Move a Muscle, Change a Thought

   I’d like to present myself as a fully enlightened being after all these years of meditation, self-reflection, thousands of dollars spent on therapy, 

but still, I’m human…

and lately I’m struggling hard with aging and 

the effects it’s having on my body. 

Some days my training kicks in and I know that I’m strong and healthy and that aging is a privilege that some don’t get. Yet, there are other days that I have to fight to suppress the negative language that pushes up from deep within my 

subconscious about my body.

I realized last night that some of the thoughts that are sprouting up are not mine, 

but seeds that were planted long ago by others.

 Even at this age I’m still fighting the messages I received having

 grown up in a misogynistic family: 

“men can carry extra weight so much better”, “she’s a homely girl”, “do you really need that second helping?”, “that makes you look like a slut”, 

“aren’t you pretty when you put on make-up and fix your hair”, 

“you’re too thin”, “you’ve put on some weight”. 

There was always some kind of critique about my looks and 

this critique was always given because 

“they cared about me”. 

 No matter how much work I do to further my spiritual growth, by that I mean becoming more and more detached from worldly bullshit, 

I believe that I will always struggle with this to some extent. 

However, I need to pay closer attention to which thoughts are mine 

and which have been planted by loving, 

but very flawed human beings. 

My hope is that this blog will get each of you thinking about what you carry that might not be yours? Once you discover the answer to this question 

I hope that you too might begin to change your thought process. 

To paraphrase the Buddha, 

“ the less that I suffer the less suffering I will inflict on others.”

Sweet Ginger....

She sits in her nest licking treats from my palm, quiet tears are running down my face

as we wait for the sedative to take effect.

 I am mourning the loss of my beautiful, vibrant girl.  

Empathic.

 Two beings inexplicably connected.  

Her spirit was still radiant.

 Yet the reality is her mind and body were shriveling.

 Lost most days in senility.

The pain of my GG passing seems almost unbearable tonight.

Yet, it will be borne.

Time will soften this pain…

until then I will weep and mourn with the understanding that we 

were blessed by her…more than words can express.

Reality.....

These last few weeks have been challenging. There were a few times in the last ten days that 

I wasn’t sure I was going to keep going on this new path.

I had no idea what classroom management would look like with sixty wild, funny, little nymphs. For some it is the first time they’ve ever set foot in an organized, school style setting and I am woefully lacking in experience. 

I think we are finally finding equilibrium.

This weekend I registered and began studying for my second round of state testing for my teacher certification. This test will cover math and science. Suddenly this Humanities-loving scholar gets to revisit algebra, geometry, ratios, and a whole bunch of science stuff I barely made it through thirty years ago.

Then I got a call on Thursday saying my last class for licensing was cancelled due to low enrollment. After many phone calls, and much scrambling, I applied for, was admitted to, registered for, and maneuvered my way around the online system at Santa Fe College to get into the class I needed. I have an assignment due on Sunday. I ordered the book that I need for this assignment tonight and hope that it comes before I

leave for Kansas City on Thursday.

Pete’s oldest and dearest friend’s daughter is getting married on Saturday in Kansas City and all I was thinking is “how am I going to fit it all in? Homework, test prep, my own curriculum to prepare, dogs to walk, travel….”

Tonight, as I finished a short assignment for my new class, I impulsively asked Pete to go for a walk. 

Lately that impulse has been negated by a waterfall of

 “things you still need to do”….but not tonight.

After our walk I rolled out my yoga mat for a short practice.

Then I sat on my meditation cushion. Still. Quiet.

The patio doors open. Crickets humming.

And my practice kicked in.

Reality…...

I have a roof over my head. The ability (and means) to go to school and work. A partner who can still make my heart flutter after a million years together. A daughter who is strong and brave, 

braver than I ever dreamed of being at twenty-two.

This path that I have been traversing for so long has enabled me to live from a 

place of gratitude for what I have and enables me to truly see it, even when 

I fall into a crevasse of self-pity. I just don’t stay too long these days.

I'm Not Sea-faring. I'm Not River-faring. I'm Not Pond-faring.

The man jokingly says as he hands me a release form, “Here, you have to sign this in case you die. This way no one can sue us.” My heart beats a little faster, I remind myself that we do the same thing for yoga classes. It’s just a formality. I sign the form and pile into the crowded van. A short drive and we are at the river bank. I was hoping for at least an hour drive to prolong the inevitable. The beach is filled with rafts and people in various states. Some are already in helmets, rafts are pushing off in small groups, and our group is milling around the boats while the guides begin to pass out life vests and paddles. We are instructed to put them on and cinch them tight. If it’s loose the scenario is that if you fall out of the boat and they try to pull you back into the boat,

 the vest will slide right over your head…..

I cinched it up so tight my ribs hurt.

We stand and listen to the safety tips:

If you fall out of the boat grab the line around the perimeter of the boat.

If you are floating too far from the boat keep your feet headed down stream 

so as not to bash your head on a rock.

If you find yourself under the boat, put your hands up and walk them to the edge 

until you can push the boat up and get out…..

at this point I’m looking around to see if anyone else is concerned.

 Nope, they look pretty calm.

On to the next rule:

If you find yourself under the boat and it’s not tipped over, do the same as above.

