Because it's March 31

I can't let a month slip by without a single post.  I think the blog would collapse into a black hole.

So what have I been doing?  Well, I've begun teaching yoga classes, three so far.  The first was canceled due to snow.  And tonight, on the last day of March, it was canceled again...due to snow.  I am more unhappy about the snow on March 31 than the cancellation...though that isn't thrilling me, I'd rather be safe. Given that I watched a car stall out trying to get up our hill I think the cancellation was wise.

So, the happy making stuff is we have reclaimed the extra bedroom.  Diana moved out back in August but Calypso claimed that room for a period of time until we could paint her room.  We had stripped the wall paper only about a decade ago.  One must not rush into such things as painting walls.  Anyway, we finally painted her room so she moved back into it and we reclaimed the last bedroom.

Mr. Lime declared an intended use for it and I may have mentioned I thought it would be nice to have dedicated yoga space because nothing harshes a good yoga vibe like having someone try to step over you while in lizard pose, or stoop under you to ask a question while in downward facing dog pose.  He said, as long as I moved all the books out of the den and into this room I could also use it for yoga space.  so that also meant I'd finally get all my books out of boxes and back on shelves where they belong.  Win/win!  Although it was going to require a hard weeding of the book collection to fit them into the new space.  This was also a job I wanted to happen so painful as it was I was glad for the motivation to get it done.  Here are the results with one shelf yet to be built and filled on the floor.  I nearly halved the collection.  I have since gone out and purchased six more books but no one should be stunned by this.






I began referring to the room as the yogabrary.  It made me very happy.  I had lots of space to move.  No one was walking in on me or over me or around me.  My books we out of boxes.  All was well.  Then I came home after a particularly aggravating day and had more happy making when I discovered this sign on the door....








 ....which flips to this when I want to be alone.  Mr. Lime gets it.  One day I was so stressed several of his jokes went right over my head.  He patted me on the hand and said, "It's ok dear, go breathe and do your yoga stuff." 









So I did...

 And then I did some more...

...and more...



















It was very relaxing.

I am a happy Lime.

Radiant Threads

Last May I joined a yoga teacher training program.  I had only been practicing yoga for about a year and a half at that point.  There were, and still are, many poses which I was unable to do at all.  Part of me thought I had no business thinking I could be a teacher.  Fortunately, my studio is full of teachers who believe in empowering their students and who are faithful to impart the idea that yoga is not a destination in which both feet are behind your ears, rather it's a journey which, though partially physical, is largely between the ears.  As the Yoga Sutras tell us, the purpose of yoga is to calm the fluctuations of the mind, to quiet the chatter, to embrace stillness.  All our movement and sweat and physical effort is really to tame the mind and prepare us to physically endure meditation long enough to find the stillness.

Still I had doubts.  I was blessed to have people I respected tell me that I definitely had something to offer in this realm.  I had little comments here and there from fellow students which made me dare.  I had a therapist who, after three years of sitting quietly and neutrally when I expressed various things, blurted out emphatically, "I don't think there is any question that you should do this."  I asked where the carefully neutral therapist went and why she would so strongly advocate for this particular path.  She said it was a no-brainer because yoga had proven enormously beneficial to me physically and emotionally and when I expressed the possibility of joining the teacher training program it was the first time in three years I had said I was going to make a major investment of time and money in something just for me.  She had a point.

Thus, I plunked down my deposit on the last day they would be accepted.  I bought a dozen books.  I rolled up my mat and prepared for my first weekend of two ten hour days back to back spent listening to lectures, engaging in a physical practice and, cramming my brain full of anatomy, philosophy, and the names of ten other women, only a couple of whom I knew.

It would be fair to say our group of eleven ended that first weekend wondering just exactly what the hell we had gotten ourselves into.  And already personalities were emerging.  We had the shy, the sassy, the seasoned, the serene, and the silly.  Our age range spans four decades. Our cultures are diverse.  Most of us were fairly local but a couple came from considerable distance.

Over the months there were some major life transitions experienced by members of our group.  One made a move of over a hundred miles right at the time when we needed to begin teaching community classes.  She had to scramble to find a new studio in which to practice and which would provide space for that aspect of her training.  One broke an engagement.  One culminated hers in marriage.  One had a husband and child move to a different state in order to separate her child from a very destructive situation.  One buried an only child.  When one member rejoiced or mourned the entire group stood with her.

