Is yoga supposed to be an aerobic activity? The advertisement mentioned breathing and poses and went on to say that “Hatha yoga practice is designed to rejuvenate the spirit, invigorate the mind, strengthen the body, and open the heart.” H-m-m-m, sounded beneficial and doable.
It was amazing how many people showed up for this yoga opportunity. It was a good deal. You paid what you could afford ($5.00 suggested), and each month the money is earmarked for a charity. January’s is allocated to the Crisis Nursery. The room was more than half-full when my friend and I arrived. There were men and women, most in the 30-50 age range. The older guy behind me looked like a Harley Hog rider complete with tattoo. He probably thought I looked like Miss Piggy.
As “virgins” we were without yoga paraphernalia, and our instructor, Steve, led us to the community supplies--mat, blocks, and rug. On the ride over I had told my friend to wake me up if I fell asleep, as I was anticipating a lot of deep breathing and mediation while lying on a mat. My sole prior yoga experience consisted of doing the sun salutation along with Jane Fonda (VHS 1994--her braid is priceless). I was in for a surprise. Steve had run through all of my Jane Fonda moves in a half-hour, and there was still an hour of instruction to go. And what was with that Hara Krishna music in the background?
In the beginning, I was amazed that I was still as flexible as I am since I haven’t been doing much in that area. However, some of the poses we tried later on I hadn’t done since ballet class in grade school! In my wildest dreams I can’t imagine doing the crow or crane (I’m scared of birds anyway) or ending the session with an inversion pose. Not going to do a headstand. No. Instead, I ended the class on my back with my legs outstretched up on the wall. The stereo was sending out sounds of the ocean, and I had on a soothing aromatherapy eye pillow. After a while my respiration and heart beat retreated from the red area, and finally I was truly relaxed. Stress free. Ready for the week to come.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Round Up
Round Up. No, I’m not at a Dude Ranch, I’ve been out spraying all of the weeds growing between the bluestone tiles. Yes, the last couple of days, I’ve been working in the garden trimming back vines and perennials and raking flower beds. The butterfly bushes are sporting all green leaves, the clematis is in bud, the bulbs have broken through the ground, and the perennials are dressed in several inches of new growth. Clearly there is some confusion.
I remember the pansies were in bloom last January, but the entire garden didn’t look like spring had sprung. This 50-degree weather has the neighbor children pulling the cattail heads apart and spreading the white fluff on the ground for snow.
Where is winter? Where is my chance to hibernate by the fire with a good book? Ecclesiastes promises to everything there is a season…. I live in Illinois. We have four seasons. One of them is missing. Is this a case for Miss Marple?
Not all of this is bad. Yesterday Bob and I had the opportunity to chat with almost all of the neighbors. We get lonely for them in the winter when we all huddle in the warmth of our homes. We even discovered there’s a new dog on the block.
Still, there is just something not quite right about gardening in January. In the Midwest, this is the time for daydreaming, perusing seed catalogs, and finally planning the riotous beauty to flower in the summer. It’s the most important time for the gardener, and she shouldn’t be holstering a pruning tool while she’s doing it!
I say enough of this global warming, El Nino, shifting currents or normal variability. I want cold. I want snow. I want winter. Have you found it yet, Miss Marple?
I remember the pansies were in bloom last January, but the entire garden didn’t look like spring had sprung. This 50-degree weather has the neighbor children pulling the cattail heads apart and spreading the white fluff on the ground for snow.
Where is winter? Where is my chance to hibernate by the fire with a good book? Ecclesiastes promises to everything there is a season…. I live in Illinois. We have four seasons. One of them is missing. Is this a case for Miss Marple?
Not all of this is bad. Yesterday Bob and I had the opportunity to chat with almost all of the neighbors. We get lonely for them in the winter when we all huddle in the warmth of our homes. We even discovered there’s a new dog on the block.
