Slacking = Happy

Every so often, I get a bee in my bonnet about keeping up with this blog. It goes well for a hot minute. Inevitably, I drift off and stop writing stories about my daily life. 

Here's the secret, it's not a sign of anything except that I'm living my life. Probably too exhausted to write stories. Or, too busy talking to write. 

The cool part for me is that this is the first time I stopped writing that I didn't get all down on myself about it. My life is awesome and I'm super grateful for all of it. Even the part where I learn that I'm a terrible blogger. Lucky for me I have other skills. :-)

Perfect shade.

This is the perfect shade of lipstick for a Coors Light can, no? Thanks for the present outside my front door, neighbors! Keepin' it classy.

SEPTA

The South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority (SEPTA) Is not limited to South Philly. Unlike Detroit's People Mover, it has more than 6 stops and Actually goes places. As such, my experiences with SEPTA will not end when I leave.

SEPTA has been an integral part of my South Philly experience. The experiences range from sweet to terrifying. Everything from meeting my husband to watching my first almost gun fight.

Sometimes you get quietly overhear a conversation. Sure, eavesdropping is rude, but when you exist in such close proximity to one another, there is little you can do to avoid it.

The picture below represents a mother and son pair. They were talking about her upcoming wedding. They were both excited. He didn't want to see her dress beforehand. He wanted to be surprised at how pretty she will look. I found it tremendously sweet.

Proximity

One of the things I love about Philly is its proximity to Atlantic City. Let the good times roll.

Wake-Up Yoga

Wake-up yoga is a gift to Passyunk Ave and to me.

This is the community where I learned that in order to fly you have to be firmly grounded.

This is where I learned that practice doesn't make perfect. I learned that now is perfect just the way it is.

This is where I learned that I don't need (or want) a mirror to practice in front of. I only need to look and feel my own body to check my alignment.

This is where I learned that I can realign my mind the same way I realign my body.

Regardless of whether or not I continue to practice here, I will always look back on it fondly.

Sweet Home South Philly

We're being evicted.

My love hates when I say that, but it's practically true. Our landlady stopped paying her mortgage. The mortgage company is suing her. She isn't responding. Sooner or later, we will be evicted.

We had planned on looking for houses this spring anyway, but the timeline got bumped up a bit.

We're hopeful that we've found the right house, but not ready to publicly declare it ours for fear of jinxing it. If all goes well, we'll be leaving Home Sweet South Philly this summer.

I've decided to dedicate some posts to South Philly, both the awesome and the appalling. It's the place i've called home for the last 5+ years. I feel like that's worthy of a long goodbye.

Violence: Part II

I've supported a couple of dear friends while they chased marathon dreams.  Mile 26 on a marathon course is a beautiful place to be.   It is the ultimate home stretch.  For some, years of training just to get to the start.  Hours of running a storied course, with cheering people clumped at the start and some lonely miles in the middle.  As you near the finish, the crowds swell, people cheer for strangers, the endorphins and drive are palpable.  Mommys and Daddys in tears waving at their children in crowd. There are loved ones too far away to cheer in person who sit at home refreshing screens waiting for a time to post or sitting by the phone waiting for the call that their runner has finished and is ok.

It is absolutely unfathomable to imagine the moment when that anticipation changed from "Did she finish?"  to "Is she alive?"   The explosions at the Boston Marathon were devastating.  For the runners, the spectators and those directly affected, I am profoundly sad.  For those who will feel the impact of this loss every day, I am sending light, love and strength.


One of the stories I've heard that is most upsetting is that of spectators.  In a special box, right at the finish line, were seated families from the Newtown massacre. It was a place of honor, which was intended to show them respect and kindness.  Those poor poor people.  They have seen more than their share of violence. When will their nightmares end?

I want to scream on the top of my lungs to beg for an end to such tragedies. But to whom does one make such a plea? 

While I have no personal desire to own one, taking away guns is not the answer.  Better regulation might minimize some damage, but it's not an answer.  Responsible gun owners have never been the problem.  Irresponsible gun owners are a different story.  Unfortunately, it's hard to regulate people who don't follow guidelines.  

Additional security in crowds?  It's kind of a joke already. At events, security guards go through my purse all the time. I open it, they jiggle it around a little and peek inside. As I walk away, I always think about how easy it would be for a malicious person to conceal something.  And, I walk down busy streets and in crowded subways everyday.  How do we protect people there?

On Facebook yesterday, a former co-worker was posting messages about her grieving family.  About the loss of a young woman who was taken too young.  I assumed this woman was a runner in Boston. Then I saw the news article.  Her life was taken in her living room at home.  The suspect is yet unknown.  How could we have protected her?