As the months passed and trust grew, histories were revealed.  Wounds were exposed, sometimes for the first time. Stories one might never have expected bubbled to the surface.  Sometimes they filled gently and floated aloft like a balloon as the person holding the history realized she could let go, that it no longer had power over her.  Sometimes the stories erupted like lava from the belly of the earth. When the mountain trembled and a woman feared it might destroy her there was a circle of support to provide safety.

Our group of eleven went from being acquaintances to being sisters. We shared laughter, tears, joy, frustration, exhaustion, delight, wonder, anger, discovery, insight, and boredom.  In the last weeks we all wondered how we might do on our final exam.  We spent one study session not so much studying as reminiscing over the last ten months, quelling anxiety, and laughing our asses off.  This past Saturday we took our exam.

Sunday morning we received the news that we had all passed with A's. Sunday afternoon we gathered for a simple graduation ceremony in which our head teacher spoke to each of us about what she respected and appreciated most in each of us.  She then handed us a small lit candle and our diploma.  During the party immediately following, the student who is an Indian woman presented each of us with a saree she had chosen especially for us.  She said, "We read the Yoga Sutras for our training.  Sutra means thread.  These sarees represent the beautiful threads of our friendships.  When you look at them remember how much I love you and all the love we have shared and will continue to share no matter where life carries us."

And then we shed a few more tears and hugs and laughter as she wrapped us up in her love just before we prepare to go out and share our light.

Reclaiming My Mat

A little over two years ago, in the wake of losing a job in a very nasty way, I discovered yoga.  One of the messages which helped me heal from that unpleasantness was the message of "letting go of that which no longer serves."  It did not serve me to dwell in anger.  It only kept me from moving forward. 

I also found it very healing to develop a practice in a discipline which teaches its students to honor their bodies meaning that whether I can make the same shapes as the instructor or the folks next to me isn't important.  It's important that I am listening to what my body says is good for it and I am the only one who can know that for sure.  Yoga helped me develop trust in listening to that inner voice.  This was healing in both physical and emotional ways because I had struggled with back problems serious enough to send me to a neurosurgeon many years ago.  I had limped through various forms of rehabilitation only to have certain health care providers suggest that when I complained of pain it indicated an unwillingness to work on my part. 

I kept telling them no, I was experiencing serious pain which was setting me back rather than moving me forward.  I hasten to add I worked with great endurance and perseverance to regain the use of my hand and arm after demolishing it eight years ago.  It ain't a lack of willingness to work...it was not being shown proper form to have the work be effective rather than harmful.  Yoga gave me a sense of proper alignment so I could work in ways which allowed me to increase strength and flexibility while avoiding injury...because I was listening to what my body told me in the process. 

In so doing I was empowered to listen more carefully from day to day and even moment to moment.  I had teachers who explained that just because I could do a certain pose yesterday didn't mean it would happen today.  Conversely, not being able to do something yesterday didn't mean it was beyond reach today.  I needed to greet each time on my mat as a new experience, without attachment or expectation.  This message became critically important when I was diagnosed with cancer less than six months after beginning a yoga practice.  The nature of my health problems created wild swings in my metabolism and energy levels to the extent that it wax impossible to predict how I'd feel on any given day.  It was a crash course in advanced listening.  Sometimes I'd have to stop in the middle of class and just take a rest while others continued working vigorously. I was ok with that.  I was even encouraged when other students said seeing me in a resting pose gave them permission to do the same when they needed it.

Yoga also helped me find a place where I could quiet a restless mind.  My mat became the place for dropping out from between my ears and into mindful movement and meditation.  Yogic philosophy tells us yoga is not just exercise for the body but a union of breath with movement and the body with the spirit.  I found that on my mat.  I shed anger with God and people.  I found a greater ability to listen to the messages  my body was giving me and the still small voice, conscience, God, the universe, whatever you want to call it.  It all came together in union as intended.  It got me through some dark days and helped me increase health both mental and physical.  It made me want to know more and to be able to share it with folks who might want to learn too so I enrolled in the teacher training course.

Teacher training has been at turns, amazing, fulfilling, overwhelming, frustrating, wonderful, inspiring, and infuriating.  Two weekends of it have been downright upsetting.  This past month's training made me want to burn my mat and never get back on it again.  Part of the frustration is due to having to become familiar with styles of yoga which I do not connect to at all, which I find far too physically demanding.  Although the message "honor your body" remains the same, that I even have to take a class in a particular style feels dishonoring and yet I have to find a way to learn the style even as I do not push myself to the point of injury.  It's a challenging balance to find. 