Wait? If I find myself UNDER a boat filled with people

I’m going to be so freaked out I will surely die.

My stomach is queasy from sheer terror now.

I lean over to Pete and say “I’m not sure I’m going with you.”

He pats me on the arm like I’m a fucking kid and says, “It will be fine.”

No, I don’t think it will be fine at all, but I keep quiet.

My mind is churning furiously and I notice that the other rafting company has given their patrons helmets. We don’t have helmets. What happens if I bash my head on a rock without a helmet?

Yeah, I don’t think this is a good idea at all.

I’m not sure if I was brave or I just didn’t want to be the only one to chicken out, but I stepped into the raft. I lodge my foot under the center flotation device as directed and I give Pete one final look as we push off to run the rapids of the Rio Grande…..and I’m sure you’ve already guessed that I had a great time.

Mother's Day is More Like Tim Burton Than Hallmark For Me

I wake hot and throw off the covers.

The sun is shining in through the window and I wonder what time it is.

My mind drifts to the approaching holiday. I’ve been pretty chill with Mother’s Day for the last few years, but this year, with all the emotional turmoil that has accompanied this move, 

I find my mother keeps floating to the surface.

I think we carry our moms deep within, like a disease waiting to blossom.

The last time we spoke was perhaps five years ago.

The caller ID says Betty Ball and I wonder why my grandma is calling.

I say hello and my mother’s voice is on the other end of the line.

It has been too many years to count since I have heard her voice,

but you don’t forget the sound of the mother.

She doesn’t ask how I am, how her granddaughter is, if I have cancer, if I’m happy, the plethora of things I would ask my daughter after a decade or more of not talking. She wants to talk about

 herself, about how I have wronged her,

about her terrible place in this world.

Another lost chance to mend this gaping wound.

 I hang up.

Lump in throat.

Willing myself not to lose my shit over her again.

It’s not her fault. It’s the disease. Insidiously pushing my mother out 

and replacing her with this person that I don’t know.

This weekend my heart aches for those of us who have mothers with mental illness, for those who are estranged, for those longing for a connection that will never be.

 Self pity is not a place that I like to visit for too long and I remind myself of all of the wondrous people that I can count on, and I think it’s time, time to shake this off and to love the people in front of me. Time to be happy exactly where I am, with exactly who I have in my life today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. But today, and today I have too many people to count that support and believe in me. 

So why give so much power to one?

Here I am in Albuquerque....

I chose to give up a life I loved to come to Albuquerque. It took me thirteen years to create the life I left behind. I’ve never stayed anywhere for thirteen years.

The wanderlust runs strong through my blood.

The gravity of what I’ve done, leaving so much behind, sometimes burbles up to the surface just as I’m beginning to drift to sleep…. and I weep.

I was attached to being the yoga teacher in town that everyone knew. I was attached to being a college professor, when the reality is adjuncts come and go.

However, for a girl who should have been pregnant by nineteen, for a woman who wasn’t bound for college, a woman who should be working at menial jobs,

a woman who would still be smoking a pack a day,

being a college professor meant I’d made it out.

I’m suffering, but I know that I have the means to stop this suffering.

I will practice being in the here and now, accepting the changes that I have chosen to make 

and to believe in my own inner guidance.

Albuquerque was a conscious choice that I, and my partner, made. Now I need to slow my roll (my favorite quote with my kindies of late) and find patience. To look for the small, beautiful moments that arise each day, because there is always a beautiful moment if your eyes are open.  

Spaghetti Squash is Amazing Like This!

Update: My awesome sister-in-law Susie pointed out that a juicy tomato, such as San Marzano, are much better with spaghetti squash as it soaks up the juice. Here is an updated recipe.
One spaghetti squash (follow instructions below)
One 28 oz can San Marzano tomatoes
2 cloves of garlic
1 Tbl olive oil (two if you want to saute mushrooms, but Jayne is here so no mushrooms;(

Saute garlic in olive oil. Add tomatoes (add to mushroom is using them). Scoop squash out when cooked and pour the tomatoes over the squash. Serve with chunks of buffalo mozzarella and fresh parmesan. Yummy!!


It's my tradition to clean out the fridge before the holidays, which is always a culinary adventure. I pulled out a spaghetti squash tonight, never Pete's favorite, and cooked up a topping with other scavenged food items. Super easy, super low-fat, and super delicious....even Pete thought so!

Ingredients

One spaghetti squash

1/2 jar of your favorite spaghetti sauce

1 chicken breast, boneless, skinless

1/2 cup chopped bell pepper

2 Tbl olive oil

Parmesan cheese

Red pepper flakes (for those who like to spice it up!)

Cut the squash in half and scoop out the seeds. Place open side down in a baking pan and fill bottom with of pan with a shallow layer of water. Cook at 350 for an hour or so. Poke the top with fork, it's done when soft to the touch. Remove from oven and scoop out filling into a bowl.

Saute chicken in olive oil, adding the bell pepper (or whatever veggies you've got in the fridge) and cook until chicken is done. Cube the chicken and then return to pan adding the spaghetti sauce. Cook until warmed through. 

Serve the sauce over the squash and top with some good parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes if you like. It really was surprisingly good and filling too. Bon Appetite!