Man Booker prize: what I wish for...

If only there were a way I could sign up for automatic delivery every year of the Man Booker Prize shortlisted titles...  You can buy subscriptions that deliver an orchid or bottle of wine every month for a year.  I swear I even saw a subscription last holiday season, maybe on J. Crew, enriching the receiver with a new cashmere sweater per month.  I could be convinced on that one...

But really I just want this one annual delivery -- all those Booker Prize books to appear magically in my mailbox. 

Instead I'm on Amazon right now, buying them separately.  I know Alicia's read the Peter Carey (love Peter Carey). Anybody read any of the others and care to chime in? I'll read them regardless since this list never fails to introduce me to writers I might not otherwise find on my own, always refreshing.  

Yes, I could take them from the library, like Alicia, but for whatever reason (habit, idiocy), I need to own the paper they're printed on.

Coming soon, though not automatically, to my mailbox, the 2010 Man Booker Prize shortlisted titles:

Peter Carey, Parrot and Olivier in America

Emma Donoghue, Room

Damon Galgut, In A Strange Room

Howard Jacobson, The Finkler Question

Andrea Leavy, The Long Song

Tom McCarthy, C

Home Practice: day 2 of new resolution

All I need is this...

Part of my middle-of-the-night realizations last week, during a long insomniac interlude, was that I really, really need to practice on my own at home.  I've been waffling in a dilemma for a while about where and when to go to class: do I re-cancel the YogaWorks membership despite the killer-deal they made me (yes), do I become an unlimited annual member at Yoga of Sausalito (no).  How do I get back on my 5-times-a-week schedule?

And how do I do all of the homework for my Teacher Training?

Simple: practice at home.  There's no better way to develop myself as a teacher than to teach myself in this way, to create the habit of regular daily solo practice.

Other benefits that I realized yesterday, after successful Day 1:

- it's so quiet.  I love seeing my friends at yoga and chatting, hugging and kissing before and after, but man, practicing in the quiet of my home-office is so peaceful.  Makes it easier to give my hyper-active monkey brain a break...

- it's so quick.  Going to a 1 1/2 hour class, no matter where I drive, takes around 2 1/2 hours with travel time (since naturally, I have to arrive early, then there's the inevitable post-yoga Slow Loris putting back on of shoes and ambling slowly back to vehicle).  Practicing at home took me one hour, start to finish.  For now, I think an hour is plenty; I'll build up from here.

- it's so hard.  Stringing together poses in a sequence, in a flow that makes sense, that builds to a pinnacle pose, is no easy feat.  Not to mention staying focused, not letting my mind chase after the dust bunnies I can see from cobra pose...

After my practice yesterday, I exclaimed to Joe, full of happiness with myself (maybe a smidge too much),  "practicing at home is going to change my life."  He replied, "well, actually, honey, I want to just remind you that you've only done it once."  That sounds mean when I write it out, but actually it perfectly typifies our dynamic balance -- he helps me keep my feet on the ground when I am likely to get carried away by the wind in my own head.  It's so true that the proof of the experiment will be in doing it in a sustained way.

Which is where I'm going right now: day 2 of new resolution, practicing at home.  Yay!

Putting things in their places

We've been wondering for a while what to do with all of Joe's left-over chemo meds, truly disgusting substances whose names I can't mention without Joe groaning and reliving the pain and nausea and horror of that experience.  There they've been sitting in the medicine cabinet, next to the dental floss, since the conclusion of chemo last January.  I turned the bottles so the names weren't visible, especially on the dreaded super-fucker Prednisone.  I'm not sure we've been clear about what to do with them - do we have to keep them, just in case?

I've done a few Google searches, trying to figure out how to dispose of them.  Used to be we could have just taken them back to Kaiser and they'd get rid of them, but no longer.  Apparently there's a pharmacy in San Anselmo that takes back unused prescription drugs, but the thought of driving there and finding out they no longer do it, has put me off.  But now here's the perfect solution.

For $4.95, the prepaid TakeAway envelope means we can drop these poisons in the US mail and be done with them.  Awesome.  On the other end, the pills will be inspected, then incinerated.  Which is better than them finding their way into our water or into some unsuspecting fool's mouth.  And certainly better than them sitting there as a reminder of a super-painful time.

As I was piling the pills into the envelope and remembering that whole interlude of misery, I realized that DUH, if my vata is deranged, if I don't have a routine anymore, it's because my old routine got blown up, completely obliterated, as did Joe's, by lymphoma, and supplanted by the routine of fear and chemo for 6 months, from which we have still not, it appears, completely recovered.  Amazing that I could lose sight of this -- sometimes I am such an idiot, it surprises even my idiot self!  We are still trying to get our footing, still feeling at a loss even as we make gentle progress toward taking back the full territory of our lives.

