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Archive for ‘Namaste’

My D Cups Runneth Over

August 28th, 2009

Today was my yearly fear day when I have a mammogram. I don’t mind having my breasts flattened and arranged like spatchcocked pigeons–once you’ve delivered kids with no meds or had your ribs split open for some esoteric surgery, a mammogram is child’s play. What I hate and why I’m always late getting one is Waiting for the Results. For days in advance of the mammogram appointment, I become suddenly shy with my breasts, afraid to touch them in case I find something wrong, nervous about their well-being, wondering what’s happening in there. I’ve never had a problematic mammogram, but that doesn’t stop me spinning the worst-case scenario every time. Always before I’ve had to wait several days to get the Results, meaning I’m mentally veering back and forth the whole time wondering if silence means it’s good and they just slid me to the bottom of the pile because they’re busy with more pressing issues, or silence means it’s horrible and they’re trying to figure out how to break the news without me going all apeshit crazy on the phone. This time, my doctor sent me to a new clinic where — get this — they give you the results ON THE SPOT. If my news hadn’t been good, I might have wished for a few days of unknowing, but tonight I am incredibly appreciative of these healthy breasts that often seem too large and unruly for comfort or clothes cut for Kate Moss, and the expensive, underwired bras I bitch about having to buy them. I’ve done nothing to deserve this good luck, but my cups runneth over with gratitude tonight, and tomorrow I’ll be treating them to red lace.

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Bless you, Patricia!

August 4th, 2009

Tonight I stopped at the supermarket at 8pm, trying to dash through and grab some things for dinner. I was running late, feeling frazzled, wishing I were already home and in my pajamas. So one bottle of wine, one bottle of sparkling water, one avocado, one tub of salsa, 2 baking potatoes, 2 cartons of Greek yogurt, 2 cartons of blueberries, 1 copy 0f Yoga Journal, 2 tomatoes and 1 jar of mustard later, I got in the the checkout line…and waited. And waited. And waited. Because the cashier, whose name tag told me she was Patricia, was taking her time and looking up a bunch of items and chatting with the customer ahead of me. And I was fuming inside. When it was finally my turn, “Good Times” by Chic started playing on the sound system and Patricia was dancing and punching the keys and bagging my stuff and dancing. And I started remembering the good times that song brought back, and I started dancing in place and Patricia laughed and I laughed and the tight-lipped guy with one item behind me almost, almost smiled. Suddenly it didn’t matter that I had a bunch of weird, expensive, unrelated stuff in my cart, that I was going to have a late dinner or that I’d had a day of family problems that were probably ultimately unsolvable by me. Patricia had a long drive ahead of her after she got off work, standing on her feet all day, and yet she was dancing. Could I do otherwise?

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A Little Bliss

February 26th, 2009

Most days are a jumble of good, bad, indifferent–I stutter through, beginning something, putting it down, getting interrupted, growing bored, picking up another thread and losing it, starting and stalling and forgetting where I was going when I got sidetracked. And then there are days like today, when I worked hard but effortlessly, when I worked steadily but wasn’t drained, when I was actually able to finish things I started. A day of small but measurable accomplishments when I burned creative fuel all day but had something left over to kindle a fire tomorrow. When I saw a visiting friend out the door tonight and came in from the dark, I felt as if I were seeing my home with fresh eyes–the shelves of books, the turquoise chair, a green and black ceramic bowl, pink tulips from the supermarket–all transformed and glowing in the lamplight. Nothing had changed except the way I saw it, and nothing about my day was extraordinary except that I was momentarily able to step back and perceive its shape and texture and realize what a gift it had been.

Posted in Home, Namaste | 3 Comments »

Breathing Spaces

February 21st, 2009

I took this photo during a walk along the canal towpath in D.C. last fall. The water was so still and dark that I felt my soul shimmer in response. These magical places in nature are vanishing so quickly that I fear my grandchildren will be thirsty for spiritual H2O as they grow up. Every day when I drive to work I pass a pond that lies between an office building and a busy four-lane highway. I don’t know how it has escaped being filled in for more brick office fortresses, but somehow it survives–a tantalizing remnant of what this coast used to be. There’s usually a Great Blue Heron and a large white egret wading or simply standing in silent communion by the edge of the water. I look forward to it every day — it helps make the transition from home to work, work to home easier. I automatically slow down to see if the birds are there, and it puts all my stupid work worries in proper perspective. It’s like looking in one of those Easter egg dioramas and seeing a whole other miniature world inside. It’s a small hidden treasure in a landscape that has been developed in a deranged kind of way–because of course we all need another Comfort Inn or Taco Bell in our lives. As long as the pond survives, it gives me hope for the land, for the future, for the return of two birds to the same spot every morning. Fragile hopes for a big planet.

Posted in Namaste, Senses | 4 Comments »

The Spirit of the Place

February 13th, 2009

My guardian Buddha has lost his nose as the result of being knocked over by winds or maybe the neighbor’s cat. I like him better this way–as if his spirit had been tested and tried. As if he had ended up in this raggedy, weedy garden bed and was making the best of it. As if he’d been around the block and had a hundred stories he could tell about what he’d seen. This is no pretty boy Buddha but one that has withstood a few freezing nights and too many unbearable southern August noons. A Buddha for someone who has been broke but not broken, someone’s who’s often lonely but not giving up on love, someone who has a hundred stories about what she’s seen.

