We all have this irritating urge to feel old when those younger than us approach certain life markers. I can still remember when I turned 20... or 18... or 25. People always jab your shoulder, chuckle, and ask, "SO... do ya fell any older?" I didn't have an answer to that question until I was 27.
My brothers are no different... and neither are our relatives. Most everyone can't resist telling them that they're two decades old. I'm not entirely innocent, but I did try to sit back and wander down memory lane... see if I could make a movie montage in my mind of their 20 years in my life.
I feel so lucky to be the older sibling. I have the chance to know them their entire lives... and, okay, I'm spared their knowing any embarrassing stories from my early childhood. Fortunately for them, I lacked any interest in them until they were able to construct thoughts into sentences (age four or five, I guess). When they were infants, all my goofy gal pals would come over and ask me if we could play with them, and I expressed genuine confusion. "Why?" I would ask. "They don't do anything..." Despite this somewhat selfish aspect of my preteen-hood, it works to my brothers' advantage. I don't have any horrid little stories about them peeing in the tub, or throwing up in their aunts' purse, or wearing puppy dog PJs.
Of course, I actually don't find that sort of teasing entertaining. I mean, fine- once in a while, we all like to poke at each other for saying silly things or fall into hysterics at the slapstick worthy trips and falls. But, when I look back, try to make the movie montage, all I remember is laughter and affection.
My brothers are among the very few people on the planet with whom I can be openly affectionate. We hug, we sit close on the couch, we lean upon one another in hallways, etc. There's no awkwardness. Together, we are almost the closest, rawest versions of ourselves that we ever could be. So, with that affection comes this comfort of saying whatever seems funny at the moment. We laugh at it all- funny voices, old, old, old inside jokes, our favorite childhood movies, little songs we sing at random, inappropriate moments (we still love singing all our memorable favorites such as the strange Lalala song from Nausicaa or Dr. Teeth singing about Cheesecake), etc. We might be the only people on the earth who find this stuff funny... and that makes it even funnier.
I don't love anyone in this world as I love my brothers. I am not one who believes in obligatory, familial love. I don't believe one must love a person just because she's our sister or he's our cousin. I do believe it's simple, that we simply love those we love because we love them, but that's not a feeling guaranteed to fall upon those to whom we're related. The fact that my brothers are as crucial to my happiness as they are, that they're as essential as the blood that runs through my veins... that was luck.
Happy Birthday, John and Clif... no one will ever love you like I do.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Snow Day
(from http://spacegizmo.livingdazed.com)The snow currently blowing over the apartment is, sadly, the kind that brings just the right amount of low pressure to knock me out. My brains are sore and the rest of my body feels achy and heavy.
I will simply relay the highlight of my week... to cheer myself up a bit. A student from the studio asked for a private yoga session to learn how to modify the series for her shoulder injury... and she asked for me specifically. Being, still, a relatively new teacher, certified for one year now, this feeling does not suck. It's one of the most rewarding moments in my first year's experience (accompanied by my boss's faith in me to ask me to teach one of my favorite classes, the candlelit hot yoga class... and my second sabbatical, of course).
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Last, quick word on the sabbatical
I started my trip with Sarah Brightman, and that's how I ended it as well. The first song I shared was somewhat sad, acknowledging, to me, the change of the nature of my relationships. This next song is somewhat corny, but, the lyrics are ultimately encouraging with a message that seems to reflect this whole experience:
Click here to hear the song... just don't watch her; makes the song go down easier. Poor Sarah... she wants to be a rock star so bad, but she has a classical voice whether she likes it or not.
Here are the lyrics, if you're curious... though, listening to her voice is easier than paying too close attention to the lyrics:
Winter in July
Look around wounder why
We can live a life that's never satisfied
Lonely hearts troubled minds
Looking for a way that we can never find
Many roads are ahead of us
With choices to be made
But life's just one of the games we play
There is no special way
Make the best of what's given you
Everything will come in time
Why deny yourself
Don't just let life pass you by
Like winter in July
Future dreams can never last
When you find yourself still living in the past
Keep moving on to higher ground
Looking for the way you thought could not be found
We may not know the reason why
We're born into this world
Where a man only lives to die
His story left untold
Make the best of what's given you
Everything will come in time
Why deny yourself
Don't just let life pass you by
Like winter in July
And we may not know the reason why
We're born into this world
Where a man only live to die
And his story left untold
So make the best of what's given you
Everything will come in time
Why deny yourself
Don't just let life pass you by
Like winter in July
If you're baffled by the silliness, I would like to think that the point of this song is to trust that things happen for the best (while I knew what I know about animal production, I didn't finally receive this heartfelt push towards action until I was away from home, quiet, and free), not to worry so much, and not to get so bogged down in the details that you miss extraordinary surprises... like winter in July... or accidental sabbaticals.
Here are the lyrics, if you're curious... though, listening to her voice is easier than paying too close attention to the lyrics:
Winter in July
Look around wounder why
We can live a life that's never satisfied
Lonely hearts troubled minds
Looking for a way that we can never find
Many roads are ahead of us
With choices to be made
But life's just one of the games we play
There is no special way
Make the best of what's given you
Everything will come in time
Why deny yourself
Don't just let life pass you by
Like winter in July
Future dreams can never last
When you find yourself still living in the past
Keep moving on to higher ground
Looking for the way you thought could not be found
We may not know the reason why
We're born into this world
Where a man only lives to die
His story left untold
Make the best of what's given you
Everything will come in time
Why deny yourself
Don't just let life pass you by
Like winter in July
And we may not know the reason why
We're born into this world
Where a man only live to die
And his story left untold
So make the best of what's given you
Everything will come in time
Why deny yourself
Don't just let life pass you by
Like winter in July
If you're baffled by the silliness, I would like to think that the point of this song is to trust that things happen for the best (while I knew what I know about animal production, I didn't finally receive this heartfelt push towards action until I was away from home, quiet, and free), not to worry so much, and not to get so bogged down in the details that you miss extraordinary surprises... like winter in July... or accidental sabbaticals.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Splendid Sabbatical: Day Four
While the previous day had been absolutely beautiful, it didn't help get me out of bed at 7:45, again... I was three minutes late with wet hair, again... and the only guest in the dining room, again.
(from www.theoaksvictorianinn.com)
Though groggy, I think I still glowed. I still smiled. I reeked of contentment as I walked past the kitchen, waving Hello to my hosts who were standing around waiting for me in the kitchen. As the lady Innkeeper poured my coffee, she reminded me that the coffee had been out the past few mornings in the hall outside my room every morning at 7:30. I told her, while the coffee was out there, I certainly was not, and the husband laughed. She glared at him (or me) for a split second. I guess she was trying to say it had been there to help me wake up, but, I tend to like to brush my teeth before I ingest anything... it would have slowed me down anyway. I'm always in a rush in the mornings, sleeping to the last second at which I absolutely have to get up.