Still, there is just something not quite right about gardening in January. In the Midwest, this is the time for daydreaming, perusing seed catalogs, and finally planning the riotous beauty to flower in the summer. It’s the most important time for the gardener, and she shouldn’t be holstering a pruning tool while she’s doing it!
I say enough of this global warming, El Nino, shifting currents or normal variability. I want cold. I want snow. I want winter. Have you found it yet, Miss Marple?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Lady Madonna
'Read at least one book a week' is the advice that Stephen King gives to writers. His recommendation has changed the way I allocate my time. I have been freed from the guilt I used to suffer from using my time “unproductively.” In fact, I feel like I have been given the keys to a Little Debbie delivery truck and told all the treats are calorie-free.
However, I have become very discriminating in my reading, enjoying mostly memoirs, since that is the genre I am most interested in from a writing point of view. But I do occasionally sneak in one of the many novels I’ve ordered from Amazon that are stacked on the bookshelves like soldiers at attention calling to me like Circe. This tantalizing title, Our Lady of the Lost and Found by Diane Schoemperlen, became my most recent choice.
Imagine having a woman dressed in a blue raincoat and Nikes appear in your living room, identify herself as Mary, Mother of God, and ask if she can stay for a week’s rest. This is what has happened to the narrator, a single, middle-aged, non-Catholic woman who is a writer. Amazingly enough, their week together is quite low-key, however, Mary does tell of some of her miracles, and the narrator tells us of many more. But that isn’t all.
The meaning of life, the evil in the world, faith, mystery, time, reality and history are just some of the philosophical topics that the author addresses in a very readable and yet thought-provoking manner. Her reflections and soul-searching lead us to do the same.
What would you do if a woman carrying a suitcase and a purse appeared in your house claiming she was the Virgin Mary? Think about it. Then pick up this book and be prepared to be transformed.
However, I have become very discriminating in my reading, enjoying mostly memoirs, since that is the genre I am most interested in from a writing point of view. But I do occasionally sneak in one of the many novels I’ve ordered from Amazon that are stacked on the bookshelves like soldiers at attention calling to me like Circe. This tantalizing title, Our Lady of the Lost and Found by Diane Schoemperlen, became my most recent choice.
Imagine having a woman dressed in a blue raincoat and Nikes appear in your living room, identify herself as Mary, Mother of God, and ask if she can stay for a week’s rest. This is what has happened to the narrator, a single, middle-aged, non-Catholic woman who is a writer. Amazingly enough, their week together is quite low-key, however, Mary does tell of some of her miracles, and the narrator tells us of many more. But that isn’t all.
The meaning of life, the evil in the world, faith, mystery, time, reality and history are just some of the philosophical topics that the author addresses in a very readable and yet thought-provoking manner. Her reflections and soul-searching lead us to do the same.
What would you do if a woman carrying a suitcase and a purse appeared in your house claiming she was the Virgin Mary? Think about it. Then pick up this book and be prepared to be transformed.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Labor day and a birthday
Labor Day, once called “a workingmen’s holiday,” originated out of workers’ protest over the 12-hour working day/7 days a week, low wages, and unsafe and unhealthy working conditions. Today it’s a celebration of the achievements and contributions American workers, male and female, make to the social and economic strength and vitality of our country.
Labor unions have been targeted by the politicians and public as evil and the source of all things wrong with our current economic conditions. But, as our country was moving from an agrarian to industrial society, it is through these labor unions that American workers came to have the wherewithal to purchase the goods that they were making. Something we need to remember today! And, it was because of the labor unions that our children are free to attend public schools, to become the educated populace necessary for a democratic and economically progressive society, instead of toiling in mines, factories and mills for pennies a day.
When we remember how and why this holiday came into being, can we as consumers in good conscience continue to buy products based solely on cost? Can we without embarrassment buy clothing that has been manufactured on the backs of child labor? Is it moral to buy electronics or sneakers or toys from companies that don’t pay their workers a fair wage and don’t provide safe and healthy working conditions for them? What would happen if our buying habits changed, and we wouldn’t purchase products from labor-unfriendly companies? Yes, the price of some products we desire may increase, however, so will competition, which can influence price, employment, and quality. And, better yet, the global pool of consumers with the means to purchase products and services from a wide variety of sources will grow and add to the economic viability of many countries.
