tuesday rundown

5.45 yoga, 9.00 meeting at work, 10.30 groceries, 11.00 baked cookies for tomorrow, 12.00 coffee with friend,13.00 project meeting for school, 14.00-20.30 classes, 22.00 home.

It's been a fantastic day and a gorgeous night. After 9 hours indoors it was a relief to step outside into the crisp autumn air so I decided to walk to the next subway stop...and then the next...and then the next...until I ended up just walking the whole way home (after stopping in little Korea to buy walnut cakes from my favourite walnut guy - a girl needs some sustenance).

The walk home has chased away sleep. While blogging can't counter the effects of the night air it does offer a darn good way to put some of the random 'stuff' floating through my mind 'out there' so, here goes:

--was reading the emergency directions for those with mobility impairments at school today (they were there, I was bored). They can be summed up as the following "get to a phone, call xxx extension, and sit tight until someone comes for you". Really? If my institution's emergency plans were that flimsy I think I'd avoid posting them altogether.

--"I joined a gym so that next time I'm attacked, I can run", so stated during a recent intake. I can't shake the matter-of-fact way the student shared this information. Nor can I shake the fact that given her age, her gender and where she lives it very likely is a matter of 'when' not 'if'. The resilience of the clients I work with is as great as their stories are horrific. It's truly humbling.

--recent conversations about love: one person hypothesized that sometimes you love someone until the hurt they inflict grows greater than the love you have for them, and the other was less a conversation than an observation; I. has been married for 37 years, in the time I've known him I've seen him cancel travel plans, care incessantly for an ill wife without complaint, and recently curtail almost all of the activities that sustain him to be there for both his sick wife and her mother (who's not so nice to him). That, too, is love.

--tonight when I stopped to wish on a star (yeah, I still do that), there was nothing to wish for. I gave thanks instead.

A few months ago I put to paper some of the goals/hopes/visions/whatever I held for myself and then promptly forgot about the entry until today while flipping through my journal during class. It's amazing how many of the things I'd envisioned have happened or are well on their way to happening. More than that, it's interesting to see just how much has happened since I've returned to Toronto and to see that (despite myself at times ;) learning is there.

The cookies I mentioned at the beginning of this entry are down four, definately time to get myself to bed before there's nothing left to bring into work tomorrow.

And so ends the longest entry ever :)

I'm attending a series of workshops this weekend presented by A.G Mohan and his son, Ganesh which is very cool; the Mohan family have studied yoga in connection to Ayurveda, physical and mental health extensively and I've been reading their books for years (A.G. Mohan and his wife, Indra, literally wrote the book on Yoga Therapy). Although I was looking forward to the workshops on an intellectual level, interested in what I might learn, I wasn't expecting to be this jazzed. Something happened tonight, I left the workshop filled with a sense of quiet excitement and found myself making plans as I drove home.

More and more I'm interested in yoga as a form of therapy. In keeping with that, more and more I feel like my Masters is just another step in preparing me for something larger instead of the means to an end that it was when I started it (this is both frustrating, another 'beginning' step?, and ridiculously exciting). Mohan studied with Krishnamacharya, as did my teacher Pattabhi Jois, however his approach is quite different from Jois'. Mohan, like Krishnamacharya's son, Desikachar, works with students in individual sessions assessing their needs and creating tailored asana and pranayama programs. I love this.

I planned on travelling to Chennai to study at Desikachar's institute in 2005 before the powers that be brought me to Mysore instead. I've no doubt that Mysore was where I was supposed to be at that time and I can't see myself ever leaving my ashtanga practice, it's as much a part of me as breathing is, but I've never really seen myself teaching it in the traditional way. Actually, I've never seen myself as a yoga teacher, period, but I have always known that I was going to work as a therapist with individuals/groups and that yoga would play some role in that therapy. Lately it feels like the drive to start moving towards that vision won't be put off much longer.

Desikachar runs a 2 year teacher training program that I expect to enroll in one day, there's a teacher training program beginning in Toronto in January and the Mohan's run a 2 month intensive training program every October-November, also in Chennai. It's a good thing I picked up some contract work to carry me through this school year because it looks like I'm going to be a student well beyond April as originally planned ;)

And the Mohans? They were knowledgeable, humble, light and filled with humour. I'm looking forward to the rest of the sessions.