The other aspect, which pushed me over the line recently, was topics which opened up huge trauma triggers for me.  Between the physically demanding style I was learning and the distressing topics I felt as if I were losing the safe space my mat has always been.  It felt as if my mat were being invaded or usurped, as if I no longer had a right to honor my own body and my own spirit by giving it what it needed.  I was wrong, of course, but just like Dorothy had to learn that there's no place like home, I had to be reminded that my mat is MY mat and my practice is MINE.

I am 46 years old.  I've come to yoga late in life and after considerable physical trauma.  I do not need to have a practice which looks like that of an athletic 20-something.  If I do, great.  If I don't, that's great too.  The point is, I have a practice.  It doesn't matter how vigorous or how gentle it is. It matters if I am finding a union of breath and movement, of body, soul, and spirit.  It matters if I derive pleasure from my practice and want to engage in it, not whether I can put a foot behind my head or  do 62 chaturangas in a vigorous Ashtanga class (I can't do either).

The last training weekend I had damn near every trauma trigger tripped.  I was reeling.  I was a gaping, open wound sitting in a corner weeping through a class.  I was broken and depleted and yet asked for more....which has so often been the story of my life.  I was angry because MY mat is not the place for that.  MY mat is where I heal from all of that.  MY mat is my safe place.  I wept because I was afraid I was losing MY mat.  Then I remembered, it's MY mat and no one gets to tell me what My practice on MY mat looks like. 

I reclaimed my mat by staying off it for two classes.  For one class I sat in the corner just working to find my breath while others worked physically difficult poses.  For another class I stayed home.  When I returned, I went to the class taught in the style that speaks to ME.  I worked in the way MY body told me felt right.  I dropped out of my ears and into my body working a slow, meditative pace which allowed my mind to find the rest it needed.

When I teach I want to remember to empower my students to listen to themselves on their mats.  It will be my job to tell them what they need to know to be safe.  What they do with the rest of my instruction is up to them because it is their practice, not mine.

Flexibility

First, an update on the aftermath of last week's post.

After being told I'd have to do "library on a cart" I spent a considerable amount of time gathering scholarly articles correlating library access to various measures of student achievement so I could fortify my arguments for the students having access to the full library collection, not just the couple hundred books I could fit on a cart and drag around the school.  So as to not overstress the admins I highlighted key passages in the several dozen pages I printed out.  Folks were unswayed though one noted I had come prepared, to which I replied, "I work in a library.  I know how to do research."

However, I am glad to report an acceptable compromise was reached.  Our school is bursting at the seams.  I had to give up some geography in the library to accommodate another class being moved up there.  I was able to convince the principal that library on a cart  is such a piss poor excuse for library service that we cannot justify it.  He offered the suggestion of only having part of the class come to the library at a time since an entire class can no longer fit in the remaining space.  I agreed because the most important thing is that the kids have access to the full collection.  We've already lost librarians and library instruction.  We cannot afford to lose access to the collection.  So a certain degree of flexibility from both the principal and from me has allowed for some semblance of a solution.  It's not optimal or even desirable but it's preferable to library on a cart.

In other news, I spent this weekend of yoga teacher training learning how to safely give hands on assists to deepen stretches....so flexibility can be increased.

Bending one classmate in half.

Asking another classmate to walk all over me.



















I am learning flexibility in all sorts of contexts but I'd  still like to tell the people decimating urban public schools and their libraries to get bent.

What a Difference a Year Makes

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the Earth of even a zipline.  It's been a wild ride the last couple of weeks closing up two libraries and having a yoga teacher training weekend.

Today, however, is noteworthy.  A year ago today I was having a cancer riddled thyroid removed from my body after several months of medical testing and arguing with incompetent doctors before finding some excellent ones.  All this began shortly after I started my then new job as a Library Paraprofessional.  It was a job in which I was unclear about what latitude I did or didn't have.  I was afraid to overstep my boundaries.  I was also trying to keep my head above water. I spent the two weeks before surgery on medical leave from my job so I didn't have to sit in a moldy basement at one school while I was trying to prepare mentally and physically for surgery. Those two weeks were spent at home in the embrace of my family and attending as many yoga classes as I could handle, roughly ten classes in two weeks, in order to keep myself calm.