We talked more about the Innkeepers themselves that morning. The husband (we'll call him Trapper Joe, modified from the wife's nickname for him) would walk in and out of the room to look out the glass doors. He had set out squirrel traps in the backyard in attempt to capture the ones that had been chewing at the wiring in their attic. At first, I was afraid he meant to kill them. After all, he had smiled deviously the morning before and said, "Today's moving day! Those squirrels are moving to the cemetery today- they just don't know it!" However, I found out he meant that literally. He would catch two at a time and then load them in his truck to drive them a little more than a mile down the road where there are plenty of trees and a source of food for the little tree rats.
I thanked both of them for a great time, a lovely place to stay. The Innkeeper handed me a Select Registry book and explained the rules... I was anxious to get on the road, so, I was distracted during her explanation. I'm not sure what the deal is, but, I think that in two more trips to one of the B&Bs in this catalog, I'm entitled to a discount or a free upgrade or something. I took the book back to my room to savor the space of my solitude for just a little while longer...
(from www.theoaksvictorianinn.com)
I left behind a note for my housekeeper (who was above and beyond attentive and bothered to be friendly) as well as postcard for the Innkeepers. On my outing to the antique shop, I had found a postcard from Williamsburg, so, I wrote a little message and left it on my pillow. I scanned the room to make sure I hadn't left anything and walked out. Of course, my scan was not terribly efficient, since a minute before I hopped into the car, the lady Innkeeper came rushing out with my black lounge pants. She teased me a bit, I played along, and got in my car while tossing the pants to the backseat.
The drive back was foggy, but the clouds parted as the sun continued to rise. I was on my way to see Beth before I made the trek home. I realized that I had done the same thing at the end of my first sabbatical... seeing Beth on the way home. We met at her place and we drove into this quaint center of UVA world where there is a pod of unique restaurants and shops. We chose a little Mediterranean place with bright yellow and blue paint on the walls and a decent menu.
I so cherish my time with Beth... there's never enough of it. Even after we had finished our meals, we continued to chat, so we ordered a glass of wine to sip. We must have sat together just chatting for four or five hours. We talked about my trip, our plans for summer, the Alice movie (coming in March), the end of our book club, our writing projects, etc. The light from the windows followed a trail slightly up the walls and started to disappear before we decided we should get back to our lives.
Part of what makes Beth impossible to leave is her gift for remaining different, allowing you to be different, and making that a good thing rather than judging you. She and I have different beliefs (or, rather, she has some and I'm just me), different favorites, different philosophies, different convictions. And yet, Beth makes it a space for fascination and celebration rather than a reason to strike things off the list of what we may discuss together. Of course, we do have plenty in common, too (a love for writing, an interest in ethics, love in our friendships, close ties to our families, enthusiasm for the arts, medievalism, etc.), which just cements us together. I hated leaving her behind...
...but, boy was I wiped by the time I arrived home.
A low pressure system had set in while I was in Charlottesville and followed me all the way home, so, I was a tad uncomfortable when I walked into the apartment. Nonetheless, I kissed my cat and sat down for a quiet evening at home. I let my people know I was home (I have a short list of those who like to know I'm alive after traveling) and settled into the couch, cat on my lap, David in his recliner, and order was restored...
...though, not entirely. After the decision I made the day before, something was definitely altered from "the norm." Something about the apartment, about "home," felt more like my own. Yes, I've been living here for nearly two years now, but the "mine-ness" of things seemed enhanced... my desk, my books, my window seat... my ficus, my tea cup, my bread-maker... these were components of my life. I had just taken control of something that made all my other decisions a little more significant.
So, now what? How's the feeling been since then? I suppose I'm no longer walking on soap-bubble giddiness, and I'm still learning how to smile and laugh for no reason, but I feel better about food, surely. Though I had eaten largely vegetarian for some time before this trip, limiting my meat intake to products I could trace to ethical sources, I felt liberated from systems I'm not as yet in a position to influence.
Still, if you want to know my general stance on how most of us eat, I'd say that if we're going to be on top of the food chain due to our big brains (since few of us could hunt like a wild animal), I guess it should be incumbent upon us to use those brains and not be assholes about how we outsmart the "lesser" species. I think people (Americans with their cheeseburgers in particular) could stand to eat less meat. This would have some influence on our mass production method of treating livestock like a commodity rather than sentient beings. Some chickens spend their entire lives on a conveyor belt, never seeing the light of day. Those conveyor belt factory chickens live only 28 days, from hatch to slaughter. That, to me, is wrong, but it meets the American demand for how much meat we ingest. (My sources include Food, Inc., available on Netflix Instant Viewing, but other intriguing sources on the topic of food production include DIET FOR A SMALL PLANET by Frances Moore Lappe, and EATING ANIMALS by Jonathan Safran Foer.)
So, rather than contribute to a still flawed system, I now have hopes to work towards change in any small ways I can (signing worthy petitions, continuing to support local farmers, etc). In the meantime, I can start with how I, myself, eat food.
I will always look back on this whole trip with tremendous fondness. I miss my trainer, I long for the streets of Blacksburg and their fantastic little eateries, I am grateful to my therapist for offering me an appropriate alternative to what is painful massage for me, and I miss the mountains, the quiet, the chilled air, the serenity of the experience. I'm hoping to visit again next month... I can't go every month, naturally, but, while it's still in the realm of possibility, I'm not ruling out trips in the near future to rekindle the magic.
(from www.theoaksvictorianinn.com)Though groggy, I think I still glowed. I still smiled. I reeked of contentment as I walked past the kitchen, waving Hello to my hosts who were standing around waiting for me in the kitchen. As the lady Innkeeper poured my coffee, she reminded me that the coffee had been out the past few mornings in the hall outside my room every morning at 7:30. I told her, while the coffee was out there, I certainly was not, and the husband laughed. She glared at him (or me) for a split second. I guess she was trying to say it had been there to help me wake up, but, I tend to like to brush my teeth before I ingest anything... it would have slowed me down anyway. I'm always in a rush in the mornings, sleeping to the last second at which I absolutely have to get up.
We talked more about the Innkeepers themselves that morning. The husband (we'll call him Trapper Joe, modified from the wife's nickname for him) would walk in and out of the room to look out the glass doors. He had set out squirrel traps in the backyard in attempt to capture the ones that had been chewing at the wiring in their attic. At first, I was afraid he meant to kill them. After all, he had smiled deviously the morning before and said, "Today's moving day! Those squirrels are moving to the cemetery today- they just don't know it!" However, I found out he meant that literally. He would catch two at a time and then load them in his truck to drive them a little more than a mile down the road where there are plenty of trees and a source of food for the little tree rats.