Tuesday

So, yesterday was a good day.

Left the house at 5.30am and returned at 10pm. In between I practiced (lovely), prepared & delivered a presentation (went well), and had 7hours of classes (which were interesting) before catching the subway home. Like I said, a good day.

Except for the fact that yesterday I DROVE into the city.

Lately I've sensed an energy of questioning among those I've met both personally and professionally; not an unhappy or depressed questioning but more a curious one - what else is out there? It's a strange autumn in that sense; far from preparing for a long winter rest, we seem to be rousing ourselves to seek what it is we need. At the same point in time, there's an urgency there, a drive to figure it out now, have the answers now; this I feel very strongly.

Whether I feel frustratingly immobile or amazingly blessed depends so much on the situation. When I think about it, one of the biggest differences is the degree of commitment I bring with me; the very areas where I'm struggling are the same where I haven't actually arrived at a decision yet. In some cases they're also the ones where I've been waiting for others to help with decisions that are mine alone to make. Still, I'm reminded that there's no rush.

Playing with the possibilities is as relevant as committing to a dream. The beauty of this time of year is that the winter provides time to allow our questions to gestate and play with the possibilities that emerge, all we have to do is make room for the dream to form. And, really, there is no rush (I say this more for my benefit than anything else, I seem to have to remind myself a million times a day to just sit with it - whatever it is I'm struggling with - just sit with it. Surely it'll stick one of these days ;)

one elementary truth

This poem arrived in an email today and I'm happily posting it. There's something gorgeous and understanding and compassionate about it that I find timely.

Until one is committed,
there is hesitancy,
the chance to draw back,
always ineffectiveness.

Concerning all acts
of initiative and creation,
there is one elementary truth
the ignorance of which
kills countless ideas and splendid plans:
that the moment one definitely commits oneself,
then providence moves too.

All sorts of things occur
to help one that would never
otherwise have occurred.
A whole stream of events
issues from the decision,
raising in one's favor all manner
of unforeseen incidents,
meetings and material assistance
which no man could have dreamed
would have come his way.

Whatever you can do
or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius,
power and magic in it.
Begin it now.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Snow? What snow?

There was snow today. It only lasted long enough to make its presence known before disappearing into the cold, unforgiving corner from which it emerged. But, still, snow! The funniest part about it was our reaction: we happened to look out the window at the same time to see the evidence highlighted in the lights of a passing car and the conversation missed a beat as we registered that what we were seeing was not rain but snow - big, fluffy snowflakes - before we all began talking at once, as if to erase what we'd just seen. Snow? I didn't see any snow, how about those Leafs?

Coming from the girl who broke out her electric blanket in mid-August, this is not good news. If you need me, I'll be in bed where it's warm. Until June.

heaven's ass

Something came up with someone, somewhere in the family and although I forget who, what, and why, the outcome was the rescheduling of Thanksgiving for sometime later in October. Accordingly, instead of heading to my Aunt's for thanksgiving dinner, tonight my mother, sisters and I headed to my Grandmother's for a decidedly un-thanksgiving Chinese food dinner. To broke to buy flowers, but knowing my little sister would show up with a huge bouquet, I didn't want to arrive empty handed so I decided to bake dessert.

Forgetting that I always try to make cobbler and it always looks horrible, I made pear cobbler. Last week I bought a box of pears because they were both locally grown and on sale. It seemed like a good idea at the time but, I've discovered that I can only eat so many pears before I begin to dread opening the fridge just to see them sitting there, looking hopeful (pick me! pick me!). When I saw the recipe for pear cobbler I must have been so excited over the word 'pear' that I completely blanked on the 'cobbler' part.

Predictably, it looked horrible. Horrible enough that, if you happened to be behind my sister and I as we walked to our Grandmother's, you would have heard a conversation a little something like this:

Sister: Here, you carry this (passes the cobbler back to me), I don't want to carry it, it looks like ass
Me: But it tastes great
Sister: Yeah, well it looks like ass. I'm not carrying it through Grandma's place
Me: But, seriously, it tastes like heaven
Sister: It may taste like heaven but it looks like ass. It's heaven's ass. I'm still not carrying it.