Posted in Enlightenment, Namaste, love | 4 Comments »

Silver Lining Monday

September 29th, 2008

The stock market dropped to an all-time historic low today. Mercury is in retrograde–again. Who knows if we’ll all have jobs, houses, cars or savings tomorrow or the next day or the next. And the Presidential race has become one long episode straight out of ”American Idol.” The bad news is relentless, but I tend to forget how fragile, precarious and uncertain life in this world has always been. While I’ve been giving myself a high five for switching from plastic bags to cloth, other women have wondered if they will have enough to eat today, tomorrow, the next. While I worry about the value of my house, there are little girls in Haiti who are virtually household slaves, sold by their families into lives of servitude. No happy endings there. I can’t control the stock market or Congress or global financial forces I don’t even understand, but I’m trying to look for silver linings–and believe me, it’s hard. I’m not naturally optimistic. But as long as I can, I’m going to put a check by every silver lining I can find every day. Mine are so simple-minded: an unexpected chance to kayak this weekend; a sliver of Stilton found lurking in the back of the fridge; clean sheets straight from the dryer to the bed. What are you finding comfort in right now?

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Visitations

May 4th, 2008

I live in biking distance of a beautiful beach, marshland and the intracoastal waterway, where startling sunsets are standard operating procedure. I try not to take the beauty for granted and to remember how lucky I am to have free access to the kind of gorgeousness that is usually reserved for the very rich and privileged. Because it opens my heart up to visitations when life tells me to keep the hatches battened. Tonight I’m aching for my grandson who can’t find his true north; for my daughter who wants to help and is helpless; for not showing my mother enough love when she was alive; for my own bouts of deep loneliness that come when I least expect it. But still I’m hopeful.

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Spiritual Switzerland

January 20th, 2008

I took this photo from the window of a plane flying over the mountains of Switzerland on the way to Prague in depths of winter. My first trip to Europe. Looking down, I imagined cows bells, gods on skis, cheese fondue out the wazoo. Even now it brings on a shiver of dread induced by too many tv airings of The Sound of Music. I’m embarrassed to admit that I find it hard to throw out old fleece jackets and ragged Irish sweaters because there is some nascent Anne Frank fear that there might be a war or a depression or a disapora (and I’m not even Jewish!) and I might need warm clothes to flee into the Blue Ridge Mountains where my family and friends will hide and resist some nameless threat. What the hell is that about? Tonight I’m nowhere near HeidiLand or NaziLand, but I have that deep down soul cold that I get every few years. I took a long hot shower (sorry, Mother Earth), put on warm pajamas and socks, changed the sheets, piled on the blankets. Winter. I hate it, but I also think it’s necessary to harden my roots, to pare away my native frivolity. Because I have a tropical carelessness in my character that calls for the slap in the face of a winter night every now and then. I need knife-sharp winter constellations instead of a big melony moon to remind me how lucky I am to have a pile of blankets, sheets straight from the dryer, on-demand hot water. And of course that stack of old sweaters to reassure my Puritan, self-punishing soul.

Posted in Enlightenment, Namaste | 2 Comments »

The Smell of Peace

December 6th, 2007

It’s dark green and sharp and foresty. It says, lie down here and listen to the wind in the tops of the trees, look up and fall into the stars.

Tonight I came home to find a Peace Wreath on my porch. I have to admit that I love getting presents as much as my 4-year-old granddaughter does. What happened to make me forget that about myself and others? I promise in 2008 to be a surprise gifter for no reason at all. To send out-of-the-blue cards and presents, to leave them on door steps or bring them to friends on the spur of the moment. Because opening the brown cardboard box and having the evergreen sap-rich scent surge up and out into the living room, to fold back the tissue and read the card–made me unreasonably, seasonably happy. Of course, my next reaction was: “I don’t deserve this,” followed by “How can I repay this and top this?”. And then I thought, “shut up and smell the wreath.” The mantra of this month will be that it’s more blessed to give than to receive, but I think learning to receive with love is just as important. Thank you thank you thank you.

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Kuan Yin Blesses the Kitchen

December 3rd, 2007

Have mercy on this stove that was born before self-cleaning was invented and only has one rack. Have mercy on its owner who is impatient with recipes and directions. Have mercy on whatever lies behind the stove and I pray we never have to go there. Have mercy on the garbage disposal that clogs up for no reason and refuses to grind–may its rage be directed more usefully at lemon rinds and celery behinds. Have mercy on the microwave–it can’t help being friends with fast and frozen food. Let it coexist peacefully with oven-roasted chicken and tagines. Have mercy on General Electric and Jack Welch…he can’t help his hubris and hormones. Have mercy on Alec Baldwin who plays a General Electric executive on tv and who I sometimes hear when I’m moved to the top of the entertainment center at the whim of my owner. May his anger with his ex wife be abated or mediated by a Hollywood Kuan Yin. Have mercy on the kitchen renovation coming soon and may it not last too long and may the granite be the right color. Have mercy on everyone who eats my owner’s cooking. She means well.