Killing Me Softly (a.k.a. Yoga)

Yesterday was a Red Letter Day.

I think.  I have always thought of a Red Letter Day as a day chock full of pleasant surprises, but just to make sure what I write is as accurate as my wisdom-wrapped-up-in-nonsense can be, I looked up the meaning of the phrase.

I love Wikipedia for this sort of serious academic research, but this time I chose instead some obscure UK site.  Because I thought the British description would be more interesting. Because of their penchant for misspelling common English words over there.

Red-letter day*

Meaning

In earlier times a church festival or saint’s day; more recently, any special day.

Origin

This comes from the practise (see, told you) of marking the dates of church festivals on calendars in red.

The first explicit reference to the term in print that we have comes from America. This is a simple use of the term “Red letter day” in the diary of Sarah Knight – The journals of Madam Knight, and Rev. Mr. Buckingham … written in 1704 & 1710, which was published in American Speech in 1940.

(aside:  wondering what Madam Knight had to say in her journal about her red-letter day with the Rev. Mr. Buckingham in 1704 and/or 1710.  historical novel fodder.  Oh Wait.  Dim memory of an English lit class.  The Scarlet Letter.  Dang, Hawthorne beat me to it.)

The practise is much earlier than that though. William Caxton, referred to it in The boke of Eneydos, translated and printed in 1490:

 “We wryte yet in oure kalenders the hyghe festes wyth rede lettres of purpre.”  This makes no sense to me whatsover, assuming purpre = purple.  I am now too lazy to look it up.  But it doesn’t have to make sense to me —  I am studying Spanish, not Olde English.

Back to My Hyghe Fest Day

First, I got to work at home instead having to go in to the office.   This is good because I didn’t have to drive my always-a-potential-adventure-in-panic  commmmuuuuuuttttttteeeeeee, all the way from my little ranch in the boonies to midtown Sacramento.  Plus I get to play music as loud as I want while I’m working.  Plus I get a lot of work done while The Black Thing (my beast of a bloodhound) snores contentedly on my feet.

Then I went to visit my horse “Big”, who, having had some joint injections the day before, needed some bandages removed.  This was good because Big stood still while I used scissors around his hooves, which is always a potential adventure, especially when the horse is, well, big.

Then I went to Walmart.  Always a potential adventure, but I was on a mission — to get a Walmart manicure inside of 40 minutes (40 being the maximum manageable number, even though I was already reliably Rx-ed, in anticipation of the onset of panic to be caused by the enjoyable relaxation of a manicure countered by the crowd of Women of Walmart already packed like large, interestingly dressed mani-pedi-ing sardines in the little salon) by my favorite manicurist Kevin.  Who is Vietnamese.  No surprise there.  Except for his name.  He has a different given name I’m certain.  I asked him what his real name is, and he just smiled,  shook his head side to side, said “No No No” as if he was already suffering my butchering of his name in an attempt to pronounce it.  What Kevin doesn’t know is [1]  I work hard at pronouncing correctly the proper names of all cultures, and [2] if I can say Merry Christmas in correctly pronounced Korean**, then I can surely not butcher his name.

40 minutes later, manicured in hot flamingo coral to honor today’s 4th of July fireworks that are an Extreme Fire Danger and therefore against the law in my county, I headed to my first ever yoga class.  At a training stable.  During a warm evening after a 90-plus degree day.  In a barn.  Upstairs in a loft that was behaving suspiciously like a sauna.

Even though it killed me temporarily, I loved LOVED loved the yoga stuff.  I could not actually do any of it.  Well, hardly.  I could do the sitting cross-legged while breathing position and the laying down while breathing position.    But I loved the quiet confidence, reassurance and encouragement of my friend and fella horse rider Jackie who was instructing the class — I’m wondering if I call her Sensei or something like that — I’ll text her and ask — and I loved the trying to do it.  Even though most of it was pretty much torture, I liked it and I kept trying.  And I really liked that I kept trying.    And I was introduced to some of the position names which I now forget.  Get Down Dancing Dog, Wonder Woman, Warrior One (maybe that’s Wonder Woman), Surfer (maybe that’s Warrier Two, or Three), and Child something, among others.  Each of the positions were very hard for me to do,  but I can see how with practice I could get this (I don’t know if I have that many years left on the planet but surely it is good for me and should extend my planet time, dontcha think?) and be just as graceful as Jackie.