For the record, we were both right. It did taste great and it did look like ass; I didn't want to be seen carrying it either, that's how she ended up with it. We compromised by hiding it in my bag under my computer and the family compromised by hiding heaven's ass under mounds of vanilla ice cream. Heaven's ass pear cobbler and Chinese food: a new Thanksgiving tradition is born.

i have a secret

Ok. Don't tell my dentist or anything but I am in absolute agony. I know, I know, telling my dentist sounds like the logical thing to do but here's the thing: the agonizing-please-put-me-out-of-my-mercy pain isn't coming from the tooth I had the root canal on yesterday. It's coming from another tooth. A tooth far, far away from the root canal tooth. Which means that my teeth have banded together and are engaged in a not so quiet revolution against me.

I've spent the morning engaged in countless activities designed to distract myself from the agonizing pain in my head. Fun things like cleaning and, when that failed, pinching myself because, yeah, introducing pain to some other area of my body does actually help distract me from the throbbing, all consuming pain that's colonized the right side of my skull. So why not call the dentist? Because I absolutely cannot, will not entertain the idea that I might have to add ANOTHER $3,000 to my already huge dental bill.

It's Thanksgiving weekend in Canada and, despite my toothache (did I mention it's causing agonizing pain? ;), I am thankful. I'm thankful that I'm writing in my lovely, clean apartment with the sun streaming in the window, thankful that I'll see my family this weekend and that we're all healthy and happy, thankful for my cat sitting on my lap purring, and thankful that my sister, as per my request, will shortly be sneaking into my apartment and clubbing me over the head with some kind of blunt object to put me out of my misery.

In lieu of further complaining and in recognition that it is Thanksgiving and there is so much to be thankful for, I leave you instead with a quote that I found scribbled on a piece of paper stuck way back under the couch this morning when I was cleaning. It's nice.

"Your daily life is your temple and your religion. And your body is the harp of your soul. And it is yours to bring forth sweet music from it or confused signs" Kalil Gibran, The Prophet.

Happy thanksgiving everyone. Hope you're able to find the sweet music in the realities of your everyday lives in your own unique way over this thanksgiving weekend :)

the cost of falling apart

I've been thinking a lot about my body lately. Not, of course, in any kind of self-congratulatory way (a North American woman with a positive body image? Isn't that grounds for expulsion?), but more in a 'Wow! You too!?' way. You see, it seems that I'm falling apart.

I know I've whined before the litany of physical complaints that accompanies big changes in my life and this time around is no different. I haven't been too frustrated because by now I expect them. You could say we have a gentleman's agreement: I continue to take a nice, stable life and throw it into upheaval and my body continues to respond by making it difficult to sit, stand, walk, climb - in general, to move. It works. But now my body is messing with my ability to eat and that is most definitely NOT in our agreement. At least, not to my knowledge. But then, as I thought back over the past few years, I realized something; I realized that my body has been breaking our agreement and tossing in random additional injuries for as far back as I could remember.

Here's the deal. Last week one of my molars broke (well, dissolved, really) so I need a root canal and reconstructive work. Up to this point I've just been irritated by the cost, pissed that I can't eat, and frustrated that this happens every time I leave a job and lose my dental insurance leaving me scrambling to cover the costs. Every. Single. Time. And then it hit me. It's not just my back that responds to change, it's my teeth too. My mind, unconscious, equilibrium - whatever - is so freaked out by change that even my teeth, those things that remain long after the rest of the body has turned to dust, they crumble at the sight of a bagel.

I've decided that I either succumb to a nice, stable life - stop changing careers, stop leaving great jobs to travel, stop ignoring the very stable lawyer type boys - or I get better health coverage because this shit is getting expensive. Whenever I contemplate spending a large chunk of money I usually think first about where that money could fly me if I were to put it to a plane ticket instead. That's why I still have a mattress on a floor instead of a bed. I could buy proper furniture but I'd rather go to New York for the weekend.

