Yoga and Tulips

When I was a fairly limber 20-year-old, I took a yoga class at Waikato Hospital.

Side note: I was working in the cancer registry of the hospital at the time, with a girl named Raewynn.

This is the lovely Waikato Hospital.


What is a cancer registry, you ask?
I think it was a pity job.
Pity for me and for my boss.
Our boss was Arthur Nisbet, an ex-military type who should probably have retired.
Raewynn and I sat in a little office that was underneath the nurses' quarters.
I used to sneak up to the nurses' kitchen and eat their fresh white bread smothered with butter and this divine raspberry-apple jam.
Arthur was just down the hall.
I don't know what Arthur did all day, but Raewynn and I entered (by hand, of course, because this was a hundred years ago) all of the hospital cancer stats onto large record sheets.
I blithely wrote down, every day, patients' names and diagnostic codes in the records, without any thought for their anguish.
Lung cancer, breast cancer (the diagnostic code is 174, if you care), malignant melanoma, benign tumours. They were all just words to me.
Now I know better.

Back to yoga.
I loved it.
It was easy for me.
Our instructor (an elderly man whose favourite trick was inhaling water up one nostril and exhaling it out of the other) was big on Salute to the Sun.

I loved it too.
Tree pose?
No sweat.

This one, not so much.











Many years passed and yoga was NOT a part of them.

About five years ago, I realized that if I was to have any chance of enjoying myself in my old age, I needed to get back to yoga.
So I embarked on a love/hate relationship with yoga classes.
Our instructor is ex-Marine and runs a tight ship.
Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon I fight with myself.
"Shall I go to yoga tonight?"
"You certainly need to."
"But I'm tired and it hurts!"
Sternly: "You know you'll feel better if you do."

And I do.
Eventually.
Last night was no exception.
Even the downward dog hurt.

Enough of that!

We went to the tulip fields in Woodburn yesterday.
It was sunny and hot, the tulips were at their peak, and you could see snowy Mt. Hood against the blue sky.


I love Joshie's scrawny little neck.


Jenny and The Boys.
That's Jeff in the wild sunglasses.


Some of my favourite close-ups.



The only way to get a photo of Natalie when she's running free is this.


Our sweet McKenzie.

Improvising

When it comes to playing music, I have always been a "read-the-notes, play-what's-on-the-page" kind of gal. Improvising, at least when it comes to music, was a foreign concept to me. As a piano teacher, I was a bit of a stickler for getting everything "right".

Music therapy has changed me.
Most things, especially musical, do not seem so black and white any more.
These days, my students get to be more creative.
"Sure, we can play that rhythm a little differently, as long as you understand how it is supposed to sound."
"Yes, we can play that piece again and again if you want to."
And surely a favourite..."Okay, we can skip that piece if you really hate it."
Now, I give students opportunities to improvise with me at the piano.
Sometimes we play on the black keys.


Sometimes we play on the white keys.
For some of them, it is the best part of the lesson.
Others refuse to do it and that's okay too.

Improvising in music is like making tiramisu without even knowing the basic ingredients.
It's like sewing a dress without a pattern.
Or planting a garden without knowing the identity of the seeds.
There is no guaranteed outcome and you have to take risks.
Sometimes the outcome is just okay.
Sometimes it is serendipitous.

Improvising is still a new skill for me, one that I do not feel brilliant at, but with which I am beginning to be more comfortable.
Yesterday, I attended a continuing education class for my Board Certification called "Improvisation for Everyone."
Eight participants and two instructors got to play with cool instruments all afternoon.
There were no dull moments...


...and lots of wild and wacky ones.

It's hard to describe the change of mindset that is brought about by the act of improvising. It is a mindful "letting go" of the planning process and a conscious attention to that exact moment in which you exist with your fellow musicians. There are no expectations or rules. For me, it is a complete contrast to the rest of my life and quite liberating. Don't get me wrong, I love my life. BUT. It is full of responsibilities, diligence, planning, lists, and work.

Once in a while, it is nice to let the music have its way.

On walking

I love to walk.
I don't necessarily love the kind of walking I do in the morning with my friends, up steep hills and down and up again.
But I do it anyway, in an apparently futile effort to get fit and skinny.