The answer is that we can't.  We can pray, hope, wish, send love to those with hearts so hardened that they resort to violence.   We can comfort and support those who suffer as survivors. We can mourn the loss of those who didn't survive.

It's a sad day.  

Soooery

Growing up 20 minutes from the Canadian border means you will likely develop a feeling about our neighbors to the North. Personally, I love them. Sure their culture is awesome and the land is beautiful, but it's the accent that gets me every time .

Here's a quickie from today's subway ride...

Two guys standing inside the train, near the door. On my way into the train, my yoga mat smacked one of the guys.

Me: Oh! Sorry!
The guy I hit looks uncomfortable, but says. "Oh, um, it's ok."

As I sit down, his friend says, "The Canadian in you wants to apologize, doesn't he?"

The Canadian says, "No. Yes. Soooery."

Ganesha

Pace has been a bit of an issue in our house lately. Going to work early, staying late, working at night... All the while packing our house to move into temporary storage. House hunting with a vengeance. Trying to maintain those relationships we hold so dear. Needless to say, there are no routines in our house and things are suffering a little, mostly self-care.

For me, self-care means yoga. I've been grumbling a lot lately because I can't get to yoga. Then I usually blame the grumbling on my decreased mental capacities because I am not going to yoga. Vicious cycle of self-pity and scape goating.

This morning my alarm was set 45 min early, so that I could get a jump on my day and get to work early. Instead of snoozing and grumbling, I popped up and had the revelation that I can do yoga at home!

Contrary to popular (read: my) belief yoga does not mean studio. Yoga means unity. It means uniting breath and movement. Making the inside and the outside match. All you really need to practice yoga is an open heart.

So, I jumped out of bed, ran downstairs, lit some candles, set out my mat and got to practicing. In the past, I've found home practice to be lack luster and a little lazy. But today, I worked hard and practiced mindfully. In all of the years I have been practicing, today was the first time that I practiced alone that was mentally meaningful and physically demanding.

In Hinduism, there is a deity named Ganesha. You've probably seen images of him. He has an elephant head and four arms. He is known as the remover of obstacles. I spent a lot of time thinking about him today. He kept popping up on my thoughts during practice. I feel like we removed some major obstacles in my head this morning. Jai Ganesha!

Fat

It's not a dirty word. It's a descriptor.

People use this word as a weapon.  Particularly women use it on other women.

It makes me sad because when I hear women use it violently, I hear them saying to themselves, "You hurt me" or "I'm scared of being unloved" or "I feel threatened."

I love my body.  It carries me throughout my life.  I put mostly good stuff into it.  I exercise with it.  It's fat.

Nothing bad precipitated this post. In fact, I just saw a movie starring Melissa McCarthy . It was funny. She was hysterical. And, there were no blatant fat jokes. Lots of jokes about her character's ridiculous behaviors, but no fat jokes. Yay!

Good thing we're going to McDonald's.

It's Monday night after Zumba. I skipped a couple weeks because of a nasty sinus infection. It's unseasonably warm for early March at about 58 degrees.

Usually after class, I walk with my friend back to her house. Sometimes she drives me home, but I typically take a cab. Given the nice night, I decide to walk to a bigger street and take the bus.

It's a 15 minute walk to the big street. It' s nice enough outside, but the novelty of walking wears off by the time I get to the bus stop and remember that I still have to wait for the bus to show up.

I pick a spot on the SE corner. There is a stoop I can hang out on that's out of the way, but still well lit. Most people walk under the big sign and don't see me on the adjacent stoop. As was the case with a mother and son pair.

As they approach, I hear basic conversation. Nothing stands out. As they pass me, I see that he's a little boy about 8 years old and he's holding his mom's hand. Just as they stop at the corner he says, "Good thing we're going to McDonald's, I gotta take a shit."

I laughed out loud, at which point they discovered me. Mom's eyes bugged out of her head. And the little boy clapped a hand over his potty mouth. They both looked at me like I was going to send them to the principal's office.

After a really awkward second, I can see mom realizing that we are not in school and she is not in trouble. She maintains eye contact with me, but speaks to the boy, "C'mon. You been in this city too long,"

Pathetic Haikus for Yous

Sometimes feel fail-y

Other times feel more fail-y-er

Today is the worst

Work is killing me

I'm letting it take over life

That has to end now

I know you called me

I prolly won't call you back soon

I still love you though

Longest break this week

Spent writing bad poems at lunch

Feeling pathetic right now

But on the upside

the antibiotics help

left nostril working

NYC

We just spent the weekend in New York City.  Some find it's important to be prepared for traveling.  You know with maps and plans and recommendations for great restaurants, etc etc etc.  We didn't do any of those things.  The extent of our planning was having my nails painted Big Apple Red and a vague idea that we should check out something called the High Line.