I thanked both of them for a great time, a lovely place to stay. The Innkeeper handed me a Select Registry book and explained the rules... I was anxious to get on the road, so, I was distracted during her explanation. I'm not sure what the deal is, but, I think that in two more trips to one of the B&Bs in this catalog, I'm entitled to a discount or a free upgrade or something. I took the book back to my room to savor the space of my solitude for just a little while longer...
(from www.theoaksvictorianinn.com)I left behind a note for my housekeeper (who was above and beyond attentive and bothered to be friendly) as well as postcard for the Innkeepers. On my outing to the antique shop, I had found a postcard from Williamsburg, so, I wrote a little message and left it on my pillow. I scanned the room to make sure I hadn't left anything and walked out. Of course, my scan was not terribly efficient, since a minute before I hopped into the car, the lady Innkeeper came rushing out with my black lounge pants. She teased me a bit, I played along, and got in my car while tossing the pants to the backseat.
The drive back was foggy, but the clouds parted as the sun continued to rise. I was on my way to see Beth before I made the trek home. I realized that I had done the same thing at the end of my first sabbatical... seeing Beth on the way home. We met at her place and we drove into this quaint center of UVA world where there is a pod of unique restaurants and shops. We chose a little Mediterranean place with bright yellow and blue paint on the walls and a decent menu.
I so cherish my time with Beth... there's never enough of it. Even after we had finished our meals, we continued to chat, so we ordered a glass of wine to sip. We must have sat together just chatting for four or five hours. We talked about my trip, our plans for summer, the Alice movie (coming in March), the end of our book club, our writing projects, etc. The light from the windows followed a trail slightly up the walls and started to disappear before we decided we should get back to our lives.
Part of what makes Beth impossible to leave is her gift for remaining different, allowing you to be different, and making that a good thing rather than judging you. She and I have different beliefs (or, rather, she has some and I'm just me), different favorites, different philosophies, different convictions. And yet, Beth makes it a space for fascination and celebration rather than a reason to strike things off the list of what we may discuss together. Of course, we do have plenty in common, too (a love for writing, an interest in ethics, love in our friendships, close ties to our families, enthusiasm for the arts, medievalism, etc.), which just cements us together. I hated leaving her behind...
...but, boy was I wiped by the time I arrived home.
A low pressure system had set in while I was in Charlottesville and followed me all the way home, so, I was a tad uncomfortable when I walked into the apartment. Nonetheless, I kissed my cat and sat down for a quiet evening at home. I let my people know I was home (I have a short list of those who like to know I'm alive after traveling) and settled into the couch, cat on my lap, David in his recliner, and order was restored...
...though, not entirely. After the decision I made the day before, something was definitely altered from "the norm." Something about the apartment, about "home," felt more like my own. Yes, I've been living here for nearly two years now, but the "mine-ness" of things seemed enhanced... my desk, my books, my window seat... my ficus, my tea cup, my bread-maker... these were components of my life. I had just taken control of something that made all my other decisions a little more significant.
So, now what? How's the feeling been since then? I suppose I'm no longer walking on soap-bubble giddiness, and I'm still learning how to smile and laugh for no reason, but I feel better about food, surely. Though I had eaten largely vegetarian for some time before this trip, limiting my meat intake to products I could trace to ethical sources, I felt liberated from systems I'm not as yet in a position to influence.
Still, if you want to know my general stance on how most of us eat, I'd say that if we're going to be on top of the food chain due to our big brains (since few of us could hunt like a wild animal), I guess it should be incumbent upon us to use those brains and not be assholes about how we outsmart the "lesser" species. I think people (Americans with their cheeseburgers in particular) could stand to eat less meat. This would have some influence on our mass production method of treating livestock like a commodity rather than sentient beings. Some chickens spend their entire lives on a conveyor belt, never seeing the light of day. Those conveyor belt factory chickens live only 28 days, from hatch to slaughter. That, to me, is wrong, but it meets the American demand for how much meat we ingest. (My sources include Food, Inc., available on Netflix Instant Viewing, but other intriguing sources on the topic of food production include DIET FOR A SMALL PLANET by Frances Moore Lappe, and EATING ANIMALS by Jonathan Safran Foer.)
So, rather than contribute to a still flawed system, I now have hopes to work towards change in any small ways I can (signing worthy petitions, continuing to support local farmers, etc). In the meantime, I can start with how I, myself, eat food.
I will always look back on this whole trip with tremendous fondness. I miss my trainer, I long for the streets of Blacksburg and their fantastic little eateries, I am grateful to my therapist for offering me an appropriate alternative to what is painful massage for me, and I miss the mountains, the quiet, the chilled air, the serenity of the experience. I'm hoping to visit again next month... I can't go every month, naturally, but, while it's still in the realm of possibility, I'm not ruling out trips in the near future to rekindle the magic.
(PS: For you, Anya: Happy Birthday, Norman Rockwell!)
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Sacred Surprises: Day Three
There's no way I could have known that this day would be one of the best days I've had in years.
I rose at 7:45, again, and lagged slightly, forcing me to choose not to dry my hair to make it to the dining room three minutes late. When I arrived, apparently looking tired again, the Innkeepers had made a fire, lit the candles, and set a place for... me.
I was the only guest.
Rather than ask if I could bring my books with me now, I tried to invite my hosts to join me at the table... which apparently was an odd request. As the lady of this duo came in and out taking my plates and refreshing my coffee, I told her that I had taken her advice the day before. I told her of my visit to that coffeehouse and the antique shop. Then I made the mistake of answering her question...
"So, what are you going to do today?"
"Well, this is my free day before I leave tomorrow. I'm planning to take my trainer's yoga class later this evening, but I thought I'd look around town, maybe get a pedicure-"
"Oh, a pedicure! I have just the place for you," and she proceeded to explain to me about this very nice couple with a very new, clean shop in the Christiansburg WalMart. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her that I already had a place in mind. She explained to me how to get there about three times, so, I felt obligated to strengthen whatever business ties she might have with this couple...
...even though it meant going to WalMart.
I called David after breakfast to tell him the trouble into which I had already entangled myself (before 10am). I gathered my things so I wouldn't have to come back to my room until the end of the day... just in case I found some adventure.