It worked.  I went into surgery physically strong and mentally calm.  I didn't panic until about five or ten minutes before they came for me to give me the pre-surgical sedative.  The sedative took care of the panic.  As soon as I was awake in recovery I began doing deep yogic breathing to begin helping my body get rid of the anesthesia since I knew the respiratory therapists would be telling me to do that anyway.  Apparently, what I considered mindful breathing in a still groggy state, looked labored to the recovery nurses.  They asked if I was having trouble.  When I told them what I was doing they commended me.  Later when I used my foot to pull the bedside table nearer so I could help myself to ice chips they scolded me with the warning that too much too quickly would make me vomit.

The last two weeks of this school year were spent exercising the full latitude of my authority in the library.  In one I was well caught up with the mundane aspects of shelving and repairs and record keeping.  I rewarded myself by reading to the classes with the best library usage of the year in between processing new books.  It's something I enjoy doing a great deal but it's not part of the scope of my job description or even something I ever have time for anyway.  It was a lot of fun to hold the kids' attention and even that of the teachers who opted to take some time away from pressing duties.  Even their faces expressed rapt attention and each of them expressed surprise at how I engrossed their students.  Yes, I can do more than just shelve books.

In my other school it was a flurry of activity trying to catch up with things left undone all year.  I had new books to finish processing and repairs of old books. I also did a major weeding (nearly 500) of the picture books, deleting them from the catalog and removing identifying tags and marks. Then I shifted all those which remained to make room for new subsections for holiday books and books for beginning readers so it's easier for those kids to find something they are able to read independently.  That also meant updating the catalog as to a new subsection and the books located therein.  Oh, yeah, and I inventoried nearly 11,000 books.  Nothing like setting the bar ridiculously high but I really wanted to properly whip this library into shape because it's been so neglected for so long, like years before I arrived kind of neglect.  Thanks to Calypso who came into work for one day and my dear friend and fellow Para, Big Mama, I was able to accomplish almost everything.  I left the repairs for next year and I have to make new shelf labels after having shifted roughly 5000 books.  Otherwise, I finished it all and accounted for all but about 30 books in inventory.  I could not have done so without Calypso and Big Mama, who even dragged a substitute teacher in to help one day as well.  Big Mama is a compelling person.

In looking back over the last year, there's been a lot of change.  A cancer has been excised from me literally.  I think in some ways one has been removed figuratively, though treatment for that is ongoing.  Although one could argue I am a risk taker as evidenced by incidents involving ziplines, I never was in the work world.  This year I have grown in confidence about what I have to offer and I have struck out in an unusual new direction of signing up for teacher training in yoga.  I've also decided to actively look for new employment elsewhere this summer, which is part of why I worked so hard at one library.  I want to turn it over in the best possible shape.  A year or two ago I doubted my professional skills and I NEVER would have considered I could possibly teach anything that could be remotely considered athletic.  I've asked for references from people I respect and they have responded with great encouragement.  I have had two trainings in the yoga program and I have received wonderful feedback for my participation there as well.  Oh, and I even was bold enough to actually SELL some of my tie dye creations instead of giving them away.

It's been quite a year, one with lots of growth...the kind indicative of life rather than the kind leading to death.

What Have I Gotten Myself Into?

So I still have this goal of being a children's librarian but the finances of grad school are....daunting to say the least. I won't be able to consider doing that until at least Fall 2015. And then there is much second guessing as I live in a state governed by people who seem determined to propagate illiteracy through defunding both libraries and public schools. (Sad commentary for the commonwealth which brought us the United States' first free library, is it not?) Will I even be able to find a job once I have my degree?

In the meantime I feel the need to continue developing as a human being and to do something toward that. Now I've gone and signed up for a 200 hour teacher training program...in yoga. Whoda thunk it? Certainly not me. I'm excited, I'm terrified, I'm hopeful, I'm out of my mind. Anyway, these arrived in the mail today. I've got to digest that one on the lower left by next weekend when our first training weekend occurs. Here we go!