Getting rid of these pills, sending them to their fiery hell, is such a relief.  It really is a way of marking the end of that time, erasing the remaining traces from our surroundings.  From here, we can keep going, a little more space freed from the cancer and reclaimed.

Overwhelmance

Overwhelmance: noun.  1.  a state of being overwhelmed by abundance, generally characterized by a failure to recognize one's own good fortune.  May be seasonal in nature, i.e., common in the fall, coinciding with harvest.  2.  a condition common amongst the entrepreneurial and talented, facilitated by advances in modern technology and typified by a sense of having too many opportunities.  3. the modern tendency to over-commit, then complain about it;  the romance of being overwhelmed. First known use: 11/6/2010.

Walking in the woods is a deep comfort. It's like sex, actually. Every time, afterward, I say to myself, damn, this is basically always possible, why don't I do this more often, why don't I do this every day?

Such a deep comfort to be outside.

I derive so much bone-level satisfaction from being surrounded by the evidence of all of the other mysterious little lives, turning over rocks and touching salamanders, wondering who left all of those gnawed acorns at the base of that tree, watching crows and hummingbirds, trying in vain to engage squirrels in conversation [i can get them to stop and stare at me, come closer, but the communication breaks off before we get past the pleasantries...].

I need it.

So much that's simple and basic and obvious occurs to me as I'm tramping along, like the overwhelmance above.  It helps that I read something great that Samin wrote on 11/4 just before I walked out the door.  I was feeling simultaneously inspired and solidly in my resolve to simplify, slow down, look around, enjoy.  Walking up the trail I realized how lucky we really are, that we have so much capacity, and how that places us firmly on the path toward both greatness and burn-out unless we can constantly practice viveka, discernment.

Oh, how truly lucky we are to be in this time and space, in each other's company.  Even if the squirrels won't really talk back.  ;>

because my vata is out of whack...

Lately -- ok, mostly for months, since we got back from Bali, and even maybe beforehand -- I've been feeling like I have no routine, like I'm just running between things, like I'm on this treadmill of alternating run-like-hell or punch-stop-and-do-nothing.  I've also been feeling bored, anxious, bummed-out, not all the time, but enough of the time that it's a nuisance.  For a little while, I contemplated the idea that perhaps I was depressed, post-cancer trauma or something.  And I've been eating like shit, just not taking care of myself.  AND I'm back to my insomniac, migraineur ways.

At the same time, I feel I should interject that I've also done some fucking great stuff lately, had a lot of fun, learned great things, made new friends and new big commitments, so it's not like it's been this continuous dismal blah for ages.  It's just that all of the good has been layered over this sense of unease that I haven't been able to shake.

Gross!

And duh, it was only reading an article in Yoga Journal, of all places (not a fan generally of that magazine at all, so not their target, except that since it's become a parade of Anusara All Stars every month, I keep finding myself picking it up, oh look, there's Kenny, there's KK, there's Laura...) that I realized that, double-duh, my freakin' vata is totally out of whack.  Yes, my vata is deranged.  I'd link you the article here, but YJ's website is retarded -- part of their plot to force you to buy the issue that's on the stands, grrr -- so I can't.

So obvious, right?  "If your vata is acutely increased, it can cause problems.  You may experience typical vata  symptoms like anxiety [check], constipation [TMI], and insomnia [check, check]...  A pitta person with vata derangement might become more hotheaded [check]."  Other common symptoms include agitation, fear, intestinal disturbances, and difficulty focusing.

Yep, that's me lately. Not surprisingly, the problem I have is with the solution.

The yogic approach to countering vata derangement involves slowing down, being more mindful, breathing smoothly and deeply, and learning to ground...  Do less.  This means cutting back on scheduled commitments, minimizing multi-tasking (and exposure to vata-producing technology like computers and television, particularly right before bed), and making time for daily relaxation.  It's also important to stick to a regular bedtime and to get enough sleep each night to feel rested.  This may be difficult at first.  Excess vata often results in insomnia.  But sticking to a regular bedtime and implementing some other changes that support relaxation should help.

It's ironic, right: people probably assume because I am devoted to yoga that I know how to chill, but the opposite is still true.  I still have trouble with the slow-down, with the mindfulness, with the breathing.  I still enjoy the multi-tasking and my so-called vata-producing technology, which allows me, just incidentally, to express and indulge so many aspects of my self.  BUT I also know that it is precisely this slow-down that I need, especially if I want to get my groove back, i.e., establish a new routine.