So, the place was everything my Innkeeper said it would be. It was new-ish, clean, and run by a very nice couple... whose English made it hard to bother with conversation. I was the only one there, so, I was seated and served immediately. I was led to a large red chair connected to a small tub of hot water. After I sat down, the gentleman pushed a button activating the massage function on the chair... and it was an awful feeling. I am already more sensitive than most people due to my condition, but I can't imagine anyone enjoying the beating this chair was doling out. It was as though brick fists were rhythmically punching me all along my spine. I sent a message to David asking him to please see if he could make me an appointment for a massage at the place I had originally planned to visit for my pedicure. I hadn't had a massage in 10 years, but after a few minutes in that chair, I was willing to give it another try.
After I found the button to turn off the chair, I picked up my book and tried to relax. The lady actually did a very good job (as in two weeks later, my toes are still pretty). She's one of those really talented freaks who can make the straight, white lines of a French pedicure freehand. She told me that I should keep the thin, neon green flipflops she gave me on my feet for a little while longer, to help the paint dry all the way. I paid her and complied with her recommendation.
I actually walked out of WalMart and into the cold air with those ridiculous things on my feet. David sent me a message saying I had an appointment for a massage at 3pm. I checked the hour and saw that I had some time to kill. I decided to go see a movie since the theater was barely a mile down the street. For my time slot, only two movies were available... New Moon or It's Complicated.
I chose It's Complicated.
I purchased my standard Kids Pack... a small soda, popcorn, and fruit snacks all in an easy-to-carry box. I know that's goofy, but I don't need much more than that and I only wanted a little something to tide me over until after the massage. I walked into a theater where only four other people were already seated. I walked towards the middle of an empty row of seats and sat down.
This is the part when my day starts to become wildly significant to me...
The preview for Disney's new nature film Oceans flashed across the screen. Now, I've seen it three times already (I've seen The Frog and the Princess three times... great, vintage Disney hand-drawn animation), so I cannot begin to explain what was suddenly so moving.
I have spoken before in this blog about my opinions on food, animals in particular. I went into the theater with these established beliefs of eating ethically... but I watched this incredible footage of waves of dolphins, swarms of long-haired jellyfish, passenger fish attaching themselves to larger fish for a ride to the other side of the sea... and I started to cry. Again, I have seen this trailer before, but for some reason, it struck a nerve during this screening. Such magnificent creatures who clearly have preferences, feelings for one another, etc. I suddenly felt guilt for the things I knew about how most animals are treated in the slaughtering process... for having participated in that by ordering meat in restaurants, not knowing where or how the animal was raised.
The guilt morphed gradually into this overwhelming joy. Anya would tell you something like the following feeling if you asked her: I realized that I lived in a country where I did not need to eat meat in order to survive, to be healthy. There are still plenty of arguments on both sides for the ethics of food, but I no longer needed to participate. With a clear conscious, I could choose to eat vegetarian from now on.
I have not figured it all out... I can't say that I might not try sushi if I ever find myself at Morimoto's in NYC again, but, in my daily life, I foresee a new way of eating ethically.
I calmed down as the movie started. If you were debating going to see It's Complicated, don't bother. As excited as I was to see Steve Martin on the screen again, you can see all that's worth seeing in the trailer for free. When I left the theater, ready to take off those silly green sandals and put my poor, cold toes into real shoes, I was still high on the joy of my revelation.
I drove 15 minutes down the road to a place called Classic Body Image in Blacksburg. When I checked in, I learned that my therapist was actually one of my yoga students from the other night. I warned her about my condition and how long it had been since I had had a massage. She said that the therapy I had requested should cause me no troubles.
If you've never tried a hot stone massage, it's glorious. You're between two sheets with a blanket on top. About four or five larger stones are placed underneath your back along your spine and you lie down over them (later the therapist works on the other side, placing you face down with warm stones along your back as she/he works with your feet, legs, and trapezius). Then she took lotion to various areas around my neck, shoulders, arms, and legs, and ran very warm basalt stones over my muscles. The only pressure that was applied was the weight of the stones and the gentle guidance of my therapist's hands.
It was serendipitous to have this girl work with me... not only because I had been her teacher the other night (or because she is very good at what she does), but because she is a vegetarian also, and she offered me a chance to discuss my newfound feelings on the matter. She moved to Blacksburg with her husband due to his job and misses her home in Washington state. Apparently, it's a vegetarian's paradise back home. "Fortunately though," she informed me, "there's this fantastic vegetarian restaurant practically walking distance from the yoga studio."
I only had time for a snack between the end of the massage and class, but I wanted a little something in my stomach. I parked on the street and walked to this little hole in the wall... one would easily miss Gillies if not specifically informed that it was there. The walls were a warm red color reflected on hardwood floors. The tables were casually scattered... seemed people felt free to move things about to accommodate their numbers. I sat at the bar on a stool closest to the wall and ordered a cold soba noodle salad over a bed of organic greens and topped with mushrooms and sesame seeds. My mouth is watering at the mere memory... the salad was so simple, but so satisfying. I had that soap-bubble light feeling... food tastes better, feels better, because no animals were harmed to prepare it.
Class was good. I wished my trainer a happy early birthday and tried to calmly explain to her what a fantastic day I had had. I suddenly felt so spoiled... my last sabbatical occurred because I was losing my mind and needed some solitude to clear my head. This surprise sabbatical happened out of circumstance. What had I done that I needed to have a full breakfast made for me, a pedicure, time for a movie, and a massage followed by a good yoga session and an awesome meal?
Then I thought about it. I had not had this much fun in ages... smiling, warm, for-no-reason good times. I actually rarely have pure, uninhibited fun. Maybe that's why I needed a day of indulgence... because I'm such a blockhead at incorporating amusement and lighthearted fun into my regular life. I so rarely genuinely laugh anymore. I know when to laugh. I know what's funny. But, when I truly, wholeheartedly laugh, I sound like my mother. She has this beautiful, fairy queen sort of laugh that's like music. I've heard that noise come out of me only a few times in the past several years. Maybe this unexpected sabbatical was deserved to remind me that I need to lighten up.
I went back to Gillies for dinner and ordered a great glass of white, edamame, and this fantastic stir-fry with local veggies, tofu, and jasmine rice served with a spicy peanut sauce. I did the tacky-thing and took a picture of my dinner:
The restaurant started to fill with musicians playing folk music... one at a time, they would walk in, pull up a chair, and just join in. Violinists, guitarists, banjo players... The energy in the room was remarkable. I didn't need my book. I listened to the music and thought about nothing. I just enjoyed my meal and tapped my neatly pedicured foot to the music. I missed Anya, who was surviving the tail-end of a nasty stomach flu at the time, and my pen pal, wishing I could have shared this evening with my vegetarian friends (who are both highly deserving of a good sabbatical).
Too excited to stop, I went to a bookstore after dinner and called Tristan. I was still hyper on the bliss of my day. He humored me, laughed at my little story, but encouraged me on my path ("More meat for me," I think he said). I was unable to find a book to take with me (though they had a great endcap display of Alice in Wonderland), so, I climbed into my car and returned to the Inn.
