Flying with Bonnie and Clyde

Let me begin by saying, genuinely, kudos to you, TSA agents. You have a very difficult job. I wouldn't want to be you. Seriously--fantastic work.

Let me introduce you to my in-laws, Dick and Jan. Here they are!

On the left is Richard. He's 84. On the right is Jan. She's 81. These two gamers recently accompanied me and Dave down to Los Angeles to watch Olivia walk the stage at her college graduation and celebrate her achievements. This was no small feat! It took some planning and some "out of your comfort zone" and some determination on the part of Dick and Jan. My in-laws, who don't travel often, came through in spades! Olivia was so excited to have all of her grandparents present for the occasion.

Let me give you (literally) a better picture of what was going on:

Okay there we go. There's beautiful Olivia in her cap and gown and stole, with her grandparents, Bonnie and Clyde.

I'll back up and explain. Dave, myself, Dick and Jan flew to LA. Which obviously means we went through security at the airports. Dave and I made it through just fine, thank you. No hiccups. No delays. Wham, bam, thank you folks. My nail file didn't spark anyone's interest at all.

Dick and Jan were another story. These two octogenarians set off all possible security apparatuses (yes, I checked--it's apparatuses, not apparati). I'm not kidding. The walk-through thingy beeped. The wand made that weird Star Trek-y sound. You would have thought they were suspects on the run from a bank robbery! Bags were checked! Cavities were searched!

Ok, well, that was just slight hyperbole. Cavities were not searched. But TSA hands did a VERY, and I mean VERY all in caps, thorough sweep of every inch of my poor father-in-law, who was nothing but patient and compliant. I don't think I would have been so patient and compliant (that's just me mouthing off for effect--I absolutely would have done whatever I was told to do).

Not only did they quite literally hand sweep every inch of him, they also made him lift himself up out of the chair so they could sweep the seat and his back pants pockets, and then they swabbed the entire wheelchair with one of those little pieces of bomb-maker-detector or whatever that is. Seriously--what is that? They never tell you while they're doing it. They just leave you wondering what it is they're swabbing for. What would happen if you just jokingly told them, as you were being swabbed, that you dabble in firecrackers? I mean, don't do that. You'd probably get in a lot of trouble. I'm betting cavity search.

So let's review. Dick (this menacing looking guy below, who was in a wheelchair) gets a solid ten minute head-to-toe search.

But it doesn't end there! Jan, the clearly-on-the-edge-of-committing-a-crime woman shown here

also gets pulled aside because her two fake knees set off all the bells and whistles! And in a little bit of poetic irony, the belt that Jan had taken off and put in her bag to go through the x-ray machine (because the sign said take off your belt and my mother-in-law is a rule follower damn it!) for some reason looked suspicious to the TSA officer so her bag was searched as well.

It's hard to imagine two less-suspicious individuals. They were troopers!

Again, I repeat, kudos to you TSA officers. If these two ne-er-do-wells had been packing, you definitely would have figured out where.

I know that's your job. I appreciate that you do it so well.

My mother and father-in-law in their younger years :)

Things I Kinda Miss

I don't dwell on this shit because it wouldn't accomplish anything. I get that. But here it is. Just to get it out. Does a whale feel better after letting everything out its blowhole? We can't ask whales that, but since they regularly do exactly that, I'm going with the notion that it provides them some relief.

OK, just for ducks I just looked up the whole whale/blowhole thing, and it turns out that's part of their breathing apparatus. So, YES! In fact, breathing DOES provide relief, right? I mean, if we held our breath for a long time we'd get uncomfortable, and then actually breathing would feel great, so I'm right on the money, apparently, with my whale "relief" theorem. And also, I just correctly used the word theorem so even though this post started out like it was gonna be a downer, things are looking up!

You know those words bank pictures that are so popular right now, with words people use the most being the largest? Here's a visual in case that wasn't the most clearly stated idea you've heard in weeks...

Picture the following list of things I miss as a mind word bank (not stuff I talk out loud about--just stuff that sits in my brain), but in the shape of a whale's spout! Now that I've actually imagined that little idea I can see that I'm clearly making myself the whale in this whole analogy. Who does that? Who makes herself a whale in her own cleverly concocted metaphor? Me, apparently. But whales are cool, so let's just keep going here. 