Which I really, really do.

So I'm focusing on my damn vata derangement starting today by grounding myself.  By this I mean that I am imposing a no-fly on myself so that I can GET grounded.  I can't think of any other way to start.  And I'm going to do my Teacher Training homework more diligently, and develop my home practice, and eat better, and go to sleep when I need to.  And there's lots more, but if I list it all here, my vata is going to blow.  Instead, I'm putting on my shoes and going for a long walk in the autumn woods with my dog, slowing it down and establishing a simpler, sustainable rhythm, one I can keep with my own two feet.

insomnia and revolution

Four a.m. is the appointed hour for me -- the magical time at which, if I've been insomniac (today, since 1am), I can get up, press Go on the coffee pot, and start the day.  The waiting to rise is all about trying to wait out the sleeplessness, see if sleep will take me back.  But it also has a way of turning the rising into a kind of mini Christmas for me -- I long for the moment, excitement building.  Absurd, yes, but such is my sleepless lot.

I keep my room as dark as possible.  The only light is whatever light is in the sky naturally.  Some nights, full moon nights, that's too much for me and I lower the blinds.  I moved the digital clock a long time ago so that it's still in the room, but out of my immediate sight and blocked entirely by the mounds our bodies make under the blankets.  Anyway, I keep it dark since dark and quiet are the required conditions for my snooze.  If I could leave a window open year round, I would do that, too, but such is my married lot.

But there are times, lots of them, when -- despite managing my requisite sleep conditions -- I am nevertheless awake, reveling in the dark and quiet, having ideas and solving problems to the tune of the twinned breathing of husband and dog.  Sometimes I get to hear owls or wonder at the scrabbling and other animal sounds in the yard.  It is, ironically, dreamy.

And at 4, I can finally slip out of bed and get started.  At last.  Later on I may feel a little loopy (which slows me down enough, actually, to make me more bearable at work, I think), but right now I am loving it.  Loving it in the same way I love jetlag - in that I feel like I am inhabiting my own time, unbound by schedule, awake when I'm awake, enjoying it, being inside my head all by myself.

It's possible this is just insomniac raving, but I was wondering -- sometime between 3 and 4 am -- how many revolutions have insomnia as their source.  I mean, really: sometime between 2 and 3am, I worked out all of my own problems (I'm serious), so it doesn't seem all that unlikely that others have used this special time to tackle and solve bigger issues.  Imagine, French revolutionaries, powdered wigs gleaming just out of sight on the dresser, figuring out their society's ills and hatching their plans in the middle of the night.  Among others.  Unfortunately, my quick Google yielded only insomnia cures (as if!), so so far, that I know of, none of the other insomniac revolutionaries have written about this.

I may need a nap later on, or to be earlier to bed even than usual, but right now I am enjoying being awake.  Especially because I really, really did work out all of my problems, which is a whole separate post that I'll work on when I'm done with this one.  I have time, right?  After all, it's not even 5 yet.  ;)

enchantée

I've said it before probably, but it bears repeating: Mammalogy class is awesome. I am, fully and completely, enchanted by the whole experience.

We had a zoo field trip today, and it was so deeply pleasing to be just one Hermione Granger in a crowd of Hermione Grangers, each person endeavoring to use vocabulary that we've all learned together in this course, not to show off but out of a sheer delight at knowing the words and concepts, all of us subject to a kind of Geeky Tourette's, high-fiving each other for using vibrissae or folivore or precocial in context.

Our official field trip ended at 2:07pm right in front of the sign for the Aye-aye exhibit in the primate center  They lead small groups into this exhibit at 15-minute increments.  Even though we were done for the day, 9 or so of us decided to wait the eight minutes for the next tour, and check out these weird nocturnal lemurs, one of which is named Dobby, naturally, because of its resemblance to the house-elf in Harry Potter.

It's pitch dark in the Aye-aye exhibit, so first you sit on a bench to let your eyes adjust, while Ariel, the docent, provides some facts about the animals. As your eyes adjust, suddenly you see movement.  Then you can get up and approach the glass and take in the gigantic ears and long digits of these funny little creatures.  As Ariel was talking about their many adaptations, and in particular their night vision, I, afflicted with above-mentioned Tourette's, couldn't help but whisper tapetem lucidum (shiny reflective layer in the eye of nocturnal mammals, which we lack).  Instantly, 5 or 6 voices echoed tapetem lucidum in a whisper, like an incantation.

In that moment, I did feel deeply under a spell, just so absolutely delighted to be in that particular place in that particular company, one in a diverse but matching set of passionate enthusiasts in love with the natural world.  So sweet!