My Mr. lived in New York when he was younger. It's a part of his past.   It's just the City to him.  We live in Philadelphia, but New Yorkers (current and former) will only ever acknowledge one real City. He suggested this trip because it's pretty new to me.  I've not spent much time there and he knew it was something we'd both enjoy.  Much like I enjoyed seeing him explore being in another country for the first time on our honeymoon, he wanted to watch me see his City.

We stayed in a well situated hotel just a few blocks from Penn Station, which was wholly New York. It was maybe 12 x 12, but it had a neat view of the Empire State Building.  It also had a distinctly New York price tag.  Fortunately, we got a great deal on the room because of our kind nephew who works for the hotel chain.

Saturday morningish we head out in the general direction of the High Line, which is an elevated park made out of the train tracks that were previously used to transport "cargo" in and out of the meatpacking district. It's 20 blocks long and there are supposed to be a bunch of galleries in the area, so we can't really lose. It sounds like fun.

We're walking along W 28th St on a pretty, not too brisk, winter morning.  Holding hands and chatting.  Feeling really present in this moment and loving it.  Then, I see this...

I am in awe of this contraption.  It's a flipping multilevel parking spot!  Not a whole garage, but a spot. Clearly, I stopped to take pictures.  I'm marveling at the whole thing, trying to figure out the system, watching the guy operate it, wondering if I'll get in trouble for taking pictures...  My Mr doesn't say anything, but he's standing back watching with his hands in his coat pockets with one of my favorite smiles on his face.  I smile back and go return to my investigation.

Then I hear my Mr. say, "We're not from around here, can you tell?"  At first I'm annoyed because I feel like he's minimizing this perfect moment.  I spin around, ready to be angry, and then I see the most amazing thing.  This woman, this famous for being rude New Yorker, has stopped to watch too.  She's watching me watching the cars and she's talking to my Mr and she's smiling.  Seriously? Is this happening?

She's stopped to tell us that she used to get annoyed with tourists.  They get in your way, they never know where they're going and that they are generally obnoxious.  (In more typical New York fashion, she asks us if we're going in her direction because she wants to talk, but she doesn't have time to stop, she's trying to catch a bus.)  She goes on to tell us that she's a lifelong New Yorker.  Never left the City, not ever.  Then one day, her girlfriend tells her to pack a bag because they are going to Washington DC for the weekend.  So she packed her bag for a weekend in the nation's capitol and hops in her friend's car, ready for a weekend of monuments.  Once they're on the highway, her friend tells her they aren't going to DC, they're going to Florida.

"I was like, WHAT?!  Are you crazy?! Then this crazy woman drove all through the night and I woke up in Florida!"  She tells us she got to Florida and she was running around like a fool.  Taking pictures of everything.  Getting in people's way.  All the while, never knowing where she was.  She loved it.  She said ever since that experience, she always talks to tourists and tries to help them out.

She asks us where we're going and we tell her we're heading towards the High Line.  She tells us that we'll like it and that we can get there the way we're going, but we should go down to 23rd instead because it's got a nicer entrance and it's safer.

We thanked her and said goodbye.  As it turns out, she was right.  We liked it and the entrance at 23rd was really nice.

Love of the hearts and flowers variety...

Obsessed with Valentine's Day this year. 

I love it. 

I love love. 

I love being a newlywed. 

I love living my life. 

I love eating chocolate before I get out of bed in the morning. 

I love the anticipation of a weekend in NYC. 

I love coffee. 

I love wonder.

My logical side says that Valentine's Day is just a stupid, over commercialized, made up Hallmark holiday that sucks.   It's the truth.  It's a relatively arbitrary day. Here's my truth, I don't care.

My Love and everyone else I love, knows that I do.  Because I tell them I love them a lot and often, but I refuse snub my nose at an all out excuse to express love to everyone. 

On a slightly less hearts and flowers note and onto a more breath-taking expression of love, I give you this image from the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology.   This image is legit.  It was discovered in 1972 in modern day Iran.  I can't think of a more beautiful image to celebrate today.

Yep, I'm kind of in love with this, too.

Ironman Cometh

It's pretty standard to complain about public transit when you live in a city.  For many, it's the only way to get around.  Even when they're on top of their game, something always goes wrong or there's a delay or it's raining out or there is someone on the bus who's definition of hygiene doesn't quite match my own. There are lots of things to complain about. 

