Queenie Is My Tadasana

They called me Queenie until I turned five, at which time I asked to be called, Betsy; our babysitter's name. 

What if her name had been Esther? 


Mom said it was like calling the dog.
"Dave, Rob, Queenie, Pete! Come on in for supper. Queenie! Out of the sandbox, honey." 


I know this: 


I was never treated like a dog. The only girl in a family of boys, I was cherished by my parents and brothers.


deeply loved, nurtured, protected. 


Well-fed. [see chunky thighs.]


In yoga I encourage my students to find your tadasana, your mountain pose, your steady stance. 


Breathe into standing on your own two feet. 


Gaze forward 
feet planted
no apologies for taking up space


Queenie is my tadasana. 


She is solid, rooted, facing forward. Nary a concern over the size of her thighs (although they did slim down over the years). She doesn't give a shit about thighs. The less clothes, the better. Hats, always. Stripes, nice. A mud-pie maker extraordinaire.


Queenie is well-rounded. 


Thoughtful, curious, happy near water. Loves to be hugged, held close, hair stroked. Laughs easily. Cries easily. Feels deeply. 


Always a thinker, wondering...


What happened to the cat's tail, Mommy? 

(It got slammed in the car door.)


Heart open, easily broken, always wide open.


I've always been fascinated with one's true nature? 
What makes a person that person and how much time we waste squeezing our true nature into tight, tiny places. Shoved to the back of the closet, silenced out of fear of not fitting in, conforming to a job, relationship, school, institution... etc. 


Honoring one's true nature is the path. 


Queenie's always known this. Betsy, on the other hand, has spent too much time waffling and worrying...


over things that never mattered to begin with...


Queenie is my true nature.


Today is Queenie's birthday. 
Betsy's Birthday. 
My birthday.


My wish:


Let Queenie, Betsy, me...


just be.

feet planted
steady gaze
topless?


Happy Birthday, Queenie.


Welcome home.


Here's to finding your tadasana...

Feeling And Fumbling

...for human beings are creatures of feeling and fumbling. 


           - from Mom's meditation book/ The Promise of a New Day

                             [toward the light?]

When I Grow Up #3

When I Grow Up


When I grow up I want to be a teacher, a doctor, and a famous baseball player.


By Jimmy Schreffler
           1995


teacher
doctor
famous baseball player


ba-da bing.
ba-da bang.
ba-da boom.

Monkeys Do That

"We have no power,"Claire said.


It was six am. Dark, rainy. A new day of middle school, after the restful Labor Day weekend. We lit candles. Michael made hot water on the camp stove for tea and coffee. Last week, we never lost power during the worst of Hurricane Irene. Miracles.


Then quietly, this morning, no power.


Well, no electricity. 


In twelve-step programs the very first step is admitting you are powerless over whatever monkey happens to be sitting on your back, maybe playing with your hair, searching for termites or other tasty bugs. Or maybe, it's shitting on your back.


Monkeys do that.


Most of us, whether we cop to having a particular addiction, have some kind of monkey we're carrying around. Maybe it's so small it can sleep in your purse. Or maybe it's more like a silverback; mitt-like gorilla hands wrapped around your neck, leathery gorilla feet dragging behind you as you try to move forward.


Saying, I'm powerless or we have no power, is a very brave thing to do. Even if, in the end, it's just a tree that took a wire down and Met-Ed fixes it, voila, the fridge kicks on and the toilets flush, 


~ remembering that space when you were sitting at the kitchen table with the candles burning and the thought landed, 


fingertip tap tap tapping on your heart,


I'm okay. 
We're okay. 
My my, puddin' pie


is a good thing...


Admitting, whenever you can muster the nerve, that you are out of power, that a whole lot of stuff is out of your hands is actually powerful...


It cracks you open. 


And...it frees Curious George to stop messing with your hair and go back to the jungle where he was doing just fine before the Man with the Yellow Hat came along.

You Rest

labor = in the middle of birthing, there are pockets of time where you don't strain, or push, or pant. You lay very still, gathering your energy to bring forth the fruits of your labor. 


                  You rest.

More Than Ever

It's been a very long week. The toll from Hurricane Irene is deep and wide. Family in Vermont got slammed. Who knew that the Green Mountain State would be hit so hard by a coastal storm? Over 200 roads closed, people's homes washed away. Bridges out, river mud everywhere.

The two men in the canoe are paddling down Promised Road where my brother, Rob, lives by the Long Island Sound in Connecticut.

Friends in New Jersey, flooded, no power for days.

It's an understatement to say 


there's a lot of swirling energy. 

"I feel like I find my center, then get blown right off," I said to Michael.

"It reminds me of sailing, honey. You're steady, and then something blows you off course, sails flapping. Maybe you just need to nudge the rudder make a slight correction. You're okay."

After yoga yesterday, I was chatting with a friend about middle school, transitions, Dad's growing forgetfulness, my pocket of worries. 

"I woke up feeling so off this morning. So, I talked. And had a good cry with Michael holding my hand. My brother called. Jesse called. I heard from a new reader on This Being Alive. And now, yoga and you."

"Remember there are angels everywhere, "she said, "they show up right when you need them."

Last night, Michael and I drifted into a conversation about faith. Not in a religious way, he said.  

but Faith as in showing up even if you're unsure 

Faith as in not always getting it right, 

or things always going well, 

or even knowing much other than 

what you're doing matters. 

Faith as action...

As in, this being alive is as an act of faith ~

composing a new song

digging your neighbor's car out of the mud

having a baby

teaching

getting married
taking the new job
moving to a new place

painting

calling your mother

asking for help
letting go and trusting

acts of faith ~

Maybe some days you ask yourself, 

The world's a madhouse...Does this even matter?

yes.

more than ever ~

*This Being Alive is taking a weekend break. Go gently. xo b

Can't Know It All

Claire came home yesterday slightly overwhelmed. 
She described one teacher as very intense.
"If you don't win, it's no fun!" he chanted, "Coming in second or third is not the same as coming in first!"

Whoa nelly! First day, remember?

Lunch turned out okay. Riding the bus too. We went for a you-made-it-through-the-first-day Italian ice when I picked her up, not hiding behind a tree,  at the bus stop.

Day Two:
I woke even earlier than yesterday. 4 am? 
The alarm was set, but my inner clock was on high alert. 
What if we oversleep, miss the bus?

"I feel more nervous than yesterday,"Claire said. Me too?
"I know, but you got through okay. You figured things out. You'll do the same today," I said. 
"But what if I make a mistake and get in trouble? What about...?"
"Honey, you are the least likely person I know to get in trouble. Everyone's new," I said, "The teachers must be open to questions, right? You can't know it all on the first try."
"And the schedule is so confusing, Mom. I mean, really."
"Ask a friend, Claire. When I was in school, I always asked friends who seemed to know what they were doing. And, Claire?"

“Yea, Mom?”

“Go easy on yourself. It’s just the first day.”

Encouraging my kid = encouraging myself.