Wednesday, January 14, 2015

How Exercise Keeps Us Young

This is well worth reading and taking to heart:


How Exercise Keeps Us Young

One Day at a Time



Thirty-five years or so ago I started yoga. My son was a toddler, I was newly divorced, and working as a receptionist in an ad agency for something like $450 a month. I can't remember why I started yoga although I'm quite sure I needed something that would help center me and give me strength.

I studied yoga then with a woman named Margaret Pierce in a little building called the Quaker House. I remember the door open wide on nice days and a gentle breeze making it's way through the room and over my body. I remember moments of peaceful quiet after our class where she would serve us herb tea. I remember my body electric and strong. I remember my heart and mind calm. Eventually I got to the point where I practiced for 90 minutes a day and loved everything about it, and then I remember nothing - not why I stopped going, not why I stopped practicing. 

While I wasn't paying attention things changed and "suddenly" I find I have a different body - one that I need to get to know. Maybe I got cocky. I was always the youngest in school, the youngest Mom...and, then, oops! First, the "guys" on the street don't see you. Then they call you "Ma'am". Now there is a stranger in the mirror. OK. Whatever. Now what?

Yoga.  

After talking about it for a year or more I found a yoga studio and teacher that I like. I went to my first class on Sunday and I am stunned at how well I did. The teacher is an RN and I told her before class about all of my "issues". She paid attention. I pushed to keep up in class, but I didn't do that thing where I dig deep for the remains of my inner Hercules and use it all up. I pushed, but I paced myself. I am in this for the rest of my life. For the rest of the day I was afraid I would collapse, but all I felt was alive and strong. I was aware of muscles I hadn't been aware of in years, but I wasn't exactly sore and I certainly didn't hurt. I felt electric. It was baffling and exciting and inspiring. I want more!!

"I want more." Warning! Warning, Will Robinson! All day Monday I was giddy with excitement and luxuriated in how great my body felt. And, then it happened on Tuesday morning. I decided I'd do it myself. Cocky, so cocky. I stretched, and pulled. I flailed about. A little later at my desk I turned a certain way and POP! Something snapped in my back. Dammit! I can barely walk. I can't stand up straight. This is what happens when you don't listen to your body. So, I'm on anti-inflammatories and the whole shebang. But, I'm going to my chiropractor today and a friend is going to recommend a massage therapist. Gentle.

Slow and easy win the race. They certainly will win this race. This is a new body. I have to respect that and get to know it. It is almost 60. It is very overweight. It is weak, and tight. It is beaten down by the stress of trying to do too much, of trying to absorb the loss of a beloved step-daughter. I must be gentle. Powering through is now stupid. Slow and easy win the race. 

This if for the rest of my life. I know that by gently returning to a regular practice of yoga I will change the trajectory of my future. I look in the mirror and work on loving who I see. The ship has sailed on being one of those beauties in the magazines. Now I get to be someone even better. As the joints in my hands grow misshapen I smile. I've always thought those old lady hands were cool because they hold the history of years of doing, touching, loving. The skin on my arms turns crapey, but instead of despairing I have taken to consciously rubbing oils and lotions into my body. Everything I did before was so mindless. I have no time for mindless any more. My remaining life is sacred to me. I use this brief period of injury to become more conscious, to forgive, to hold rapturously happy images of all the love in my life in my mind. I like this new woman I am becoming. I like that I am returning to conscious living.  

I love that my teacher Margaret from all those decades ago is now my daughter-in-law Alice's yoga teacher. Alice is taking a pregnancy yoga class as she carries my granddaughter. The richness of that circle of life, living and love blows my mind. Life is good. 






Friday, January 9, 2015

Je aime Paris et je suis Charlie

Paris in the rain (2013)

Je aime Paris et je suis Charlie.

I am an American, a bit of a writer, and a thoroughly smitten Francophile. Oh, how I do love Paris, a place I discovered late in life. I had not traveled much until I approached 50 and met the man who was to become my husband. Al took me to Paris for the first time. We became engaged on that first trip a little over eight years ago and now it is hard to stay away.  I couldn't believe that the city was real. It was as if every block, every tree, every window was filled with some kind of special magic. I couldn't believe that I was really there and no matter how often I go I still feel that way.

A year or so ago I took this picture from the back seat of a taxi as Al and I were driven from Charles de Gaulle airport to our apartment in Paris. Although it was pouring rain I couldn't stop snapping pictures. I was so excited to be back. What is it about a place that touches your heart?  if you are lucky in your life you will find your place.  For one person it is a town surrounded by snow capped mountains, for another it is the ocean, for yet another it is that ocean or that village. Different places hold that magic for different people.

For Al and me it is Paris. There is nothing like that first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower and the Seine. And, the bridges. And, the rooftops. And, the people, the texture and feel of the language. The long-awaited taste of real chocolate mousse. The city resonates for us - with memories, with beauty-inspired awe, with flavors, with history, with culture. We both could talk without end about facets of Paris that captivate us. Every time we go we discover new things, old things, ancient things. Within days of returning home we long to go back.

