You are currently browsing the monthly archive for March 2013.

Just a quick meditation and exercise insight in case I forget by tomorrow morning.  Was meditating when the peni got home from the park, dammit.  Sorry, not very open and accepting of my inner breath just there.  Was pleased to learn they were just home for water and were heading off to a different park.  (Welcome to our weekends, one run ’em till they drop activity after another, and it was Jim’s turn.)

Went back to meditating and then decided to take Bucky for a walk as I missed the Sunday yoga class.  Usually I put on a playlist called Can’t Shut Up (songs I like to sing) or Can’t Stop Dancing when I walk or exercise.  But I was in a meditative mood so put on my meditation/gothefucktosleep, kid playlist, mostly this song over and over.  Click on “Reverence” by Tinstad and Rumbel

Had THE BEST WALK EVER!  Noticed so many things in my neighborhood, porch furniture, flowers, dogs in windows, uneven wooden gates, garden sprites, fairy wings and met new neighbors.  Including the old guy Arthur always yells Hello to when we drive home from school as he is out every evening slicing any and all spare blades of grass that might peek out of his brick sidewalk with a rusty slingblade (not really).  He looks kind of grumpy, but had a slightly falsetto  Hellloooooo  when I hailed him.  Would have stopped to talk but had an unmentionable in the plastic baggie headed for the dumpster around the corner.

I digress.  We walked so long, I actually considered doing this early in the mornings, before the snuggly kids sneak under my arms.  In other words, early.  Meditation and exercise and getting my day off in a better way than the usual frothy slug beating.   We’ll shall see.  Om



It was brave, it was bold and it was totally spontaneous.  Last night, I attempted to meditate at 7pm.

Normally a crazy busy time (sorry Carla) around our house, on this night all the needy men-children were occupied.  The boys were enthralled with a new movie and Jim was enthralled with a new attempt at cooking steak.  I came to the computer to look at a recommended website for the kids and my guided meditation reminder popped up.  Why  not?

It mostly worked, but I had to continue to refocus and work to drown out the distractions.   It wasn’t the giggling from “Ice Age Continental Drift” – I’m already pretty good at tuning out animation music and sound effects already.  And I’ve been around Jim’s muttering while puttering long enough to serve as his ventriloquist.  (He’s going to read this and have a little hiccup that I used the word “serve” in relation to him.)

Nope, the distractions that caused meditatus interruptus were my own thoughts.  Of course.  This will come as no surprise to anyone who meditates.  I can finally say I am in this category instead of the “attempting to meditate” classification I struggled to get past for so long.

As I was settling in, I thought, if this works, I should write about it – it’s brave, it’s bold, it’s spontaneous!  And that was it.  Everything I’ve been planning to write about came slinging on through, words, phrases, metaphors, similes.  The yoga class I finally took this week.  How happy my body was to be doing it, I started crying.  Body image.  Women’s walking groups, the kids cute sayings, the generator across the street, the yoga instructor.  On and on, each image had to be sandblasted away.  That’s my current method – a swirling sandstorm that turns my brain’s images into pixels and they rise up into the sky.  Gently, of course, dear meditators.

So, a classic meditation experience in a non-meditative environment.  My experiments to fit in the things that I need instead of waiting for the perfect time continue.

When my old roommates from Arizona learned that I had a dog on our reunion trip to Key West, they were aghast. And I was aghast that they were aghast. When I lived with my Minnesota snow birds in the late 80’s, they each had a dog – freaked out German Shepherd and annoying cocker spaniel. I kept the door to my bedroom closed, because I couldn’t imagine sleeping with all that dog hair around. They would wander in occasionally and sniff around, wag and slip out.

A decade or so later, I have 3 dogs, 2 cats, spend half of my volunteer time in dog activities, travel across the country with my service dog in training, fantasize about search and rescue ‘career’ and can’t pass a canine without making an adoring comment.  So, they were all aghast at my transformation, and I had completely forgotten that I had ever lived sans puppy breath.

Toby on left eating, Bucky at bottom waiting for tidbits, Rio up top waiting to bat food to Simi

Toby on left eating, Bucky at bottom waiting for tidbits, Rio up top waiting to bat food to Simi

Smiling Simi waiting for food!

Smiling Simi waiting for food!

A decade or so later, down to 1 dog, 1 cat …. and 2 kids. The constant animal hair pick up takes on new meaning when you’re cleaning for 6 and you’re slowly getting a new house, one excruciating renovation phase at a time. It’s mid-morning again, Jim took one cupcake to the grocery store and I am taking a break between steps 3 and 4 of what it takes to clean our fabulous wood floors (crap pick up, vacume, steam, swiffer the baseboards).

2011 - Bucky adjusts to small creatures with STICK!

2011 – Bucky adjusts to small creatures with STICK!

As I sit here typing,  I look over at Bucky, asleep on the pile of freshly cleaned laundry, I love him to pieces and love how Clifton just sits on him and tugs on his collar; he’s a member of our family.  And kids should have dogs.  But he’s 8 years old, and when he joins Simi and Toby in the eternal Crane Creek, an animal hair break might be in consideration.

For now, it’s back to step 4 or I might just let Arthur cream me in a Wii swordplay game again!

Every day that I don’t write, it’s like I am going through the motions, the machinations…. like just now, had to stop the first line of this rare post to lead the blind in setting up a Wii fencing game.

Not that I mind the motions, but it’s like floating away, no depth, no transport to another place, no retention.

Now there is screaming and crying, and at night the screen is too bright in the dining room/bedroom/office/shared life we’re leading since renovation vacation began months and eons ago.

So this morning’s attempt inspired by a dream of John Malkovich.  He was young with long hair and not HIM yet. We danced and hung out 70s style (imagined by me) at a mutual friend’s rodent infested farm.  Then I left the next day to travel and write poetry about the kindred spirit I met.

Those of us who missed the counterculture generation by a decade wonder if we would have been a hippie, but who knows really.  My mother calls me the flower child, but it’s in reference to my own generation, which although had much better music, was by far more conformist than the 70s kids.   Including me.  I never even thought to question the racial separation that existed all around me until years after college.

that’s all the time we have for now, virtual reality for les kids beckons and the contractor has arrived.  posting anyway without editing.

it’s a new day