This Can't Be

Mr. Lime has been an athlete his entire life.  Soccer, baseball, softball, long distance running, and bicycling have been his main pursuits but he has played a myriad of other sports in other capacities.  He has coached soccer our entire married life and Little League, basketball, swimming,  and cross country at various times over the decades.  He is well-versed in coaxing the best out of his players in spite of injury, disability, or lack of any appreciable skill.  That's not to say his teams all have winning records.  Most notable among the Charlie Brown-esque teams is the junior high girls' basketball team he has coached for years.  He is the first to admit he's working with very little in terms of skill level of players or even knowledge of the basics of the game.  Yet he is generally regarded with respect and affection by players and their parents because he is a fair coach who stresses developing skills properly, being sportsmanlike, and enjoying the game.

He married me.  I am decidedly non-athletic.  In PE I was always among the last two to be chosen for a team (the kid with Downs syndrome was frequently chosen before me). My own father has called me athletically declined.  I was cajoled into joining an intramural volleyball team in college and very nearly asked not to participate by the Christian fellowship I represented after I demonstrated my lack of prowess by repeatedly hitting myself in the face with the ball when I tried to return it (yes, my lack of skill apparently strains even Christian charity).  I drove a previous boyfriend to rage with my inability to connect a golf club with the ball on the tee.  (In my defense he had a rage problem anyway...).  Early in our marriage, Mr. Lime wanted me to learn to play tennis so we could play together.  He gave up on teaching me because he was still young enough to be in the mode of wanting a partner who'd actually provide some level of competition and I was struggling just to get the ball over the net.  I like to think I helped him develop patience with his younger players who display ineptitude.  In a rare instance of displaying a superior skill set, I was far more nimble a rock climber than he was and much less daunted by narrow ledges.  (He was still young enough to want competition but without being dominated regularly so that didn't go very well either at the time.  He's come around since then.)

So we have a jock married to someone who feels pleased when she can walk upright and not trip while carrying a load of groceries.  This continued for over twenty years.  I did have some successes with weird pursuits such as fencing because I learned it along with a class full of people who had no more experience than I did.  What I lacked in athletic ability I made up for in ferocity.  I did well in the class tournament until I was up against a guy who was a foot taller than I was and whose reach exceeded my own considerably.  I had no idea how to contend with that.  Otherwise I was undefeated.  That experience was short-lived dude to lack of opportunity to continue.  It was also a serious anomaly in my fledgling attempts at anything resembling physical endeavors.

Ten months ago I discovered yoga.  I loved it from the first class even when it revealed great weaknesses and deficiencies on my part.  This was due to seeing a wide variety of body types present in my classes and even among my teachers, including bodies few would regard as athletic.  It was further aided by a core message of yoga, that of being able to accept oneself and observe one's state accurately but without negative judgement.  That was a novel but very reassuring perspective which stood in stark contrast to the hyper-competitive mindset so prevalent in organized sports.  It also differed from the no pain/no gain attitude, which was always pushed on me by my former chiropractor and boss but has never served me well when I was trying to recover from back injuries and attempting to regain some strength.  With yoga I've been able to accept where I was beginning and gently move toward greater strength and flexibility.

I felt I had made some real strides before surgery but of course had to return to yoga with great care during my recovery.  It was humbling to have to go back to the beginning but again I was reminded of non-judgemental observation, letting my ego go.  I was surprised when a classmate asked me after class one day if I was ok because she noticed I was taking it so easy and "you've always been so strong in class."  I thanked her for her concern and explained I was recovering from surgery but inside I was stunned to hear someone describe me in a way that suggested noticeable ability.  A later class involved a particular focus that felt really comfortable and the teacher encouraged me to challenge myself more deeply.  As she led me to do so and it went well she remarked that she wished these poses were so easy for her.  Mind you, this woman can physically kick my butt without trying and had done so the week before.  I was shocked to hear she envied something I could do in yoga.

This week when I came home from a particular class Mr. Lime, as is his practice, asked me how things went.  I said it was an enjoyable class and that I was surprised to find I was not struggling as much with the particular focus we had this week because I could remember how achingly hard these particular poses were when I began.  I could recall not being able to hold them for even half the time we were asked to do so and having to modify a lot but that today I could do so much more than I ever would have expected I'd be able to do...especially with all I've gone through medically in the last few months.  I said it was a good feeling to have come this far even though there's still a lot more ground I haven't even considered yet.  He half-smiled/half-smirked as I went on.  I asked him what that look was for.  He patted my shoulder reassuringly knowing I'd need to have it broken to me gently as he said, "What you're experiencing...it's called athleticism."

I gasped in disbelief, "Say it isn't so!"