This root canal thingy I have going tomorrow? Two separate trips to India. That's all I'm saying.

salmon, soulmates and the meaning of life

I received a message from I. today saying only "the chinook salmon are running the Humber already, just thought you'd want to know". He didn't leave his name, but he didn't have to; other than myself, he's the only person I know who would actually care about something as mundane as fish swimming upstream.

Every year I look forward to the salmon run and every year I call/email people to let them know that it's 'that time' again with the degree of anticipation you might expect from something 'truly' exciting. Which, for me, the salmon run is. Which is why I absolutely love that I. thought to call. It's one of the many things that bridges our +30 year difference in age and makes him one of my most favourite people ever.

I love nothing more than sitting by the river, letting myself be awed by these fish. By their determination, tenacity, and unquestioning drive; if you think that's a lot to get from a fish then you need to get yourself to a river and watch. Watch the way they rest, gather their energy and then hurl themselves into the dam wall time and time again simply because that's what they do. Sometimes I'm inspired by their determination and others I despair over the futility of their struggle - so few actually make it. Which side I fall on can be an interesting gage of how I'm feeling about life that year.

Last year my friend K. and I sat by the river for hours alternating between talking and watching the salmon in silence. Several days later, I received this email from him: "ps. i've been thinking about those salmon and the question you asked 'how do they keep going through the defeat & the pain?' - i am sure they have lots of pain, and risk of life, and fear and many other things us humans find very discouraging. yet they keep going because it is their path. they are very inspiring - those fish".

It's true. They are inspiring. They'll be running for the next few weeks but particularly active next week leading up to Sunday's full moon, so, if you're in the GTA get yourself down to the Humber or the Credit River and let yourself be awed.

And, by the way, this year I'm inspired ;)

So, my friend made me cry yesterday. He didn't mean to but finding tears seems to be the one thing that's coming easy to me these days. He mentioned that he was wondering to himself whether or not I was "doing the work". This followed my comment that I felt like I was floundering but didn't feel like I was doing anything about it - that I forgot what I was supposed to do about it. When he commented that he noticed the same (about me) I felt like a failure which, in hindsight, seems like a strange initial reaction, but there it is. For all of my attempts to instill that sense of equilibrium that I so want to possess, it takes so little to chase it away, to send me into a panicked spin. I don't know anymore what 'doing the work' is. What that looks like. And it makes me feel ashamed. Aren't I supposed to know?

My tears often accompany confusion, anxiety, uncertainty; attached more to fear than sadness. I hate that I'm not sure what my 'calling' is anymore, I hate that I'm working so hard to apply myself when I'm not sure it's right for me, I hate that I'm pretty sure it is right for me but I'm afraid I'll suck at it so I'm throwing doubt up as a pre-emptive defense, I hate that I have one foot out of the country but am fighting to engage in life here too, and I hate not feeling grounded most of all. But then, I was thinking about all of these things last night and I decided to lighten up on myself.

I am groundless. I would say that the ground has been pulled from under me but, really, I kicked the ground away - quite happily . And I'm glad I did, I was sick of the old ground. I knew I needed change, that there was growth there and that it was really, really important that I make room for it. And I knew it would be hard at times and that I would feel like this at first because I jumped off a professional cliff, I jumped off a personal cliff and I don't know yet how the story ends. That's a lot for this girl to take on at once.

And do I need to mention that even as I type I'm smiling? That I'm shaking my head at myself because I know that in a few months I'll feel like an idiot for even posting this? That I know it'll pass, that this is exactly what I wanted out of this year? I feel like I do. Because no matter how many happy, inconsequential, chatty posts I publish, it's always the one kind of unhappy one that people seem to latch onto. Don't do that. This is good too.

note to self...

A bag of chocolate chips does not count as dinner.

And, no, the fact that they were actually carob chips, not chocolate chips, does not make them a health food. Nice try though.

Enjoy the upset stomach/sugar-rush-induced-insomnia combo. Sucker.

overheard at moonbeam cafe this weekend...

...two girls talking to each other about whether or not to pursue a research position this year with the one girl advising the other to go for it with the reasoning "...I mean, before you know it you wake up and you're 30...".