I packed quietly, preparing for my departure the following day. My skin tingled with the joy of my experience, the awe of its accidental appearance. I felt grateful, calm, and I couldn't manage to remove the smile from my face. Even as I finally laid down to sleep under the cozy canopy, that contented smile, that sense of having been touched by something sacred, remained with me as I dozed and absorbed the magic of the day.
I rose at 7:45, again, and lagged slightly, forcing me to choose not to dry my hair to make it to the dining room three minutes late. When I arrived, apparently looking tired again, the Innkeepers had made a fire, lit the candles, and set a place for... me.
I was the only guest.
Rather than ask if I could bring my books with me now, I tried to invite my hosts to join me at the table... which apparently was an odd request. As the lady of this duo came in and out taking my plates and refreshing my coffee, I told her that I had taken her advice the day before. I told her of my visit to that coffeehouse and the antique shop. Then I made the mistake of answering her question...
"So, what are you going to do today?"
"Well, this is my free day before I leave tomorrow. I'm planning to take my trainer's yoga class later this evening, but I thought I'd look around town, maybe get a pedicure-"
"Oh, a pedicure! I have just the place for you," and she proceeded to explain to me about this very nice couple with a very new, clean shop in the Christiansburg WalMart. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her that I already had a place in mind. She explained to me how to get there about three times, so, I felt obligated to strengthen whatever business ties she might have with this couple...
...even though it meant going to WalMart.
I called David after breakfast to tell him the trouble into which I had already entangled myself (before 10am). I gathered my things so I wouldn't have to come back to my room until the end of the day... just in case I found some adventure.
So, the place was everything my Innkeeper said it would be. It was new-ish, clean, and run by a very nice couple... whose English made it hard to bother with conversation. I was the only one there, so, I was seated and served immediately. I was led to a large red chair connected to a small tub of hot water. After I sat down, the gentleman pushed a button activating the massage function on the chair... and it was an awful feeling. I am already more sensitive than most people due to my condition, but I can't imagine anyone enjoying the beating this chair was doling out. It was as though brick fists were rhythmically punching me all along my spine. I sent a message to David asking him to please see if he could make me an appointment for a massage at the place I had originally planned to visit for my pedicure. I hadn't had a massage in 10 years, but after a few minutes in that chair, I was willing to give it another try.
After I found the button to turn off the chair, I picked up my book and tried to relax. The lady actually did a very good job (as in two weeks later, my toes are still pretty). She's one of those really talented freaks who can make the straight, white lines of a French pedicure freehand. She told me that I should keep the thin, neon green flipflops she gave me on my feet for a little while longer, to help the paint dry all the way. I paid her and complied with her recommendation.
I actually walked out of WalMart and into the cold air with those ridiculous things on my feet. David sent me a message saying I had an appointment for a massage at 3pm. I checked the hour and saw that I had some time to kill. I decided to go see a movie since the theater was barely a mile down the street. For my time slot, only two movies were available... New Moon or It's Complicated.
I chose It's Complicated.
I purchased my standard Kids Pack... a small soda, popcorn, and fruit snacks all in an easy-to-carry box. I know that's goofy, but I don't need much more than that and I only wanted a little something to tide me over until after the massage. I walked into a theater where only four other people were already seated. I walked towards the middle of an empty row of seats and sat down.
This is the part when my day starts to become wildly significant to me...
The preview for Disney's new nature film Oceans flashed across the screen. Now, I've seen it three times already (I've seen The Frog and the Princess three times... great, vintage Disney hand-drawn animation), so I cannot begin to explain what was suddenly so moving.
I have spoken before in this blog about my opinions on food, animals in particular. I went into the theater with these established beliefs of eating ethically... but I watched this incredible footage of waves of dolphins, swarms of long-haired jellyfish, passenger fish attaching themselves to larger fish for a ride to the other side of the sea... and I started to cry. Again, I have seen this trailer before, but for some reason, it struck a nerve during this screening. Such magnificent creatures who clearly have preferences, feelings for one another, etc. I suddenly felt guilt for the things I knew about how most animals are treated in the slaughtering process... for having participated in that by ordering meat in restaurants, not knowing where or how the animal was raised.
The guilt morphed gradually into this overwhelming joy. Anya would tell you something like the following feeling if you asked her: I realized that I lived in a country where I did not need to eat meat in order to survive, to be healthy. There are still plenty of arguments on both sides for the ethics of food, but I no longer needed to participate. With a clear conscious, I could choose to eat vegetarian from now on.
I have not figured it all out... I can't say that I might not try sushi if I ever find myself at Morimoto's in NYC again, but, in my daily life, I foresee a new way of eating ethically.
I calmed down as the movie started. If you were debating going to see It's Complicated, don't bother. As excited as I was to see Steve Martin on the screen again, you can see all that's worth seeing in the trailer for free. When I left the theater, ready to take off those silly green sandals and put my poor, cold toes into real shoes, I was still high on the joy of my revelation.
I drove 15 minutes down the road to a place called Classic Body Image in Blacksburg. When I checked in, I learned that my therapist was actually one of my yoga students from the other night. I warned her about my condition and how long it had been since I had had a massage. She said that the therapy I had requested should cause me no troubles.
If you've never tried a hot stone massage, it's glorious. You're between two sheets with a blanket on top. About four or five larger stones are placed underneath your back along your spine and you lie down over them (later the therapist works on the other side, placing you face down with warm stones along your back as she/he works with your feet, legs, and trapezius). Then she took lotion to various areas around my neck, shoulders, arms, and legs, and ran very warm basalt stones over my muscles. The only pressure that was applied was the weight of the stones and the gentle guidance of my therapist's hands.
It was serendipitous to have this girl work with me... not only because I had been her teacher the other night (or because she is very good at what she does), but because she is a vegetarian also, and she offered me a chance to discuss my newfound feelings on the matter. She moved to Blacksburg with her husband due to his job and misses her home in Washington state. Apparently, it's a vegetarian's paradise back home. "Fortunately though," she informed me, "there's this fantastic vegetarian restaurant practically walking distance from the yoga studio."
I only had time for a snack between the end of the massage and class, but I wanted a little something in my stomach. I parked on the street and walked to this little hole in the wall... one would easily miss Gillies if not specifically informed that it was there. The walls were a warm red color reflected on hardwood floors. The tables were casually scattered... seemed people felt free to move things about to accommodate their numbers. I sat at the bar on a stool closest to the wall and ordered a cold soba noodle salad over a bed of organic greens and topped with mushrooms and sesame seeds. My mouth is watering at the mere memory... the salad was so simple, but so satisfying. I had that soap-bubble light feeling... food tastes better, feels better, because no animals were harmed to prepare it.