Things I miss: the thickness of my hair, the definition in my left knee, the ability to run normally, drinking soda for breakfast, event planning, yoga without a strap, walking down the stairs quickly, walking up the stairs quickly, not knowing my medical number by heart, being able to squat down, being able to get back up, my ponytail, above-the-knee dresses, my body looking athletic, my mind feeling like I'm athletic, not realizing the ubiquitousness of the word cancer on TV, doing a chaturanga smoothly, and my eyebrows. I really miss my eyebrows. 

Ok, I have spouted and I am once again breathing normally. 

I will work on my metaphors. 

One Mississippi

You probably already know this, but it's hard to be in the present moment for more than five seconds. Ok, for more than three seconds. Ok, one Mississippi. That's about all I can muster in the present moment. And it's not for a lack of trying. Don't judge. Try it. See how long it takes for your mind to wander.

Right? How many Mississippis did you make it through before you were thinking about what you were going to do next?

I signed up for a "yoga intensive" 40 day program, which is based on a book by a particular figure in the yoga world. As I learned on the first day, it's a three-fold program involving daily yoga, nutrition, and meditation.

I'm all in for the yoga. The reason I signed up is so I would go to yoga daily and hopefully get stronger. And more flexible.

I have now read the nutrition component of the program. Nope. Not happening. It's not that I don't care about my diet. I do. Very much. I think quite a lot about what I put into my body and for what purposes. However, never at all ever do I think that the "cool" foods I eat (?) will make me sleep in the fetal position, be a more quiet person and make me have pale skin (which I do not), as opposed to the "hot" foods which might cause me to have problems sleeping and also make me prone to bad skin and a loud voice. Also, they might make me have a bad temper. WTF? (sorry--perhaps I ate to many "hot" foods this morning...)

I'm gonna need some hard scientific evidence to convince me that a particular food will cause me to speak in a louder voice. So no, not quite on board with the nutritional component. Which is fine. Yoga, as it turns out, is a very "take what you want, leave what you don't" kind of practice. I'm leaving the food part. (And to be honest, I'm not quite sure how food is even part of yoga, so I am feeling no guilt abandoning a complete third of this program)

Lastly, there is meditation. Full disclosure: I've never meditated. I've wanted to. I just never figured out the what and the how and the why. This program is, I am hoping, going to help me with that. I'd like to try meditation. The very first class began with the instructor doing a "guided meditation" for all of us.

Another full disclosure: As it turns out I'm really, really not good at meditation. Yet. It was a ten minute ordeal experience that felt endless to me. The purpose was to be in the present moment, with our minds cleared and our thoughts on only what we could actually physically feel and hear right then, at that moment. We were all seated criss-cross applesauce, and the teacher told us to take several deep breaths and try to just feel the air going in and going out--think about nothing but what our breaths felt like.

I did that. And then in the nanosecond it took the instructor to get to the next sequence I was thinking about how uncomfortable my lower back felt sitting criss-cross applesauce (the name of this position seems to me to indicate the age-level at which you should be sitting in this position; if retired adults were meant to sit this way it would be called "sad sack jack your back"). Anyway, this guided meditation continued, as we were prompted to empty our minds and only feel where our feet were touching the earth (feel them pressing in), and then to only feel where our calves were touching our mats, and our hands resting on our thighs... were were a solid four minutes in and we had only reached the thighs. I was trying. I really was. And while I was not being very successful at keeping my mind in the moment, I was definitely learning some things about myself.

(1) While I am generally an endlessly patient person, apparently I need to have a general inkling as to why I am being patient. I wasn't quite sure why I was trying to feel my thighs (or my hips, my belly button, my shoulders, my elbows, my fingers, my neck, my head resting on my neck, my ears, my eyes, or the crown of my head... seriously, if you want a good laugh consider that I was frustrated at my thighs and then re-read the list of body parts that came after my thighs). We did this for ten solid minutes. After minute five all I could do was try to guess what body part I was supposed to feel next, and it seemed like it could be a very, very long list depending upon how much kinesiology the teacher had in her. I just wanted to scream.

(2) My mind wanders. A lot. To weird places. Inexplicably weird places. Let's leave it at that.

(3) I am not often in the present moment. I never really thought about that. It's a startling realization, somewhat disquieting. I think I might be missing a lot of what's right in front of me.