But never as tall as Jackie.  She is very tall and very lean and very limber and exceedingly graceful, both in yoga and on horseback.  I hate her.  But I adore her.  I am guessing Jackie has the perfect physical conformation for yoga.  My present physical conformation is only perfect for writing while seated super comfortably in my big super comfortable leather chair.  And, maybe, for riding my big Big.

Now, I’m typing my hot flamingo coral fingernails over to an on-line Yoga Mart to order a good yoga mat and some cute, short-round-person yoga clothes.  And some East Indian jewelry.   And some incense.

*http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/red-letter-day.html

**당신에게 크리스마스 축하!  (Tang-shin-eh-geh ku-ri-su-ma-su chuk-ha!)

I have been doing stuff, just not this

I have a lot of good reasons:

1.  I got myself a companion.  Nicest guy ever.  Came with the nicest dog ever (ok, second-nicest dog — my Golden Lily is the nicest dog ever).  So I have had to make some behavior changes.  Like try to be nice back.  Mostly.  Not trying so much in the morning.  Also, try not to spend so much time on the computer writing while we are together.  Mostly.  I give myself points for conversing with him at the same time I am spending so much time on the computer writing.

2.  My companion bought a new TV and DISH and put them in my living room.  I haven’t had TV for years.  Enough said.

3.  I got myself yet another job.  Way good money.  Way too much work and stress and too little job-well-done.  This yet another job is going to be replaced by yet another job as soon as I can manage it.  I am just happy I saved my “Just Shoot Me” Post-It note I used to stick on my forehead when I was having a bad day at my last yet another job.  

4.  I have been making friends with a new horse, who I believe has a tax-refund-friendly price tag.

5.  I did my taxes as soon as the W-2s and other tax stuff landed on my planet.  See #4.

6.  I got two new baby kittens around Thanksgiving.  Kittens are way too entertaining.

7.  I started a creative writing class (mystery fiction) so I can maybe learn how to write like a real writer.   Reader Team, go here.  This will be the writing focus for a bit,  but there will be blog.  I have missed it.

what I did on my winter vacation

I survived.

Not without many tears and complaints launched Upward, naturally.  But I get that He gets it.

Soon after my Mo’s passing in late October, something came along to consume 150% of my time and  focus  — my job, and specifically an impossible 12/31/12 deadline for a huge project delivery.  A death march, as we call it in my line of work.

I survived that too … met the deadline, passed the subsequent audit, tossed it all into the company Bonus pool, and even had a few Bonus drops splash back on me …

… but not without developing extreme crankiness about all things Work and even more extreme disdain for my management.  A few weeks after the beginning of the year, at peak of crank, having worked eight days in row, 12-14 hours days, on the stupidest shit my “Can we chat?”-at-any-late-hour-they-felt-like-it-management could dream up,  my phone rang at a late-hour, flashing Caller ID Guess Who.  Ignoring the air raid siren screaming in my head, I answered.  The bomb exploded a short fuse later.   I hung up on Guess Who and fired off my  resignation.  Oops.  Maybe I should have lined up another job first.

Utter peace and contentment and the joy of having something real to worry about (money) reigned on my planet for a few unemployed weeks, then another organization in the same company hired me back.  The Grace of finding a job quickly came along with a decent sign-on bonus, no loss of tenure, a line of work I love, much less management ineptitude, much less actual work, a bit less salary, and a solid and pleasantly nutty team to play at work with.

The bad news is that anxiety and panic are still my near-constant companions.  Worse since I lost Mo, yes, but I understand why.  The toolbox gets a lot of examination, restocking, reorganizing.  Drugs are necessary.  The good news about this bad news is that I am now in therapy with a psychologist and some of her insight I find completely fascinating.  I am not buying all of it quite yet, but some of our talks are very enlightening.  She is part Native American and she brings some of her understanding of spirituality into her therapy, and my spirit connects with that.  My spirit also connects with her taste in jewelry — turquoise and silver.  There will be many posts about what I am learning from her.