Class was good. I wished my trainer a happy early birthday and tried to calmly explain to her what a fantastic day I had had. I suddenly felt so spoiled... my last sabbatical occurred because I was losing my mind and needed some solitude to clear my head. This surprise sabbatical happened out of circumstance. What had I done that I needed to have a full breakfast made for me, a pedicure, time for a movie, and a massage followed by a good yoga session and an awesome meal?
Then I thought about it. I had not had this much fun in ages... smiling, warm, for-no-reason good times. I actually rarely have pure, uninhibited fun. Maybe that's why I needed a day of indulgence... because I'm such a blockhead at incorporating amusement and lighthearted fun into my regular life. I so rarely genuinely laugh anymore. I know when to laugh. I know what's funny. But, when I truly, wholeheartedly laugh, I sound like my mother. She has this beautiful, fairy queen sort of laugh that's like music. I've heard that noise come out of me only a few times in the past several years. Maybe this unexpected sabbatical was deserved to remind me that I need to lighten up.
I went back to Gillies for dinner and ordered a great glass of white, edamame, and this fantastic stir-fry with local veggies, tofu, and jasmine rice served with a spicy peanut sauce. I did the tacky-thing and took a picture of my dinner:
The restaurant started to fill with musicians playing folk music... one at a time, they would walk in, pull up a chair, and just join in. Violinists, guitarists, banjo players... The energy in the room was remarkable. I didn't need my book. I listened to the music and thought about nothing. I just enjoyed my meal and tapped my neatly pedicured foot to the music. I missed Anya, who was surviving the tail-end of a nasty stomach flu at the time, and my pen pal, wishing I could have shared this evening with my vegetarian friends (who are both highly deserving of a good sabbatical).
Too excited to stop, I went to a bookstore after dinner and called Tristan. I was still hyper on the bliss of my day. He humored me, laughed at my little story, but encouraged me on my path ("More meat for me," I think he said). I was unable to find a book to take with me (though they had a great endcap display of Alice in Wonderland), so, I climbed into my car and returned to the Inn.
I packed quietly, preparing for my departure the following day. My skin tingled with the joy of my experience, the awe of its accidental appearance. I felt grateful, calm, and I couldn't manage to remove the smile from my face. Even as I finally laid down to sleep under the cozy canopy, that contented smile, that sense of having been touched by something sacred, remained with me as I dozed and absorbed the magic of the day.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Second Sabbatical: Day Two
"Breakfast is at 8:30am..."
Have crueler words ever been spoken?
Have crueler words ever been spoken?
I got up around 7:45, confused at first as to where I was sleeping. Once I realized that it wasn't a dream, I was really at a B&B where one must rise before the sun to be fed, I walked into the bathroom to shower. I'm not one of those people willing to just roll out of bed for breakfast if I'm sharing a table with people... not even on Christmas would I do such a thing. I started to wake up more as I brushed my teeth... meaning the time became reality and I began to rush a bit. Something about my Innkeeper made me think that I shouldn't be too late.
I gathered my journal and books and walked to the dining room. I met the husband of this couple team running the inn and we all said our morning greetings.
"How did you sleep? You look tired," the woman who had been up since 6:30 felt the need to inform me of my apparently visible fatigue.
"Well, I work nights, so this is just a little early for me. I'm not human until 11," I replied with as much girlish bashfulness as I could muster. I find that, if all my wits are not about me (like at 8:30 in the morning), I end up acting like a girlish nitwit to survive social encounters.
She looked me over one more time, smiled sweetly, and said, "Oh... we don't allow books in the dining room." I naturally acted as though I should have known that and walked out to put my things back in my room. Once my back was turned I started to grumble to myself. If there were rules like this about the dining room, that meant I was expected to be social... friendly... to talk to strangers.
Oh, boy...
She placed me at a table with a young couple who actually lived right in Blacksburg. They had someone watching their kids while they got away to The Oaks for a long weekend. I asked them how they met, about their interests, about parenting while we had a three course breakfast... that ran on the sweet side. We started with a lovely apple tart, moved on to a fresh fruit salad, and ended with french toast (and bacon for the other guests... to avoid the long conversation of needing to know where the meat was processed and how it was raised and slaughtered, I just told the Innkeeper I was a vegetarian). This couple sat there with me talking and eating until 10:30... they only left because we were asked to vacate the dining room so it could be vacuumed. I hadn't broken my smile for two hours... I walked calmly to my room as I wished them a smooth return to their normal day-to-day lives.
Once the door was shut, I picked up my phone.
"Good Morning," that lucky David said sleepily.
"Please, say something rude. I've been polite and social before 11 for two hours straight!" I begged him. He laughed and I relayed the events of the morning... including the Innkeeper's suggestion that I walk to the local coffee shop for lunch and visit the antique store nearby (I told her I collected old postcards).
I reclaimed my journal and books and sat in the library to write and read. I sat near a window and remained aware of the time due to the sun rays moving across the floor and down my back. I wrote about two and a half pages in my journal concerning the thoughts I had cultivated on the drive the day before. I felt satisfied with my conclusions and made myself a cup of tea. There's a station with a bureau filled with tea and cocoa and a hot water dispenser next to library. I had an ideal late morning sitting and reading the book Beth gave me (it's a genuinely interesting project to recreate Alice's life as someone who was trapped being a character in a book to people she met... and those people were progressively disappointed as she aged... because Alice grew up).
I was ready to walk to the coffee shop, but as I walked out the door, enjoying the unseasonably warm air, a car drove by with two young guys who honked and shouted. I stood there, frozen, waiting for the car to disappear around the corner, then I walked right back up to the porch and around to the side of the building to start up my car.
(from http://www.cburgcoffee.com/)It's shameful how close this place was to the inn, but my social strength had already been challenged enough for one day. I parked on the street next to the coffeehouse. There was hardly anyone around, but, it was mid-Monday after all. I ordered a cup of tomato soup (best tomato soup I've ever had... I tend to need lots of grilled cheese and crackers to make it through a cup of that boring, red, ketchup-y sea, but this stuff was sprinkled with fresh herbs and delicately seasoned) and a grilled cheese sandwich. I sat in a window seat to watch the occasional person walk by as I read my book and munched quietly.
I went ahead and walked to the antique shop. The Innkeeper wasn't kidding when she told me that morning that this shop had tons of postcards. There was a nook the size of a kid's bedroom completely lined along the wall with boxes and boxes of postcards. The place itself was huge and one of the most interesting antique shops I've ever visited. I found some vegetarian cookbooks for Anya and myself as well as postcards for a few other girls I know who also collect.