After thinking about it for a few days, I get it. I understand, now, why I was supposed to be feeling my various body parts. If you can really feel the sensation, then you can't be thinking about your grocery list. You'll lose the sensation. If you can really feel your breath going in and out, then you can't be worrying about whether the car needs repairs. You'll lose the sensation.

I get it. In the moment means feeling the sensation of what is happening right then, right there. And while it's true that not every moment is memorable (and certainly there are some that we'd like to forget), if you're not mindful about paying attention you'll miss them all. You'll be somewhere else.

I'm a goal setter by nature. It helps me to have concrete objectives, and I love a challenge.

Two Mississippi. That's the goal.

You're welcome. And I'm sorry.

Olivia was home for a few days of her spring break! What a ray of sunshine that girl is! I seriously feel like every sentence in a blog post including her should end with an exclamation point! Because that's kind of how you feel around her--excited!
!Perhaps I should begin each sentence about her with one as well as a newly invented (by me) means of literary approbation!

Okay, that's enough Nickelback (Olivia is possibly the only person who will get that joke so don't feel badly if I just lost you for a moment there).

But I digress. What I really want to write about is a particular conversation Olivia and I had while eating lunch together yesterday. Here's the background info:

I had gone to Bel Air to buy ONE item, and on my way in I ran into Bill, who at 173 years old is most probably the oldest bag boy in the history of bag boys. He was out in the parking lot, standing and chatting with a woman next to her car. The groceries had likely long ago been loaded into the car. And probably by the woman, not Bill. Which is pretty much how you will encounter Bill on any given day at Bel Air--out in the parking lot chatting with a customer who has loaded her own groceries into her car as he chats away.

As I passed Bill on my way in, he turned from his conversation to say to me, "Hey, I've got a good story for you! I'll find you inside!"

Uuuggghhh. I don't mean to be unkind. But I was there for ONE item. My five minute trip was about to turn into a twenty minute trip because make no mistake, Bill would DEFINITELY put my ONE item in a bag for me (he is a bag boy) and carry it out to my car if he has a story to tell or just wants to gab about the SF Giants.

Usually I don't mind shooting the breeze with Bill. In fact, there are times I look forward to it. Mostly when I have a very large cart of groceries and we chat AS he bags them (so slowly that the checkers almost always have to finish the job). To extend the conversation past the checkout line is to put your afternoon at peril. But it happens rather often with Bill. And not just with me. It's kind of his identity with customers and clerks alike. We all know Bill's MO.

So back to my lunch with Olivia. I wanted to know if she ever struggled with what I struggled with that morning at Bel Air. In a nutshell, I really just wanted to get in and out of the store quickly. I also, however, was going to feel badly if I just ditched Bill after he told me he wanted to tell me a story. I don't know why Bill is the oldest bag boy on the planet. Does he need the money? Is he lonely? I don't want to ignore him when he's always so nice to me. But also--I had shit to do!

It's not like this was a life-threatening decision, whether to stop and talk. I find myself in this predicament quite often, though-- is it okay to sometimes not be the nicest person you can be for selfish reasons? Or even, simpler, is it okay to sometimes just not be the nicest person you know you can be?

Olivia knew exactly what I was talking about. She recognized the struggle.  Being your kindest self doesn't always advance your day's agenda the way you want it to. Most interesting for me was what she said is her overall tack in these situations: she said she just goes with the "be kind". She said feels better about herself when she opts to take the high road, even though it is often not the most convenient route. It was a sweet moment-- she said that she learned from me and Dave to always try to be a good person, to be your kindest self. She thanked us for that.

And this is when I said to my lovely, altruistic daughter, "You're welcome. And I'm sorry."

Because it should be okay to opt for the selfish route occasionally (I mean, there are people--in high places--who opt for the selfish route exclusively) without feeling guilty. While I'm truly happy that Olivia is a young woman who, in a world that often seems to exude nastiness, chooses to be considerate, I don't want that choice to feel like a burden.

We all have to take care of the world around us, and the people in it. But we also have to take care of ourselves. Sometimes that means putting ourselves first. Guilt-free.

Not as easy as it sounds (at least for me). I want it to be easier for my daughter.

I'm going to end this with a quote from one of my favorite people, Lin-Manuel Miranda :)

"That imaginary fight you keep having in your head is taking up SO much room. Write it out... Tell it to a friend or a shrink. Or a canvas. Or chuck it. Get it out. You need your head and your heart for bigger things. Vamos."