Many think the need for labor unions is long passed, but look at the migrant workers in our country who toil outside labor laws. They put in 12 to14-hour days/7 days a week of hard physical labor, exposed to pesticides and dangerous equipment. They are low paid, uninsured, and suffer poorer physical health and have a shorter life expectancy than the general population. Their children often work by their sides but aren’t reported on the farmers’ books. The delicious tomato, peach, or mushroom you eat today may have been planted, tended, and harvested by one of these dedicated workers. You and I spend less of our money on food than any other country in the world. Now you know why. When will our migrant workers be included in Labor Day?
Fareed Zakaria’s blog entry, “Hey, America: Take a Vacation!” that he shared on his Sunday television show reminds us that the American worker is working too many hours on too many days every year. The average European worker gets three times more vacation days than the average worker does here and uses a higher percentage of those days. The average number of vacation days an American worker receives: 13. The average percentage of those used per year: 57%. H-m-m-m, do I see a possible solution to our high unemployment?
But, in fact, all the above is a mere digression from my true subject for this 5th day of September. This is the 60th birthday of my friend Muffy, and, in celebration, she and her cousin are kayaking the shores of the Upper Peninsula in girlfriend solidarity. Muffy has known me longer than any other non-relative and knows the true me, the one who imagined my doll was really a baby, and I was the teacher of a classroom of young students my age. She is an amazing and brilliant woman, well-described by the words of this post dedicated to strong women from Arlene’s Facebook wall:
I am strong because I know weakness,
I am compassionate because I have experienced suffering,
I am alive because I am a fighter,
I am wise because I’ve been foolish,
I can laugh because I have known sadness,
I can love because I’ve known loss.
I send her my love on this day, and I hope it will be just as special as she is.
Labor unions have been targeted by the politicians and public as evil and the source of all things wrong with our current economic conditions. But, as our country was moving from an agrarian to industrial society, it is through these labor unions that American workers came to have the wherewithal to purchase the goods that they were making. Something we need to remember today! And, it was because of the labor unions that our children are free to attend public schools, to become the educated populace necessary for a democratic and economically progressive society, instead of toiling in mines, factories and mills for pennies a day.
When we remember how and why this holiday came into being, can we as consumers in good conscience continue to buy products based solely on cost? Can we without embarrassment buy clothing that has been manufactured on the backs of child labor? Is it moral to buy electronics or sneakers or toys from companies that don’t pay their workers a fair wage and don’t provide safe and healthy working conditions for them? What would happen if our buying habits changed, and we wouldn’t purchase products from labor-unfriendly companies? Yes, the price of some products we desire may increase, however, so will competition, which can influence price, employment, and quality. And, better yet, the global pool of consumers with the means to purchase products and services from a wide variety of sources will grow and add to the economic viability of many countries.
Many think the need for labor unions is long passed, but look at the migrant workers in our country who toil outside labor laws. They put in 12 to14-hour days/7 days a week of hard physical labor, exposed to pesticides and dangerous equipment. They are low paid, uninsured, and suffer poorer physical health and have a shorter life expectancy than the general population. Their children often work by their sides but aren’t reported on the farmers’ books. The delicious tomato, peach, or mushroom you eat today may have been planted, tended, and harvested by one of these dedicated workers. You and I spend less of our money on food than any other country in the world. Now you know why. When will our migrant workers be included in Labor Day?
Fareed Zakaria’s blog entry, “Hey, America: Take a Vacation!” that he shared on his Sunday television show reminds us that the American worker is working too many hours on too many days every year. The average European worker gets three times more vacation days than the average worker does here and uses a higher percentage of those days. The average number of vacation days an American worker receives: 13. The average percentage of those used per year: 57%. H-m-m-m, do I see a possible solution to our high unemployment?
