Alphabet Soup

Spoke to Sir first thing this morning regarding the new practice times. I told him I would be able to be there on time twice a week, and I proposed that the rest of the time I would get in as much of my practice with him in the room, but that I would manage on my own for the remainder of my practice after he leaves. He said that was okay, but he preferred it if I could be there earlier once more each week. I wish I could...if only the Husband would take the kids to school in the morning. Ever. As if.

That said, I had a lovely practice today. I started 10 minutes later than I had planned because parking was scarce in Alphabet City today, and I ended up driving around in circles looking for a spot. Got lots of assists throughout standing and right up through Janu C. I was on my own for the rest. What that enabled me to do was to substantially slow down...even moreso than I would with a teacher present and perhaps waiting to assist me. One side of C was more difficult than the other - the second side, which is usually my good side. For some reason I had trouble managing the sweat to skin ratio. That same side I was able to bind by my fingertips in Mari D. Go figure. I couldn't bind at all on the other side of Mari D - the first side, for whatever reason.

I wonder if I am carrying a pound or two excess since the holidays? I haven't stepped on the scale since mid December, although my clothes still fit me exactly the same way. On the other hand, a milimeter or two of extra "girth", be it skin, fat or mere water weight, can change everything in these pretzel-like poses. Sir told me that, himself a while back. So, perhaps as I re-establish my routine, any extra milimeters will disappear, and I will finally be able to say that I bind reliably in every Mari.

Surprisingly, my finishing sequence was a pleasure today, from backbending through Utt Pluthi, which I held for 20 breaths, surprising myself. I easily managed four five-breath Urdhva Dhanurasana, skipping bridge in favor of stretching my arms Gomukhasana-style underneath my back. I also got deeper in Yoga Mudra than I ever have managing to hold onto my left foot while reaching around and grabbing my right (Usually, I grab for the left, then let the left hand slide away as I reach for the right, then replacing the left after I've secured the right, which I know is NOT the right order in which to do things...but it's been the best I can do without assistance, up until now).

I love, love, love having my legs in lotus.

Right after class, still wearing a pair of bootleg yoga pants and a tanktop under a tattered wrap sweater, I drove up to the Capezio store on East 61st and Lexington to replace said wrap sweater, I found myself a really sweet pair of yoga pants that LOOK like jeans, plus a really cool flattering sheer tye-dyed long sleeve t-shirt. As I was browsing, my hair still up in a high pony, a girl browsing alongside of me turned to commiserate: "Don't you just hate when you come here straight from dance class?"

She. Thought. I. Was. A. Dancer. (Or at least, maybe a dance teacher, considering my, er, advanced age...)

Thank you, young woman in the dance shop. You made my day. Possibly my whole week. The only thing that could make it even better is if I receive my Massage Cushion that the parents bought for me after I killed theirs within less than 10 minutes.

Came home and let a very grateful, increasingly submissive Lewis out of his crate...I think it took him a bit of crate training to help him to begin to understand that the alpha dog around here actually is...that short human bitch (meaning that in the least negative sense) who not only feeds him but, more significantly, decides when and on what terms he is allowed to roam freely throughout the rooms of this house. To paraphrase an old adage: The hand that locks the crate'll rule the cur.

And in sadder news, it seems that there is a new and tragic twist in the tale of the Hatfields and the McCoys, or rather, in this case, the McCloys. Ben Hatfield, the head of the International Coal Group has since apologized for the spread of misinformation in regards to the West Virginia mine explosion that occurred earlier this week, namely that Randall McCloy was the sole fatality. Said Hatfield: "The information spread like wildfire [no pun intended, Mr. Hatfield, I hope], because it had come from the [rescue] command center. It quickly got out of control." Eh-yah. Turns out McCloy was the sole survivor, 12 miners have lost their lives and the hearts of 12 families were broken, then lifted up for about three hours, and then, finally, smashed to pieces in the end.

That's all for now...

YC

P.S. To answer some of the questions I have been getting offline: those aren't "just" apples. Didn't anyone take Art History in college? Cezanne anyone?