My New Happy Place

Well.

Hello there!

It has been far too long, my babies.

Not that I have anything outstanding to say, or anything even vaguely interesting, for that matter. I just got tired of seeing my last post. I should at least have something au courant, non? November is SO last year.

I assure you, reader(s), that I'm still here. As for the cybersquatters, be gone with you. (take your weblinks and thoughtless comments)(and leave the furniture - that ottoman has sentimental value).

What have I been up to? Well, I have been entrenched since September, studying away, with the intention of becoming a card-carrying Yoga Teacher.

And while it has been fascinating and exciting, it has been a humongous time-suck. Even more than facebook (really).

(yes, that IS possible)

(who knew?)

As a result of my single-tasking, my house is a toss; our dog gleefully thinks that the dust bunnies that have accumulated under the couches are new canine companions (I'm not about to break his little heart & tell him the truth).

My routines are no more; they've given way for new routines that I must somehow shoehorn in to the existing ones, to create complicated labyrinthine processes.

Our once-mindful food plan has given way to far more take-out than I care to discuss, and we've all suffered thusly.

To wit, I believe that I'm still trying to digest New Year's Eve dinner - I feel like I've got an intact block of Gruyere cheese wedged in my esophagus. Gah.

Yet, with all the kvetching, I am still bordering on euphoric. Because finally, after such a really, really long time along a really, really long path, I think I have found the thing I was meant to do.
I have always been envious of those people who do what they love, and now I think that I just might be one of them.

After what seems like forever of turning inward to imagine that breezy beach in Hawaii, that verdant forest, that still morning lake, I realize that where I am - the here and the now - is my new happy place.

I know it sounds kind of Pollyanna-like, but I can see joy again.

After a difficult few years, I am ready, willing and able to own up to my happiness. I don't need to qualify it, or temper it with stories of struggle or sadness like I usually do. I no longer feel the need to feel guilty about it.

It just is.

And it is quite spectacular.

Thoughtful Thursday

"All people wish to be happy. This seemingly simple desire appears to elude the best-intentioned efforts of even the most intelligent among us. Yet almost everyone has had glimpses of deep peacefulness when they have felt connected both to themselves, to others, and to nature. Curiously, the state of feeling good and whole does not seem to be something we can order up on demand but rather appears to happen spontaneously. In such moments we experience a sense of translucence such that that which we see, feel, sense, hear, or touch no longer feel separate from us but is experienced as a part of our own totality. When our hand resting over the heart of the beloved merges and becomes one with his or her body, when we become the same midnight sky that fills us with awe, we remember, however briefly, our place in the scheme of things. These brief flickers of remembrance imbue our vision with freshness and innocence so that we can see things as they truly are. Because these moments of lucidity are so blissful, we wish that they may become the base state of our lives rather than the brief and often-times tenuous experience to which such happiness is usually assigned. These moments of clarity have nothing to do with the caricatures of happiness presented to us through the media or popular culture. These moments have always been there. The beloved's heartbeat and the sky have always been there. These moments are simply waiting for our arrival."
Donna Farhi, Yoga Body, Mind and Spirit

What Happens Between 8 & 9?

As I sit here in my turret, trying to reconnect with the land of the living, once again I'm conflicted- do I have something clever to write, or should I just throw some caca out there and fingerpaint on the wall?

Given that I'm still not bringing my A-game, I'll choose option B.

Caca at the ready, and-d-d-d fling:

Can I just tell you, without having my tummy lurch as I even type this sentence, that I love, love, love Denny's for breakfast?

Without meaning to sprinkle my post with subtle innuendo, I'm a Grand Slam kind-of-gal. (ok, maybe there's just a titch of intention here - I need to get my readership back up...)

Today, though, it's all bacon and eggs, baby. And some sensible multi-grain toast.

And that naughty, sticky Welch's Grape Jelly.

Oh, yes....

Oops, sorry. Got a little carried away. I do so love breakfast in a diner-like setting.

An-n-n--nywaysssssssss, on a recent visit, waiting for my order, I realize that I don't have any reading material with me. Which puts me into a slight panic mode. Because I always need something to read.

So, I look at the dessert menu: turtle pie, some Oreo-festooned caloric nightmare, something constructed almost entirely out of whipping cream, with 2 token strawberries thrown in for color.

And then this notice catches my eye:

So, Denny's, I have a few questions:

1. Are people In Washington State that in need of happiness that you are compelled to offer 2 sessions?

2. Are you planning a morning session? Because I can be here by 11.

3. What exactly happens between 8 & 9 PM?

Ew.

The Sun Will Come Out - You Know When

Something I said I might do - someday.

A veritable picture of the of-the-moment Baroness:



That's me in the corner.

That's me in the dark light - losing my religion.

I now enter the dark, 2 week phase between having my routine blood work done and getting the results.

Masochist that I am, I am currently reading a very disturbing book (The Almost Moon by Alice Sebold) , and watching very sad things (my DVR'd Stand Up to Cancer), where tears freely flow.

I know full well what happens in these coming two weeks. I should be stocking up on David Sedaris, Archie Double Digests, and Austin Powers movies.

But I resist.

Why?

Maybe I think that if I get into a really dark corner, any wee speck of light at all will be blindingly beautiful.

Maybe I think if I weep (under the pretense of a sad movie), all of my anxiety will flow away.

Maybe I'm Swedish.

I heard one of my favorite Dixie Chick songs while driving around this morning - "Not Ready to Make Nice" - where they quote some of their hate mail as telling them to "shut up and sing".

Maybe I should just shut up and be funny.

And I'll try - tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

I love ya - you know when.