My system decided I was taking a nap after having forced myself awake so early. I barely had time to adjust the blanket and set my alarm before I was out. I stretched it just a little too long (I've been known to hit Snooze for two hours before I lift myself out of slumber) and woke with just enough time to gather my things and get to work.
I arrived somewhat frazzled, walking through a large collection of people. I've never taught a class as large as the one that gathered for that evening session... 30 people came out to sweat under my instruction. After surviving the class the night before, I had worked out all my directional kinks and class went well. The students were very kind... complimenting me for a great class. It's one thing when your regular students, who have grown accustomed to you, tell you that it was a good class (and understand I am very grateful to my regular clients). But, when people you've never met before, people you'll likely never see again, feel motivated to walk right up to you and thank you, Stranger, for a job well done, that's a job worth having.
My trainer and I have only been out socially with the rest of the trainees from my class. This dinner date after the class was the first time we went out together just to catch up. It was a little weird at first, but we had a few margaritas, a friend of hers joined us, and it really was a good time. We went to this place called Cabo Fish Taco, which had plenty of very interesting options for vegetarians and fish eaters alike. The food was quite tasty and I had the most interesting margarita I've ever sampled. It's called an Angry Amigo, and they put three slices of jalapeno pepper in the glass to add some spice.
I have to say that my trainer is an impressive person. I see very few people work against the habits of their nature to work towards tough, personal goals. She is somewhat shy, moderately insecure, and, like all of us, has first impressions. But, she has the courage to walk into a potentially awkward situation and make the most of it. More than that, she leaves the door open for people to reveal who they really are... Whatever her first impression of me used to be, I think she saw other aspects of my personality that night and willingly altered her interaction with me based on the new information. I truly appreciate her, even more than I already did for giving me this gift of a yoga lifestyle. It will not be hard to convince me to go back and spend a few days in her part of the world sometime in the not-so-distant future.
I returned to the inn, well-fed and content with my evening. The next day was my free day to do as I liked before taking my trainer's class for the first time since I had been certified. I considered what I might do, not knowing the area, and decided to play it by ear...
...and the next day ended up being one of the best days I've had since... hmm... 2007?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Surprise Sabbatical: Day One
Just as we're all rather surprised when the meteorologists predict a snow storm that actually arrives on our peninsula, I had an unexpected opportunity to go away on my own again about two weeks ago. I had planned to stay in a lake house outside of Roanoke with some people, but two nights before we were meant to leave, the house was flooded. I had already arranged to teach yoga with the woman who trained me at her new studio in Blacksburg, so, rather than cancel on her, I decided to find another B&B and run away again.
I left on a Sunday with my dear friend Beth, driving her home to Charlottesville on my way to Blacksburg. Two hours is not enough for us, so we made plans to get lunch together when I came back three days later. She presented me with a lovely gift for my efforts in organizing our book club... a book to take with me entitled ALICE I HAVE BEEN by Melanie Benjamin. It's a novel based on the life of the "real" Alice Liddell... the little girl who served as Professor Dodgson's inspiration to become Lewis Carroll and create ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. Beth inscribed the book with her thanks... making it all worth it.
The drive to Blacksburg was similar to the long drive to Woolwine, though, perhaps less terrifying. Fewer mountains with tight curves. I thought about my friendships, about my own path, how so much is going to change so fast this year. Soon two of the girls around here with whom I spend time will be moving away... and I might be close behind them. I cried a little listening to Sarah Brightman's He Doesn't See Me. The lyrics depict a sort of Eponine/Marius set up... a decent person loves someone who seems to be unaware of her existence due to his love for another woman. It just reminded me of something that Joyce told me... about a time in her life when it was easy to misconstrue her friends' inattentiveness and distance for a lack of love and a desire to end their friendships. She said she later figured out that they were all going through their own new phases... demanding jobs, tough marriages, school troubles, etc.
My tears did not derive from the same sadness or broken-heartedness that Brightman intoned. It was more, perhaps, a loving acceptance. I care more than I tend to admit out loud about these people, and I know things are changing, have been changing. This is neither good nor bad (See what a good little Buddhist I can be with a few days away here and there?) but it's a break from comfy, reliable connections. With the stress of moving, making new connections, finding the better grocery stores, and fixing any home issues with your new living space, one must also make more effort to strengthen ties back where loved ones are wondering how things are. There's no one to call at a random moment to see if they have time for a coffee or feel like seeing a movie. You have to start over. That can be an adventure... it can also leave one longing somewhat for what was...
Well, we'll cross that bridge soon enough.
Still, I had these things on my mind when I finally drove into the parking area behind the new studio. My trainer had moved from Williamsburg last July; I hadn't seen her since September. I was about to walk into a new place containing someone who is a significant member of a special time in my past.
The studio itself is not particularly remarkable - but that works. She only has what she needs (and a really great line of clothing as it turns out... I hate clothes shopping, but I bought two pieces over the course of my working there). Bathrooms, laundry equipment and supplies, showers (nice big ones with decent water pressure... harder to come by than you might think), a lobby for signing in and holding people's belongings, and a large room with a long mirror for yoga practice.
We discussed the new studio, how business is going and whatnot as we signed in well over 20 students, my trainer included. The last time she took my yoga class was the very first time I taught on my own... which was a rocky ride. I completely forgot to instruct the commencing breathing exercise before every hot yoga class and out of a five part posture series, I forgot two parts. The rest of the class went pretty smoothly, but the damage was done. I was a little nervous to be in a new studio, new dimensions (that changes the direction in which you ask your students to turn depending on the posture), and teaching a class for my trainer for the second time in one year.
Teaching, of course, went fine. I've had plenty of practice thanks to my current studio on the peninsula. Teaching my trainer wasn't really that nerve-wracking either... but her flooring caused me a couple of unexpected difficulties. It's sort of like a very large, puffed up yoga mat. That makes demonstrating a posture off the mat a little tricky. It also sucks up the sound. I'm used to being able to hear my voice bounce back to me along with the breaths of the students. I couldn't hear a thing. I was as careful as I could be not to expose my unease. My trainer seemed proud of my progress, which was a pretty good feeling, I'll admit it. She and I made plans to go get dinner the following evening after I taught another class. I changed and dashed to the inn to make check-in time.
(from www.theoaksvictorianinn.com)
The Oaks Victorian Inn was only 15 minutes up the road in a little town called Christiansburg. The Innkeeper met me at the door and showed me around. Unwittingly, I had chosen the perfect room. My room was on the first floor of this beautiful three-story house, neither next to nor beneath any other room. It was quiet, private, perfect. The Innkeeper gave me the key to my room and the front door so I could come and go as I liked. I assured her I was wiped out and wanted nothing but to go to bed with my fruit and cheese plate. We said Goodnight and I shut my door.