So I've written it out, here, the imaginary fight I keep having in my head. I've talked about it with Olivia and Dave. I don't paint so the canvas isn't going to happen. But I've gotten it out.

My head and my heart are ready.

Talk to you soon, Bill.

OMMMMM with five M's

Sometimes you find yourself doing unexpected things.

There I was, taking a deep breath and exhaling "OMMMMM..." to begin a yoga class. The instructor said something along the lines of "let us begin our practice by making the sound of all creation..." I'm paraphrasing. But I don't think I'm far off.

Now, you know me. I know you do. Because honestly there's just not that many of you that (a) know about this blog and also (b) read it. So if you're anywhere on that venn diagram, anywhere at all, you know me. So picture me chanting OMMMMM. Better yet, picture me buying the idea that OMMMMM (yes, that's spelled with five M's for the purposes of this blog and I'm sticking with it for consistency) is the sound that, apparently, all creation makes.

I am, by nature, a somewhat sarcastic person. I've been known to mock. I've told Pope jokes in the Vatican (seriously, I have). I've invented a radio show called, "Wake Up, It's Hitler!" (just the title--no actual scripts were produced). If there's something screaming to be lampooned, I'm happy to accommodate.

So, yoga. Calm, quiet, tranquil yoga. Poor, defenseless yoga.

I cannot honestly say that I didn't bow my head to hide my smirk the first time I sat through an OMMMMM. Sorry about that. Couldn't help it. It just seemed kind of a hippy dippy thing to let out an OMMMMM, and I was also slightly skeptical that it was, in fact, the sound the whole universe makes. Was there scientific data to back up that theory? I do remember, though, being impressed that everyone (except me, apparently) in that room wholeheartedly exhaled their OMMMMM with satisfaction. I hadn't expected that. It was memorable. Scientific data be damned.

Also, still at that first yoga class, I may or may not (definitely not) have participated in the traditional conclusion wherein everyone puts their hands to their hearts, bows their heads, and says "Namaste", which means 'I bow to you'.

I don't know why I didn't do these things. I think a part of me was afraid people in the class would see me and think I was a poser who clearly had never been to yoga before but was pretending to know what I was doing. This was NOT the case, by the way, because when you say OMMMMM (yes, still five M's, count 'em) and when you say Namaste you have your eyes closed, so no one would have even seen me and in all likelihood would not have mocked me even if they had because they are better people than I am and probably would never make fun of the Pope in the Vatican.

Also, if I'm being honest, I didn't participate because it seemed silly. I didn't get it, and I wasn't making much of an effort to try to get it. I was there to get a workout, not find my place in the universe.

I mocked a lot, I mean A LOT, of yoga stuff those first few classes.

There was a gong. That got rung. I mean, come ON!
We were asked to set an "intention"--what we wanted to get out of the class. I wanted to get yoga out of the class-- why else would I be here?
There was incense. Because nothing is more delightful during a workout than the smell of burning patchouli.
We ended class lying flat on our backs for four solid minutes in "savasana", which it is worth noting is the 'corpse pose'. Yes, you end yoga class pretending you are dead.

I really, really do not think anyone can blame me for my satirical reaction. In a discourteous world, yoga practically BEGS to be ridiculed.

But that's the thing. When you're in the yoga studio, you're not in a discourteous world. You're in a refuge. You're in a sanctuary-- of your own making. You can mock. Or you can surrender.

I surrendered. Which is not usually my thing. I found, however, that while I was ridiculing "poor, defenseless" yoga for being so daffy and dippy, yoga was actually kicking my ass.

I'm a decently athletic, in-shape person, but I couldn't do even half of the moves in a "basics" class. I wasn't flexible enough. I wasn't coordinated enough. I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't calm enough. I was not enough of anything that yoga required. Pretty humbling. And after a few classes it got increasingly hard to mock something that was clearly getting the better of me, mentally and physically.

Thus, the surrender. I decided to attempt an embrace of the entirety of yoga--including what I previously referred to as the hippy, dippy stuff-- to see if I could improve my practice.