To conclude this catching up episode, there is a new horse.  Actually he is an old horse, borrowed from a local trainer who loves him to pieces but doesn’t have time for him.  His name is Legend and he is sweet, sound, unflappable, work-loving, people-loving.   Hanoverian, 17-2 hands (extra-large),  patient, quiet, affectionate and willing to partner with me to work on low level dressage while I wait for my next jumping horse and the $ to pay for him/her to fall from the sky.  In the meantime, I am enjoying building a partnership with the Big Boy and learning new stuff about horses.  Legend is a completely different being than Mo, but he is turning out to be a patient and agreeable teacher like Mo was.

the Big Boy … up three steps, then tippy toe, then jump into the stirrup.

Legend’s first dressage show. He was a good boy. The rider (me) sucked. But we made it through our test without any unscheduled dismounts.

Life has been much worse.

amazing

be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, He says.

do not be anxious about anything, but by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, give my requests to Him and He will grant me the peace that transcends all understanding, He says.

He took my beautiful boy Mo home on 29 October.  an accident, something that horses can do to themselves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

at 11 am the vet Dr. M comes and examines him.  she says "I feel some 
displacement."  those words stop my heart.  a twist.  i tell her that
he is not a surgery candidate.  my barn manager and friend Lindsay asks 
her "what do we need to do?".  Dr. M advises.
throughout the afternoon we walk him, take him for a trailer ride, longe
him - - all in the hope of untangling his insides.  praying for 
poop, as we horse people say to each other at times like this. 
by early evening he is beginning to get dehydrated.  Dr. M returns with
catheter and IV fluids, more pain meds, instructs me on what to do.

by 10  pm i have spent a couple of hours hanging and switching out IV bags
and giving him the meds, taken him on a couple of walks around the barn.
afraid to walk him too far from the barn in case he goes down. Lindsay
wants to give the meds and fluids and oil a few more hours to work.
but i just know.

so tired, he and I tell each other.  we want to lay down but we can't.

we agree on what we need to do, what we already knew, what my heart had
been telling me, what his heart had been telling me.

at 10 pm i call the night vet and thank God it is Dr. A.  she has been
with me for this before.  she had been briefed by Dr. M.  i tell her
what i see and feel.  she advises, confirms.
 
she says she would like me to think about it for a little while longer
and she will call me back.  i talk to Lindsay.  i tell her i want the
vet.  when Dr. A calls me back, i say "please come now."
i make myself a bed in the aisle of the barn next to his stall and 
wait.  he is still on his feet, quiet, his head turned toward his belly
on one side, asking what is going on in there?  then he turns his head
back to the other side, and asks again.  this repeats over and over,
his head moves side to side, he keeps asking. he is uncomfortable but
not in excruciating pain.
i tell him what i think the answer is.   i hug him.  i tell him
i'm sorry about his tummyache. i tell him he is a brave and strong
boy and i thank him for staying on his feet.
he remains focused inward, preparing. my boy is on his way. 
at 11:30 the vet arrives.  she examines him -- quick, efficient, 
definite, direct.  inside of three minutes she tells me what she sees
and says "I am so glad you didn't wait to call.  He's done.  He needs
to go." 

a rush of relief, the end of the wondering and worrying.
so tired.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

when i see the people on my planet suffering, i tell them that in moments of need, God gives us grace — unearned blessings — to sparkle up our night, to shed light on dark paths.  it is our job to tune our senses to receive that grace.

now, in moments of (Xanax-assisted) clarity, i begin to see the grace for myself.