But, in fact, all the above is a mere digression from my true subject for this 5th day of September. This is the 60th birthday of my friend Muffy, and, in celebration, she and her cousin are kayaking the shores of the Upper Peninsula in girlfriend solidarity. Muffy has known me longer than any other non-relative and knows the true me, the one who imagined my doll was really a baby, and I was the teacher of a classroom of young students my age. She is an amazing and brilliant woman, well-described by the words of this post dedicated to strong women from Arlene’s Facebook wall:
I am strong because I know weakness,
I am compassionate because I have experienced suffering,
I am alive because I am a fighter,
I am wise because I’ve been foolish,
I can laugh because I have known sadness,
I can love because I’ve known loss.
I send her my love on this day, and I hope it will be just as special as she is.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Summer to fall
About two weeks ago we experienced the first taste of fall in the air, and over the weekend I noticed a tree was donning its colorful finery. Labor Day is but a week away, not the fall solstice, but for most of us, it signals the start of autumn, and in Michigan, the return of children to school. Yes, summer is on the wane, but not yet passed.
Flowers, blueberries, apples, pears, peaches, peppers, bi-color corn, watermelon, and musk melon are in abundance at the farmers’ market. The array of colors, shapes, smells, tastes, and textures drenches the senses. We’re awakened with blue skies full of sun and the promise of warm days that draw us to the lake.
I am reminded to soak up these days, to be present for what each offers, to remember the joy and freedom summer days brought me as a child. I’m going to give myself permission to be idle, so I can find recognizable shapes in the clouds and listen to the lap of water. I will let refreshment wash over me and strengthen me for what is to come.
For everything there is a season…
(Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Flowers, blueberries, apples, pears, peaches, peppers, bi-color corn, watermelon, and musk melon are in abundance at the farmers’ market. The array of colors, shapes, smells, tastes, and textures drenches the senses. We’re awakened with blue skies full of sun and the promise of warm days that draw us to the lake.
I am reminded to soak up these days, to be present for what each offers, to remember the joy and freedom summer days brought me as a child. I’m going to give myself permission to be idle, so I can find recognizable shapes in the clouds and listen to the lap of water. I will let refreshment wash over me and strengthen me for what is to come.
For everything there is a season…
(Ecclesiastes 3:1)
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Have a blessed rest
It happened the first night Amy (Bob's youngest) visited us here in Holland. She hugged and kissed us goodnight and headed down the hall to bed, but then she stopped. She turned around and said to me, "You didn't tell me to have 'a blessed rest.' You always tell me to have 'a blessed rest' before I go to bed."
My "identical best friend" (a description given to us by her husband) from high school is the one who first said it to me. I really loved it. I felt especially covered by God's love. I began telling it to others who visited, including Amy, hoping that they would feel the peace that it gave me.
I had no idea that it had become a bedtime ritual between Amy and me, but upon hearing her lament, my heart was warmed. It was the sign of another family connection between us, step-mother and step-daughter. I hope the blessing is something she will share with others, and I hope she thinks of me each time in the same loving way I think of Barbara. Amen.
My "identical best friend" (a description given to us by her husband) from high school is the one who first said it to me. I really loved it. I felt especially covered by God's love. I began telling it to others who visited, including Amy, hoping that they would feel the peace that it gave me.
I had no idea that it had become a bedtime ritual between Amy and me, but upon hearing her lament, my heart was warmed. It was the sign of another family connection between us, step-mother and step-daughter. I hope the blessing is something she will share with others, and I hope she thinks of me each time in the same loving way I think of Barbara. Amen.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Thin places
Thin places. Not on my body, you may be thinking, and you would be right, except for my very narrow feet, too narrow for most shoes. No, not on my body but haphazardly throughout my life, I experience thin places, times in my life when I have eyes to see God’s hand. I never knew what to call these moments, coincidences, or miracles (minor or otherwise) until I, along with other Disciples’ women, stepped into the realm of the ordinary being extraordinary at the annual spiritual writing retreat the past two summers. And it was this newfound awareness that led me to read the memoir Thin Places by Mary E. DeMuth. Let me share a few paragraphs from the opening chapter with you:
I, myself, am a thin place.