I took a deep breath and let out an OMMMMM. Oddly soothing, it turns out.
I set my "intention", which was to try as hard as I could to do all the moves and feel the strength I had, instead of worrying about the strength I had yet to build.
I tried to figure out the gong. Not going to lie. Didn't get anywhere with that. But I tried.
Also, not super into the incense. Just yuck.
Savasana (the dead pose) became my favorite part of class. Instead of derisively wondering for four minutes what the point was of spending that much time doing nothing in a class I was paying for, I cleared my mind. I quieted my body. At least, I tried to. It's really not as easy as it might seem. Try lying down (not when you're sleepy--that's cheating) all the way flat, palms to the ground, eyes closed--and see where your mind goes. See if you can stop it from going there. See if, instead, you can direct your mind to a calm space (oh, dear god, yes, yes I hear myself--you may mock me, you have my permission). It's hard! And then (and yes, again, yes I hear this but I'm saying it anyway because you probably at some point in your life told Pope jokes in the Vatican and need a little comeuppance) feel your body, lying flat. Try to lie perfectly still. Really, really still, and feel where your body touches the ground.

This sounds so stupid. I get it. But the thing is, if you do it with a mind open to the experience instead of with a brain trying to legitimize it, it's something. I can't very eloquently articulate what that something is, other than to say you feel like you have power over yourself. And that IS something.

I'm still working on my yoga. And my sarcasm. When the instructor yesterday told us that she would be "gently guiding" us through the next hour, I think I raised my eyebrows and amused myself by picturing me telling my seventh grade students that I would be "gently guiding" them through sixth period World History. Clearly I still have some work to do on my non-judgy acceptance of all things yoga.

But I do chant the OMMMMM now (although jury is still out on its significance in the universe). I smile when the gong is struck (possibly to stifle my smart-alecky impulses, but I do smile and that's never a bad thing in the end). I attempt all the moves, even the ones I know I cannot do well or perfectly, and allow myself the gratitude for achievement and the room for improvement. And as mentioned earlier, Savasana is the pose I love most. Not because I get to rest (although yes, that's helpful because again as I mentioned earlier, yoga kicks my ass). Almost the opposite. I love it because I am completely in control of my mind and body. I can do that now. I get it.

If you've never tried yoga, I recommend giving it a go. Go get yourself some cute LuLu Lemon capri leggings and a tank top (I'm not being sexist--that's pretty much what everyone wears regardless of sex, at least in my class). Roll out a mat and plop yourself down.

If you listen carefully you may (or may not) hear the sound made by all creation :)

Further Apologies

Also, I think my brother and I played cops and robbers, and if memory serves, I always wanted to be the robber, because EXCITING!

So apologies, quite sincere, for glamorizing crime and undervaluing law enforcement.

I guess there goes my SCOTUS seat.

I am sorry. So very sorry.

I'm sorry. I really am. I don't know what I was thinking. That's no excuse. I understand. I should have known better. I showed poor judgment, and I will bear the burden of that, willingly.

I know it's just too easy to say we just didn't think there was anything wrong with it. But we didn't. That's the honest truth. We were kids. And again, I know people say that. And usually that's just a convenient attempt at trying to evade responsibility. But in this case, it's not that. We really were kids.  We didn't know any better. I mean it. You have to believe me.

Everyone was doing it. Again, I know that doesn't excuse it. But it's true. Our parents even encouraged us to do it. They didn't know any better, either. It was perfectly acceptable. Not only that, we saw it on TV, so it seemed ok. There were even halloween costumes. I'm not kidding. That's how socially acceptable it was. Kids marched in school halloween parades, having no idea that their outfits would someday derail their careers.

There may even be a picture out there, of me, in costume. Oh, who am I kidding. There is a picture. A grainy polaroid. Or an orange-tinged Kodak print with the rounded corners. Probably blurry. It would be hard to make out our faces. But I'll just admit right now. It could be me. It's probably me in that photo. I'm not sure which one I was. I could have been either, and at one time or another I was probably both.

I'm a good person. I really am. I hope that this embarrassing revelation doesn't make me seem all of the sudden uncaring, unkind, or thoughtless.

I hope that me getting out ahead of this, instead of waiting for it to be "discovered" in the search for truth, helps underscore that I am not trying to hide from this. I am not running away from my past indiscretions. I admit them. I hope I am a different person now, that I have grown.

But I cannot deny. It was fun, when I was five, playing "Cowboys and Indians".

Please forgive me.