Yikes! I'm past the "before you know it you wake up and you're X" warning age? Someone should have told me. Or sent me the memo. Or whatever. Here I've been living under the impression that life just gets better each and every year.

Silly me ;)

reason #462 why i freaking love my country

Pope Benedict has had a busy week talking smack about Canada. It seems he's disappointed in our morals, values and politics. The headline of one newspaper informed me that the "Pope Slams Canada" while another, The Globe and Mail, quotes the Pope as berating Canadians for "excluding God from the public sphere" and tells us that "In the name of tolerance your country has had to endure the folly of the redefinition of spouse...". I had to read the articles a few times, I wanted to make sure I understood correctly, but I think I finally got it: the separation of the church and the state is a bad thing and tolerance is undesirable. Wait, no, I still don't get it. So what exactly is Canada doing wrong?

Despite the existence of recent (and self-indulgent) posts whining about my return home, the fact remains that I'm home because I like home. I like Canada and I'm incredibly proud to be Canadian - in large part for the very same reasons the Pope has 'slammed' us for. Separation of religion from politics, freedom of choice, the fostering of mutual respect by encouraging tolerance, call me a heathen, but I'm all for them.

As I walked home I was thinking about the articles and how glad I was to be a 'recovering Catholic' so I could disagree with the Pope without the nuisance of worrying about damning my soul to eternal hell when I was interrupted by an elderly woman. She greeted me by commenting on what a lovely morning it was before assuring me that "there is a healing coming". She wasn't entirely sure when but knew it would be sometime in 2008 and asked me to "spread the word" before she reassured me (repeatedly) that Pope Benedict would care for us all.

I don't know how she knew what I was thinking about but I didn't have the heart to tell her that I didn't think Canada was at the top of the Pope's 'to be rescued' list. She'll see a paper sooner or later.

even street santa got cleaned up

Although the film festival just began today, preparation for the madding crowds began weeks ago with restaurants undergoing last minute renovations, store windows dressed as their most sophisticated, cool, hip selves and freshly cleaned streets sporting new plants. I passed through Yorkville today, the centre of film fest activities, and was amazed at the number of very carefully dressed people very carefully lounging so as to see and be seen. The beautiful people were out in full force.

Street santa is the guy who hangs out in Yorkville dressed only in red sweatshorts and a red santa hat - regardless of the season. He's occasionally belligerent, prone to lying across the sidewalk or getting way up in your personal space while haranguing you for change. Loudly. More often though he's in good humour as he bounces through Yorkville singing or drops to perform an impressive set of pushups, the better to attract your spare change.

I saw him today but almost didn't recognize him; the santa hat and shorts had been replaced with a suit. A beat up, run down, been around the block more than a few times suit but, still, a suit. Looks like the 'see and be seen' gods that wrap their carefully manicured hand around Toronto at this time of year managed to extend their reach to the panhandlers as well. Who knew?

note to self:

Half a tub of peanut butter does not count as dinner. Even if you mix it with honey first.

the picture, big and small

A few postings back when I mentioned that I was having a 'wee bit of a hard time' I was being positive, it was more of a whole lot of a hard time. While things are definitely looking up, there's no doubt about it, North America and I are going through a rough patch in our relationship. There's a certain 'essence de North American urban jungle' that I'm having a hard time relaxing back into. Silly things like the article in Saturday's paper emphasizing the importance of finding just the right lunchbox for your pre-schooler and traffic jams that stretch a 10 block trip into 1.5 hours, things I used to shrug off as the cost of big-city life, now cause me to roll my eyes like a petulant 12 year old while blowing my bangs in disdain as if to say 'I can't even believe I have to be here'.

Yeah, ok, it's ridiculous to lump an entire continent into my complaint; but you know those stereotypical things people say about North America? Those are the ones getting to me. I don't feel like I belong yet. But that's just the big picture I'm talking about; on a smaller scale, day-to-day life in Toronto, I'm doing good.