The Celts define a thin place as a place where heaven and the physical world collide, one of
those serendipitous territories where eternity and the mundane meet. Thin describes the membrane
between the tow worlds, like a piece of vellum, where we see a holy glimpse of the eternal--
not in digital clarity, but clear enough to discern what lies beyond.
Thin places are snatches of holy ground, tucked into the corners of our world, where, if we
pay very close attention, we might just catch a glimpse of eternity. Legend has it that thin places
are places for pilgrims, where ghostlike echoes of those gone before can be felt and heard,
where the Ancients whisper their wisdom near the ruins of a church or the craggy outcropping of
a rock. In this way, a thin place is an ancient doorway to the fairy-tale netherworld--a fanciful
notion that children embrace and adults find preposterous.
Maybe it’s my own imagination that hopes for real thin places on this earth. I’m a storyteller,
after all, prone to wander in make-believe worlds. I’d like to believe in portals to eternity--Narnia
doors beckoning me onward and upward. Even so, I’m broadening the metaphor a bit. Thin
places are snatches of time, moments really, when we sense God intersecting our world in tangible,
unmistakable ways. They are aha moments, beautiful realizations, when the Son of God bursts
through the hazy fog of our monotony and shines on us afresh.
He has come near to my life. I will tell you how.
Mary shares her life with her readers. She tells of traumatic things that happened to her as a child that continue to impact her life today, and she also tells of the lovely things that she has experienced. In each case, she identifies the part that God played.
When I opened the book, I was intrigued immediately upon reading that first sentence above (actually the second paragraph), “I, myself, am a thin place.” I’d never thought of myself, my person and being, as a thin place, but I've started thinking about it. We know from the Word that we are aliens in this land. We are not of this world, yet, we live here as God’s children. As Christians, do we wander always at the intersection of the spiritual and physical worlds? Am I a thin place, and are you?
I, myself, am a thin place.
The Celts define a thin place as a place where heaven and the physical world collide, one of
those serendipitous territories where eternity and the mundane meet. Thin describes the membrane
between the tow worlds, like a piece of vellum, where we see a holy glimpse of the eternal--
not in digital clarity, but clear enough to discern what lies beyond.
Thin places are snatches of holy ground, tucked into the corners of our world, where, if we
pay very close attention, we might just catch a glimpse of eternity. Legend has it that thin places
are places for pilgrims, where ghostlike echoes of those gone before can be felt and heard,
where the Ancients whisper their wisdom near the ruins of a church or the craggy outcropping of
a rock. In this way, a thin place is an ancient doorway to the fairy-tale netherworld--a fanciful
notion that children embrace and adults find preposterous.
Maybe it’s my own imagination that hopes for real thin places on this earth. I’m a storyteller,
after all, prone to wander in make-believe worlds. I’d like to believe in portals to eternity--Narnia
doors beckoning me onward and upward. Even so, I’m broadening the metaphor a bit. Thin
places are snatches of time, moments really, when we sense God intersecting our world in tangible,
unmistakable ways. They are aha moments, beautiful realizations, when the Son of God bursts
through the hazy fog of our monotony and shines on us afresh.
He has come near to my life. I will tell you how.
Mary shares her life with her readers. She tells of traumatic things that happened to her as a child that continue to impact her life today, and she also tells of the lovely things that she has experienced. In each case, she identifies the part that God played.
When I opened the book, I was intrigued immediately upon reading that first sentence above (actually the second paragraph), “I, myself, am a thin place.” I’d never thought of myself, my person and being, as a thin place, but I've started thinking about it. We know from the Word that we are aliens in this land. We are not of this world, yet, we live here as God’s children. As Christians, do we wander always at the intersection of the spiritual and physical worlds? Am I a thin place, and are you?
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