn't want to give that to energies in the room. It was my orb and I didn't want to let go of it lest it hurt anyone else. I couldn't really pull it back in either.

Then it dawned on me. I am just one tiny body. Holding in this monumental black and ugly energy. This damaging and painful energy. It's time for me to let it go. To send it out into the universe. Because I have only so much space, a finite amount. Whereas the universe, the energy of God, that is infinite. And if I gave up my pain, my pulsing orb to God, it would be just fine.

No matter how big and heavy it was for me, it would barely register on the universal scale. It was time for me to let go.

So, with the softest violence I unwound from the Rabbit pose and felt all this pain dissipate and disappear. I felt stunned with levity. I was all emptied out, spent like spare change.

Pretty awesome I say.

:)

I got a massage once. Dude touched my butt.

I understand why people get massages. The rubbing, the working of the muscles, all of that produces relaxation in your average person. I can say Mr. Hall enjoys a good massage. In fact, he's a freak about it. When he's in a bad mood or isn't doing what I want him to do, I just give him a little temple rub. Or full on back massage with a massage bar. And BAM! He's changed into the strong, sweet man I love. And ruthlessly attacking projects. Like installing recycling bins in the lazy susan.



When I was super pregnant with Mac, I tried a massage. When I mean super pregnant, I mean this pregnant.



Wait, I don't have long red hair. Nor am I a cartoon. Ok, here's me, eight point five months preggies with Mac.



I got naked. Wrapped a white sheet around my swollen belly and nakedness. Layed down and had some dude rub me. He rubbed my arms, my feet, my back and my thighs. It was a full body massage.



OH MY GOD HE'S TOUCHING MY THIGHS THIS MAN WHO IS NOT MY HUSBAND IS TOUCHING MY THIGHS (i thought to myself).

Then, THEN he rubbed my butt. Did ya'll know that the butt is part of the full body massage??!!! DID YA??!!! HUH!!!??

So, in reality, my reaction to a massage is not that of relaxation but rather, it winds me up. Again, I have the crazy A.D.D. energies. My brain is constantly talking, constantly going. I lack internal calm. I use to lack it anyway. I now go to yoga and have learned how to deep breathe. This has been a godsend. I can finally self calm. Yoga has been so healing for me. ;)

That being said, touch, like every other external stimuli, stimulates me. It makes my A.D.D. energies grow. Just like sitting next to TWITCHY HUSBANDS while we are trying to watch a nightly movie.

Plus it is weird having people touch me. All of which is a perfect storm of uncomfortable nakedness with a stranger. A stranger I am paying to massage me. Which I did once. And again, dude touched my butt!!

Well, maybe I can give it another try. I mean, it's been like 3 years. And I am better with that whole strangers touching me. In yoga class, now that they know I'm pregnant, they're guiding me with different postures. Which means they are touching me more. Which I'm ok with. I don't freak the hell out anymore. YAY! More healing with yoga!!

I think the key is to breathe. Welcome the hands of another healer. Realize that massage is letting loose of trapped energy. Just like the yoga.

We shall see ;)

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.

Good Yoga is like Good love

The nuts and bolts of my yoga love include losing 35 pounds and getting in touch with things. It is a 5 month journey that included sobbing and touching a lot of places unseen. This was a big surprise to me, since I thought the stuff about chakras was a bunch of hippy bullshit.

The sobbing though, that sucked. I had started yoga to exercise without being a gerbil on a treadmill. The first thing I noticed in the class was the mirrors. Again, I had lost 35 lbs. But I didn't have a full length mirror at my house. So, there I was, suddenly smoking hot.

And for most, this is a plea sent sensation. For me, it was a sound of alarm. It's true what they say, overeating is a sign of eating one's emotions. And now my emotions, my subterfuge, my blanket of fat and carbs was pulled away.

To add lights to my siren was the poses themselves. I practice the bikrahm yoga. The hot sweaty yoga. And I was not prepared for what deep breathing and holding postures does to you. I found myself becoming overcome with this pervasive sense of despair and sadness. It lived and breathed in me. It got bigger with each pose, with each twist. The floor poses almost killed me.

Yet I had nothing to be sad about. Make no mistake, I love my life. I love Mr. Hall Pancake and Mac-n-Cheese are the awesome planets that I orbit. So what the heck? Why the overwhelming urge to sob?

And I did what all over educated women do, read about it. And analyze it. And fight it with words and deep thoughts. But, for the first time in my life, I couldn't talk my way out of a icky situation. I had to let it out. And really, I knew what this was about. Things get trapped if you don't process them. The fester and get uglier as they take residence inside. I work with this every day with my patients. Of course I knew what the fuck was going on.

So I let it out one session. Cried and freaked the heck out. And then I took a long 3 month break.

And I went back this week and worked those poses like a bat out of hell. It felt good to be home.

But man, I am still limping two days later.

Well, I suppose, like good love, good yoga makes you walk funny.

:)

Mrs. Hall