My friend D. and I always spend our first visit after one of my trips at the lake skipping stones while we catch each other up on the months that have passed (and he mocks my attempts to skip stones). Today was our afternoon by the lake. The drive to the beach brought me along the lakeshore, packed with people waiting for the labour day airshow to begin, past Dempster's bread factory where, if you time it right, you're immersed in the scent of baked bread, and down Queen Street East where rollerbladers, bikers, baby carriages and dogs reign supreme - not cars.

At the beach the boardwalk was busy, the volleyball nets in full use, and the dog parks full of happy, wet dogs. The 'rock balancing guy' was there, as he has been for as long as I can remember, building his field of tall rock formations, playing his digereedoo and explaining to the tourists that this IS his job. He's one of my favourite Torontonians, summers wouldn't be the same without him. The rock labyrinth has been reinstalled in the sand by the water; after making our way to the centre to leave our offerings we headed to the monkey bars where we swung upside down for far longer than is advisable and talked about how much easier it was to 'hang' when we were younger (and lighter ;)

So, yeah, the very 'North American-ness' of life has been kicking my ass but it's nothing that a few hours spent watching the dogs play in the park or swinging upside down from the monkey bars can't fix.

mermaid cooking

The movie "Mermaids" was on tv recently. Most remember that movie because Cher was in it, or because of that strange scene where a teenaged Winona Ryder licked the leather coat of the guy she was crushing on, or because it also starred a young Christina Ricci. My sister and I remember it because it caused us no end of angst. In the movie Cher, the eccentric mother, never actually cooked a meal, she just prepared finger foods and called it dinner. When the movie first came out, virtually everyone my sister and I knew called us to tell us that they thought of us as soon as they saw it. By us I mean my mother, my sister & myself.

Not that I'm saying anything about my mother's cooking or anything; we ate, we were healthy and we were happy. But, you know, lets just say there were some similarities (purely hypothetical, of course). That could shed light on the fact that I can prepare a mean hummous but can't find my way through a soup recipe. It may also explain why my sister, who stayed in my apartment while I was away, left me a cupboard fully stocked with:

-1 can flaked tomato & basil tuna
-3 cans flaked lemon & pepper tuna
-3 cans flaked chicken
-1 can ackee in brine
-2 cans bamboo shoot strips.

Not withstanding the fact that I'm a vegetarian, what exactly does one DO with so much flaked meat?

by the way...

...despite the fact that, since returning home, I've disposed of 8 garbage bags of 'stuff', reorganized all of my closets, drawers and cupboards, and maintained an uncharacteristically organized apartment I still had to pluck a shirt out of my dirty laundry bin to wear to my first day of my practicum.

Shhh...don't tell anyone.

thanks deer

For years I've been frustrated by the fact that I've never seen a deer. Sounds silly, maybe, but my mom literally comes across them on her drive home from work while I take myself hours into the woods backwater camping and - nothing. At one point I got a bit paranoid wondering what the deer had to 'teach' me and why they wouldn't reveal themselves to me. While it's entirely possible that they do hold a lesson for me, I've never figured out what it is but I've also stopped obsessing over it because I finally saw a damn deer.

At the time I was struggling with a difficult decision and I took the deer sighting as a good sign; turned out, it was. Tonight while driving to a friend's place out in the country I saw my second deer, just hanging out in a meadow doing deer stuff. Although I'm not struggling through any decisions right now, tonight was definitely a good night for a 'sign'.

The transition back to life in Toronto has been a blessedly smooth and easy one. I began my practicum today and I'm excited about the experience I'm going to gain. I talked to a few friends for the first time since arriving home to make plans for the long weekend, had a great talk with my mom, and was welcomed back to the bookclub-that-never-reads-the-books with warm, open arms. I feel lucky and loved.

So don't let any of the following take away from that, it's just that I'm having a wee bit of a hard time this week. I'm trying to find the sense of this life I have in Toronto and I'm afraid that it's not here, I'm terrified that I'm going to 'break' someone in my practicum, and today while practicing at home in my living room I felt so overwhelmingly alone.

For that reason, I thank my family for being so sweet, my grandmother for her phone call, the friends who greeted me with such delight after all these months, and I thank the damn deer for hanging out in the meadow so I could see them because tonight was a great night to be reminded that it will all be ok.