The shootings at Charlie Hebdo were mere yards away from where we once strolled along Promenade Plante (an elevated park that inspired New York's High Line) with my stepchildren Summer and Jordan. That day spattered rain here and there. The flowers along the promenade were bursting with color and intrigue. The beautiful memory of a daughter now gone, of a son now in college, of flowers now dormant, makes the horrors of the massacre in Paris too real and too close. Just as I once couldn't believe Paris really existed, two days ago I also believed something this horrible couldn't really exist. No, that's not what I mean. I was in Sarajevo right after the war. I work on behalf of children in Syrian refugee camps in Lebanon and beyond. This is just so close to my heart's home and it rips apart my dream. It is all the more raw and terrifying for existing where I go to find my magic.  Leave my city and its people alone.

The insanity of the past 50 or 60 hours reveals yet again that for too many on this planet nothing that is good about life is sacred. Truth is not sacred, nor is beauty, love nor life itself. The horrific face of this version of war is ripped, shredded and dripping with blood. All because someone dares poke fun at that which is sacred to those who will tolerate no other views but their own.

Last night we ate a a local French bistro that is simply and truly French. The rooms were filled with signs of "Je suis Charlie". It was Al's birthday and I gave him this picture, enlarged and framed. It is the picture of more than a dream. It is our hearts' home and our hearts ache for her today.

Al with his birthday gift at Anis in Atlanta.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Now They Tell Me

Last week's cover of The New York Times Magazine
The bright red-orange magazine cover has taunted me for days. The quote upon it, "One life is too short for doing everything." is from the influential Italian designer/architect Massimo Vignelli, who, incidentally, died this past year. One life is too short. No kidding. 

Living in a state of potential is a delectable place. Everything is possible. There are no limits. There is time. But, it is a place for the young because one day you wake up and living in a state of potential suddenly means you are wasting time. You are living in fear. You are delusional. It is time to grow up. It is time to close the door on countless dreams. 'what if's', and 'maybe I'll's'. 

Saying "no" to countless possibilities used to be thought of as a bad thing. But, as the quote implies, you must, because you don't have time to do it all. And, if you're like me, maybe all those thousands of ideas are intended to give the illusion of accomplishment and focus when really they are a dramatic avoidance technique...avoiding life, avoiding risk, avoiding (oh, dear God) failure. You can't fail if you don't try. 

As the calendar pages fall away and a very few sheets remain between me and my 60th birthday, I enter this glorious new year full of vim and vinegar...I'm working on the vigor. I am all too aware of the limited time left - my mother died at 62, my father at 64, my brother at 36, my sister at 3, my stepdaughter at 16. See my point? Every day is a gift and I'm not wasting any more. I'm determined to leave this world a tiny bit better than the way I found it, and I have brushed away the fantasies and built a solid plan for what I am going to do, and I hope to God  I have enough time to do it. I'm a grandmother for goodness sake. My youngest grandchild turned two yesterday. Two! Do you know how long we have to not f#$% up this planet for things to be ok for him?! And what if he has children? I have got to help clean up a few of the messes we've made.

2015. I want to accomplish great things. Things that make a difference. I'm working on my road map and I'm going to give it everything I've got, but remember when I said I didn't have vigor? Getting my health back and getting in shape has to be a very big deal for me now or I will not be able to get things done. So, I've got many a goal. Remember that great line from Pretty Woman. "Do you have a goal? You gotta have a goal!" 

I wonder what you'd be interested in hearing about as this year progresses. It's not like I've got something specific like cooking one Julia Child recipe a day. Do I write about how I am working through things - like getting healthy and my work? I suppose so. Not sure exactly why I feel compelled to blog about it other than I know I have learned how to live by watching others struggle, fight, and overcome. It's embarrassing to say that I hope I can help others but maybe I could. It helped me to know that Julia Child didn't write her cookbook until she was in her 50s. Or that I think it was Louise Nevelson started sculpting at 60. 

Here's what I know - I wasted a lot of time (I've got some great excuses, wanna hear them?). But, I REFUSE to think that 60 is too late to start. I mean, for crying out loud, I'm just starting to figure this crazy life out so I'm not just going to quit. Ha! NO WAY. So, I'll just write. It helps me so that's something. Good night now. 

Oh, and go see the movie Selma




Friday, January 2, 2015

Happy New Year!

My husband and me sharing a kiss at my son's wedding. Life can be so good.

I will keep this simple. I have posted this poem before, but as you can see, posting it again is a good thing. 
2015.
Feast on your life, my friends.


Love After Love

The time will come

when, with elation

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror

and each will smile at the other's welcome,


and say, sit here. Eat.


You will love again the stranger who was your self.


Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you


all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.


Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,



the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life. 

Derek Walcott