Most of the time it hurts.

Yesterday, I had a purposefully car-free day.
I biked over to the walking rendezvous in the morning.
I rode my bike in the afternoon to teach piano.

It was the kind of sunny, mild day that brings Oregonians out of their cocoons.
Riding home, I passed all kinds of people.
Young boys on their bikes and scooters.
Skinny women and teenagers out jogging.
Schoolchildren walking to the store.
Moms pushing strollers with little kiddies in them.

I felt connected to my neighbourhood in a way that I never feel when I'm driving in my car.

Later in the evening, Mum and I walked down to see a friend, taking an offering of tulips and good chocolate.
On the way, we admired the lupines-to-be outside the fire station.
I told her stories about little grandsons and walks we have taken down this road.
About people I have met as I walked.

We visited our friend.
And came home with baby yarn that she didn't want any more.
A serendipitous swap.
I foresee a baby afghan in my future.

For some unique thoughts on the topic of walking, go here.

Middle-aged women (Revised)

Once in a while, I feel like my best days are behind me. You know how it is. My body is misbehaving. I groan when I rise from a chair. Exercising feels like cruel and unusual punishment, no matter how hard I try. I forget more than I remember. Lately, my bread rolls turn out strange every time. My piano students don't know who Simon and Garfunkel are...is... whatever. When I'm asked my birth year, I have to scroll WAY down the list to reach 1956. I can't remember the last time Jeff and I danced the night away. Today, I watched a video that made me want to cheer for all of the middle-aged women of the world who still have important dreams. Unfortunately, embedding has been disabled on YouTube, so you will have to go here to watch it.It is TOTALLY worth the 7 minutes to watch it. You will see Simon Cowell in awe. I cried.

Revision: Okay, I just watched it again with Mum. I cried twice.

This I Love Part II

One of the things that makes me deliriously HAPPY is being surrounded by family...kids, grandkids, spouses, and now my Mum.
ESPECIALLY when they are all getting along.

Lately we have been hosting A LOT of family get-togethers at our house.
This time of year we have Jeff's, Annie's, and Charlie's birthdays all within three weeks of each other. Throw in Easter and then the EDWIN weekend and every weekend has been a party.

Easter Sunday was no exception.

For cute photos (of which I have NONE) click on "Life's Lessons" to the right.

Everyone was home except for Charlie, who was sorely missed.
He is out in the middle of the Mojave Desert on field ops and has been out of cell phone range for a couple of weeks. But he even managed to borrow a friend's phone (who has SOMEONE OTHER THAN VERIZON for a carrier) and called home while we were all together.

Dinner was noisy with conversation.
Jon and Jeff debated global warming.

We made them go sit on the couch so that we didn't have to listen any more.

Bethany mocked my opinions on bottled water.
She thought my posting on the subject was tongue-in-cheek.
I was hurt!
I thought my family knew how seriously I take my position on bottled water.
Obviously I have not ranted loudly enough on the subject.
I will have to rant more often and louder.

Then maybe I'll be exiled to the couch.

Jonnie brought his X-Box with a new guy game.
The men were gleeful in their X-Box saturation.
Nobody went home until 11:30pm.
Things got a little crazy.
Natalie walked around with a harmonica in her mouth for an hour, breathing noisily in and out, with glazed eyes.
Great Nana went to bed.
Women and children started to collapse on our lovely big, cushy couches.
Everyone got slightly loopy.

Eventually, they all went home.

And I couldn't stop thinking about how lucky I am.

It's a Tea Party

Are you attending a tea party tomorrow, tax day?
Go here to find out if there is one organized for your town.
Jeff, my intrepid Mum, and I will be there.

Spring flowers

A separate post, so as not to bore you.

The garden is rampant with colour.
I couldn't resist sharing.

Checkered lilies, quirky little flowers.



Grape hyacinth, a modest, reliable bloomer.


A rather exotic daffodil.


Primulas, perennials which have multiplied profusely.


A close-up of the sweet hyacinth.


These little beauties flowered for the first time this year and smell heavenly. I think they're some kind of narcissus.


Not from my garden, but from my hubby.
Because I've been sick, I think.
Or maybe because he got his new car.