Buses are particularly horrible.  They jerk about much more than trains.  The heating system seems perpetually stuck at nausea inducing104,000 F in the winter, which also contributes to the stank.  People always have more stuff than fits in the 12 inch seats. To top it off, you have to wait outside on a busy dirty Philly street corner.  Not typically a place I find a lot of fun.   But every once in a while if you keep your eyes open, something awesome happens.

I woke up in a pretty great mood.  I slept relatively well.  Everyone is relatively healthy and happy. My cat was even being charming in the morning. Life was good.  It was a Thursday before a long weekend and all was right with the world. 

I got dressed in a new orange sweater dress, which was a gift from my sister.  A gift that I didn't think was going to fit when I first looked at it.  But, fit it did.  My hair looked extra cute and there was enough coffee left in pot to take a traveler to work.  Score one for the home team!

I walk the 2 blocks to the bus stop, all the while listening to a "This American Life" podcast.  It's about Doppelgangers and calamari and pig intestines, which is simultaneously disgusting and funny.  Perfect for this sunny beautiful day.  I arrive at the bus stop, where a few people are loosely gathered already waiting.  An older woman reading a paper. A young guy in paint-stained baggy pants and a sweatshirt smoking a cigarette.  And, a familiar father and son pair.

It's the father and son that catch my eye.  The little boy looks about 3 and he's is behaving like he's about 3, which leads me to believe that he's about 3.  He's wearing a brown barn coat with imitation sheer ling around the hood and chestnut brown corduroys. He's also wearing a knit had that looks like an owl.  Dad is standing quietly by why the little boy runs up and down a accessibility ramp in front of a nail salon.

Occasionally dad says, "Cut that out."  "Stop running." "Boy, get over here." They are all half-hearted attempts at child wrangling by someone who is clearly too tired to really care whether or not the little boy stands still.

As the bus approaches down the block, the little boy starts running. Takes off like a dart.  He's headed right for the street.  As he reaches the curb, I gasp and then  dad's voice rings out clear and loud, "STOP."

And the little boy does just that.  He stops.  He assumes the position of Ironman.  And he pretends to stop the bus right in front of him.  As his dad takes his hand to help him onto the bus, he is smirking.  He is clearly quite proud of his superhero bus stopping skills. 

Thank you public transit for this up close experience with a real live superhero.  Rock on Ironman.

Resolutions

To be resolute means to uphold a belief and act with steadfast vigor.  There is a sense of finality to it.  Therefore to have a resolution means a commitment to upholding a belief or action with some real gusto and certainly no wavering.  

A New Year's resolution is an oxymoron.  By making a a New Year's resolution, people generally commit to really hoping that this year will be better than the last in certain areas. By virtue of calling it a New Year's resolution we soften the blow of the inevitable failure of one's steadfast vigor to say...avoid donuts.   If it's a resolution that belongs specifically to the New Year, it won't matter if you're not so resolute when the year is not so new, like next month.

Maybe I'm wrong and others take New Year's resolutions much more seriously than myself.  If mat space at the yoga studio in February are any indication, I dare say, I am pretty darn on point.

All of this is to say that I don't make resolutions for myself.  I set themes that I can play with and explore all year long.  Think about the words and the concepts they represent. 

The theme for 2013 is "Lighten Up." 

In all honesty, the theme was born out of the sentence, "Lighten the f#$@ up."  Something silly happened on Facebook and the response was a quite a bit heavier than I would have imagined.  So it started out with me thinking that everyone else, you know those people 'over there' but definitely NOT ME, ought to "Give me a break! Lighten the f*#^ up!!"  In my head, lines were drawn in the sand.  On one side stood those who get me/approve of me/appreciate me and on the other side stood those who couldn't possibly understand/are super self-righteous/soapbox dwellers.

As I thought about it, mulled it over, lived with feeling angry, a little hurt and generally annoyed, my perspective changed.  I don't control other people's thoughts or actions.  Sometimes, I don't even control what happens in my own world.  I can only control my reactions.  I steeped in all those gross thoughts and feelings for about 30 more seconds, took a nice long deep breath and thought to myself, "Lighten up, missy." 

So, the first was an organic exploration.  Lighten up, don't take yourself so seriously.  Lighten up, you believe you are good. Lighten up, forgive others their soapboxes. No one benefits from a heavy heart...lighten up.

Pillsbury Dogi

Ever wondered what the Pillsbury Doughboy would look like doing yoga?  Me neither, but after taking 3 yoga classes the week after the holidays, I sure as hell know what he would feel like doing yoga.

Pillsbury Doughboys and girls should be baking cookies and giggling whenever someone pokes their little doughy pooches.  Pillsbury Dogis sweat a lot and make odd grunting noises when zen-like exhalations are more appropriate.

Looking forward to a little detoxing this month!