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."