I started to unload my things so I could shower and settle in. As I took out my toiletries, I flashed back to earlier that morning: I could smell the coffee in the main room. Beth and David were politely chatting as I was putting us behind schedule with my lack of packing skills. I decided not to take my usual overnight bag and just packed my yoga bag that I take with me to the studio to shower after class. I could see myself leaning over clumsily from the drowsiness over my things as I said in my head," Don't forget the travel toothpaste in your usual toiletries bag." I so rarely take my own advice...
So, my plans were rearranged. Some inns have emergency toiletries for you, but I'm weird about asking for things. I put my coat back on, slipped into my shoes, and walked out, locking the front door behind me. I got in the car and found a Kroger three minutes away on my GPS. I purchased toothpaste, a bottle of Californian viognier, a bottle stopper, an egg salad sandwich, and face wash (realized while out that I left that, too).
Back at the Inn, I showered, laid out a glass of wine, my fruit and cheese plate the Inn put together for me, and watched a stupid movie on the bed in a white, fluffy bathrobe. I was too tired to feel as spoiled as I should have felt. The canopy over my head was actually a delicate quilt blanket that just made everything cozier, warmer, easier to put me to sleep...
I left on a Sunday with my dear friend Beth, driving her home to Charlottesville on my way to Blacksburg. Two hours is not enough for us, so we made plans to get lunch together when I came back three days later. She presented me with a lovely gift for my efforts in organizing our book club... a book to take with me entitled ALICE I HAVE BEEN by Melanie Benjamin. It's a novel based on the life of the "real" Alice Liddell... the little girl who served as Professor Dodgson's inspiration to become Lewis Carroll and create ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. Beth inscribed the book with her thanks... making it all worth it.
The drive to Blacksburg was similar to the long drive to Woolwine, though, perhaps less terrifying. Fewer mountains with tight curves. I thought about my friendships, about my own path, how so much is going to change so fast this year. Soon two of the girls around here with whom I spend time will be moving away... and I might be close behind them. I cried a little listening to Sarah Brightman's He Doesn't See Me. The lyrics depict a sort of Eponine/Marius set up... a decent person loves someone who seems to be unaware of her existence due to his love for another woman. It just reminded me of something that Joyce told me... about a time in her life when it was easy to misconstrue her friends' inattentiveness and distance for a lack of love and a desire to end their friendships. She said she later figured out that they were all going through their own new phases... demanding jobs, tough marriages, school troubles, etc.
My tears did not derive from the same sadness or broken-heartedness that Brightman intoned. It was more, perhaps, a loving acceptance. I care more than I tend to admit out loud about these people, and I know things are changing, have been changing. This is neither good nor bad (See what a good little Buddhist I can be with a few days away here and there?) but it's a break from comfy, reliable connections. With the stress of moving, making new connections, finding the better grocery stores, and fixing any home issues with your new living space, one must also make more effort to strengthen ties back where loved ones are wondering how things are. There's no one to call at a random moment to see if they have time for a coffee or feel like seeing a movie. You have to start over. That can be an adventure... it can also leave one longing somewhat for what was...
Well, we'll cross that bridge soon enough.
Still, I had these things on my mind when I finally drove into the parking area behind the new studio. My trainer had moved from Williamsburg last July; I hadn't seen her since September. I was about to walk into a new place containing someone who is a significant member of a special time in my past.
The studio itself is not particularly remarkable - but that works. She only has what she needs (and a really great line of clothing as it turns out... I hate clothes shopping, but I bought two pieces over the course of my working there). Bathrooms, laundry equipment and supplies, showers (nice big ones with decent water pressure... harder to come by than you might think), a lobby for signing in and holding people's belongings, and a large room with a long mirror for yoga practice.
We discussed the new studio, how business is going and whatnot as we signed in well over 20 students, my trainer included. The last time she took my yoga class was the very first time I taught on my own... which was a rocky ride. I completely forgot to instruct the commencing breathing exercise before every hot yoga class and out of a five part posture series, I forgot two parts. The rest of the class went pretty smoothly, but the damage was done. I was a little nervous to be in a new studio, new dimensions (that changes the direction in which you ask your students to turn depending on the posture), and teaching a class for my trainer for the second time in one year.
Teaching, of course, went fine. I've had plenty of practice thanks to my current studio on the peninsula. Teaching my trainer wasn't really that nerve-wracking either... but her flooring caused me a couple of unexpected difficulties. It's sort of like a very large, puffed up yoga mat. That makes demonstrating a posture off the mat a little tricky. It also sucks up the sound. I'm used to being able to hear my voice bounce back to me along with the breaths of the students. I couldn't hear a thing. I was as careful as I could be not to expose my unease. My trainer seemed proud of my progress, which was a pretty good feeling, I'll admit it. She and I made plans to go get dinner the following evening after I taught another class. I changed and dashed to the inn to make check-in time.
(from www.theoaksvictorianinn.com)The Oaks Victorian Inn was only 15 minutes up the road in a little town called Christiansburg. The Innkeeper met me at the door and showed me around. Unwittingly, I had chosen the perfect room. My room was on the first floor of this beautiful three-story house, neither next to nor beneath any other room. It was quiet, private, perfect. The Innkeeper gave me the key to my room and the front door so I could come and go as I liked. I assured her I was wiped out and wanted nothing but to go to bed with my fruit and cheese plate. We said Goodnight and I shut my door.
I started to unload my things so I could shower and settle in. As I took out my toiletries, I flashed back to earlier that morning: I could smell the coffee in the main room. Beth and David were politely chatting as I was putting us behind schedule with my lack of packing skills. I decided not to take my usual overnight bag and just packed my yoga bag that I take with me to the studio to shower after class. I could see myself leaning over clumsily from the drowsiness over my things as I said in my head," Don't forget the travel toothpaste in your usual toiletries bag." I so rarely take my own advice...
So, my plans were rearranged. Some inns have emergency toiletries for you, but I'm weird about asking for things. I put my coat back on, slipped into my shoes, and walked out, locking the front door behind me. I got in the car and found a Kroger three minutes away on my GPS. I purchased toothpaste, a bottle of Californian viognier, a bottle stopper, an egg salad sandwich, and face wash (realized while out that I left that, too).
Back at the Inn, I showered, laid out a glass of wine, my fruit and cheese plate the Inn put together for me, and watched a stupid movie on the bed in a white, fluffy bathrobe. I was too tired to feel as spoiled as I should have felt. The canopy over my head was actually a delicate quilt blanket that just made everything cozier, warmer, easier to put me to sleep...
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