Many beings, human and otherwise, cross our paths in the course of living our lives … we form friendships, deep attachments … but only a very few of these are true connections.

on my planet, i am truly connected to a handful of people and some of my animals … i care for many others, of course, but there is something different about these special ones… a deeper bond, an entwining of hearts, minds, souls …

our bodies change over time, age, become broken, heal, or not — however the vessels that carry us morph through the years changes not the fundamental beings we are.

what makes me Me is my amazing spirit.  what makes Mo Mo is his amazing spirit.

what makes us partners is the entwining of our spirits.  nothing can ever separate us.

joyful, praying continually, with thankfulness that has no words.

the Zen of the Parting with the Saddle

No, I didn’t fall off today.  I resurrected these from some old posts on my old blog, to keep me humble while I am trying to teach Mo how to teach me how to jump.

These were inspired by Stormy, one of my quarter horse mares, who is now a pasture ornament, while I was healing a football-sized hematoma on my backside from one of her dirty spooks.  Which is why she is now a pasture ornament.

A Haiku Poem:

Cooler day, windy
Says “Be Spooky!” to the horse
And “Eat Dirt!” to me.

Another Haiku Poem:

Neighbors have big party
Says “Act Silly!” to the horse
She does. Rider flies.

One Last Haiku Poem:

Wind blows, horse blows up
Rider now riding on air
Briefly. Hello Earth.

Okay, one more:

Hello Earth. Meet Butt.
Horse stands calmly now of course
Waiting for cookie.

me on Stormy, with Sunny our angel palomino

Exercise is boring. Or way fun.

I hate to sit on equipment and maneuver  heavy objects with my arms and legs and butt and move my muscles in a mechanical, repetitive motion that is supposedly good for me.    How can something so mind-numbingly boring be good for me?

Boredom is why I read Spanish language mystery novels on my Kindle when I am on my recumbent bike and pedaling with some of my might to get my heart rate into whatever the fat-burning zone is, which, whatever it is, has to be about 50 whatevers above what my heart wants to rate.  And if I ever did reach that zone, the effort would be totally devoid of any ROI whatsoever anyway, since I would no doubt arrive there in full cardiac arrest, rendering both my heart rate and the question of  ¿Quie’n mato’ a Don Francisco?*  altogether moot.

When I ride my horse Mo,  I am doing basically the same exercise — sitting on equipment and maneuvering a heavy object with my arms and legs and butt and moving my muscles in repetitive motions.  Of course the “equipment” is living and breathing and large and capable at its whim of all kinds of unexpected twists and turns and bounces and sudden changes in speed and/or direction.  It also has a wicked sense of humor and loves to get my goat, so to speak, by being stubborn or pushy or lazy or amped or spooky or just a moron.

So you can imagine riding Mo is much the opposite of boring for me.  So much the opposite, in fact, that a good, exhilarating ride, with all of the physical challenge and mental focus that it requires, is nothing short of pure joy.  My version of a runner’s high, I suppose.    As long as Mo doesn’t do anything so dramatic that I find myself suddenly and unexpectedly airborne and on my way to the  moon, briefly.  Then, inevitably, on my way to what-goes-up-must-eat-dirt.  Then, joy, not so much.  At least not until there are pain meds.

What’s the difference?  Why no endorphinous high when I ride my bike or take a good long walk?  I’m working, breathing, sweating the same as when I ride.  And why is tired and sore from the routine exercise so bothersome, when tired and sore from riding is so gratifying?

The answer is fear.   I am fundamentally afraid of horseback riding.  Even with Mo as perfect as he is for me most of the time, I am always on alert and wondering when my next fall will land me in the E.R.    Along with all of the rewards of riding — learning to communicate with the horse, the rhythmic grace of being connected to his motion,  improving my cues and getting  his best response — there is always an undercurrent of fear.

So I conclude that all I have to do to get a comparable level of enjoyment from the other more mundane forms of exercise is to develop a healthy fear of them.  I guess something like look at my recumbent bike and think “”Hmmm.  How windy is it?  Are there wild turkeys around?  Is there a  bike that my bike hates in the near vicinity?”  Or, look at my walking shoes and think “Hmmm.  What if there is something on the ground for them to trip over and they lose their balance?  What if the big puddle we are approaching gives them the heebie-jeebies and they decide to run off with me?”

Hmmm.  Could work.

*Who killed Don Francisco?