I only have myself to blame for over scheduling my time. Partly, it’s the life of the freelance, taking work when it comes, as inconvenient as it might be. But partly, it’s me, saying yes to all manners of things that are interesting and then end up piling up on each other. It’s also Spring, and I have come back to life, after a hermit Winter. So, if I can get to the end of Friday, I am planning a weekend of nothing much: dogs, yoga, books, mindless videos and general laziness. Starting with this post.
According to most of my American friends, the world is heading towards a period of gloom and doom. Time for some heroes. Not of the super variety – just ordinary people capable of extraordinary acts of love. If it all looks a bit like a giant reading assignment, just pick what resonates. I also threw in a heart-warming video (no dogs, I promise) and a yoga idea.
On Sunday night at midnight, our tree broke. At least a century old and over 150 feet high, it simply tore at a massive joint and collapsed … falling with a muted scream and blue explosions – taking down the power lines and shorting out our electric fence. Its branches touched my bedroom windows, shocking Jack and me from sleep.
That tree has history for me … the first day I saw it was when sofabrother was looking for somewhere to live in CT. I was still in New York and had interrupted a return flight home from Sydney to lend a hand. At the time I was trying to make sense of a career that felt like it was disintegrating and he was starting anew after 18 years in London. As we pulled up, there it was – this big, bright green reassuring presence, gently leaning over the road, softening down the sounds of the trains that pass every half an hour. We knew immediately the house was right. And the tree has watched over us for almost a decade. Always changing but always there.
I am no stranger to meditation. The very first yoga class I ever took, over 18 years ago, happened to be a free meditation class on January 1, 1996. I…
During my Yoga teacher training I battled to meditate. It drove the woman who ran the ashram mad, she said she could feel my thoughts ricocheting around the room. I’d had this kind of feedback once before – at a step class when the teacher asked me to move to the back of the room because my lack of co-ordination was distracting the others. But this felt like a bigger failure – not being able to control ones limbs while hideous 80s disco music distracted my mind was one thing. Not being able to manage my own mind whilst sitting on my butt, was entirely another.
Both camparigirl and I practice yoga, and go through the fluctuations of time spent on the mat that most busy yogis experience. Both of us leave class each time, thinking to ourselves – “I loved that, I really should do more of it. Anmhour a day would be perfect”. Then life intervenes, and we’re back to a couple days a week. Essentially we should be able to practice yoga until the day we die .. that’s the theory anyway. But stiffening joints and atrophying muscles might not always make that possible.
So we were thrilled, inspired and heartened to read on Shape.com that the Guinness Book of World Records has recently named New York resident Tao Porchon-Lynch the world’s oldest yoga instructor.