Category: Human humor

The Dreaded Question (s)

Alexandra Langstaff4 Comments

“How often do you practice yoga?”

Whenever mom’s bored with my conversation, she asks me. So I get it a lot.

I know she means a physical practice but I always go the philosophical route with my answer. It’s sort of a game.

“Every day” I reply.

“Really.” She looks up from the needlepoint chair cushion she’s been working on forever. Her eyebrows are raised in question and with slight skepticism. (I’d find every day hard to believe myself.)

“My practice is less physical and more mental. That’s harder.”

“Good answer slacker”, someone, somewhere is saying, or maybe that’s just me.

I think mom’d rather a more athletic response. At 95, she’s still addicted to exercise and doesn’t understand why her children aren’t following directly in her never ending footsteps. Or maybe she’s checking my sincerity. Will I say the same thing over the years? Is it a real commitment to yoga, like some hold with religion or favored book genres? Or am I faking that I know what I’m doing and what I believe in?

The last time she checked on my true devotion to something was when I said I was going to take a gap year after high school. She asked me a few times what I was going to do instead. My answers were all over the map, yet they included nothing around the map. 

I didn’t know where I was heading or how, and somehow mom knew I wasn’t yet ready to flow with the world.  I was lucky to be offered 4 years of college to hone some directional skills instead.

Her  questions then and now are good reminders for me to take stock.

Am I following my authentic self with knowledge and direction?

Do I know what I’m doing?

The last time she asked about the frequency of my practice, I had put some thought into my answer and was prepared.

“When I get tailgated on the road and I don’t react by slamming on the brakes, I’m practicing yoga. 

I’m practicing when I patiently collaborate, or agree to do something I have no interest in doing.

When I do any kind of manual labor for longer than 20 minutes, or add  kale to my breakfast smoothie, I’m practicing yoga.

When I clarify a misunderstanding or share a brownie, it all counts as part of my practice.

When we are committed to yoga, it’s a full time way of being.”

Mom nods her head in agreement with my monologue. My response sounds authentic to us both, with just a touch of predictable laziness on my part.

How often do you practice? Mom wants to know.

Noticing a yoga shape counts as practicing yoga.

Who doesn’t want to have a point?

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My writing friend is a good influence. Somehow she encourages philosophical prattle and slight irreverence in me whenever we get together.  The other day we met to discuss petty, yet important, dramas and strains in our lives.

“I just realized that no matter how bad, sad, or frustrated I feel, I’m not the only one feeling this way. That’s sort of a bummer,” I whispered as we sat at the end of the mystery section in the library.  “Why can’t it just be about me? Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen, not even Jesus,” I half sang.

I believe Jesus is quite aware of my woes. Just as I am aware of the woes of others.  This is what I mean about her influence. She made  selfish, whining words roll off my tongue. It was liberating. Maybe that was her intention.

”Write that down” she exclaimed excitedly. And of course I did because that’s what we do.

The day’s discussion got pretty deep as we discussed writing goals. She intimated she was aiming towards a large manuscript. “My point is I want to have a point,” I confessed. 

“Write that down” she directed. 

I don’t know if I made up that sentiment about making a point, or read it on a poster in the early 80s. 

That happens. Phrases that resonate are like discovering buried treasure when all you’re doing is lazily digging your fingers in the sand. “Enjoy your next trip around the sun” popped up on social media one year. That’s brilliant. Who came up with it? Euclid?

”I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired” my buddy Mike said after we taught skiing all day in a blizzard. I had never heard anything so original, so grumpy, so perfect. It was like he channelled the old grousing crabs who sit in the box seat at the theater on the Muppet Show.

It became my go to response when I knew my crankiness and frustration was out of proportion to the situation at hand. It would be great printed on a rubber  bracelet as a reminder to snap out of it.

Research shows that activist Fannie Lou Hamer originally used the phrase in a more serious way. Bromley ski school had nothing on the Jim Crow South.

Later on the drive back to town I said, with a bit of alarm, ”Wow it’s hard to see. These snowflakes are huge”. The blizzard hadn’t let up.  “Well, don’t try to hit them” Mike said calmly.

With that advice, my grip on the steering wheel softened and my body began to relax.

Just because you’re driving in a blizzard doesn’t mean you need to hit the flakes. Wait. Did we just make up a slogan for an inspirational accent pillow?

As a wedding gift, a childhood friend gave me a glittery blue bumper sticker that had bold white letters saying “One day at a time”. 

What an incredible bit of advice. It could be an inspirational cross stitch done by Mrs. Walton or Ma on the Little House on the Prairie. The message was clear, life is filled with challenges, keep calm.

I was only 30 so the AA connection didn’t register.

I proudly stuck it on to our tractor but now wonder how many people driving by over the years wondered  which one of us was in recovery.

That marriage didn’t last, but the sentiment did. 

That’s the wonderful thing about seemingly trite phrases. Pretty much everyone gets them; however, our interpretations may be different. When we make fun of them, we are actually doing ourselves a favor. It transmits a message from the brain to the nervous system that says “Chill out man, you aren’t alone, there’s a special place in heaven for you.”

Maybe that’s my point.

Someone sure made a monkey out of me.

Featured Alexandra Langstaff2 Comments

It’s official. I got scammed. “How?” You might ask. “Aren’t you the one always warning others and believing yourself to be so tech savvy?”

I fell for the oldest trick in the book, flattery.

Hi Alexandra, Virtuous Sinner Made in Vermont is an irresistibly honest and wonderfully human memoir. Your voice wry, grounded, and full of grace makes the messiest parts of life feel like shared wisdom. From dairy farms to ski slopes, concussions to enlightenment, you’ve managed to turn experience into something both meaningful and delightfully entertaining.

The words were an aphrodisiac. Fortunately, my feet were still on the ground, despite my swelling head, so I prudently checked the few references.

Being as smart as I am, I didn’t click the links but did do some internet research. One of the more prolific authors has been writing crime novels for over 30 years with Harper Collins.  Her picture shows a  pleasant looking woman holding an adorable yorkie. Both have lived in the UK all their lives. The chance that she used a marketing firm in St. Petersburg, FL  with no website is highly unlikely.

I had vague feelings of discomfort, but that didn’t stop the feelings of euphoria.

I can say without hesitation: Virtuous Sinner Made in Vermont is the kind of memoir people don’t just read, they carry with them. Its blend of unvarnished honesty, Vermont charm, and dry wit is rare and it deserves to be discovered…to design a campaign that reflects your tone and truth, I like to start by reading the manuscript. This gives me the foundation to build a strategy that feels as authentic and layered as your story itself.

The lure of the New York Times Best Seller List was intoxicating. Despite EJ’s lack of an online presence (with the exception of some stylish jeans of the same name) and the fact that she intimated that she had already read the book, I wanted to believe in her/it/myself.

This really was a dream come true. It never entered my mind that it was too good to be true. Someone saw the value of my words and would do all the stuff that I had no desire to do, to get the word out. That’s what people do.

If you’re hoping to connect Virtuous Sinner with more readers who will laugh, nod, and maybe even heal a little through your story, I’d love to help you build a campaign that reflects your one-of-a-kind voice.

I was becoming addicted to the praise and recognition. So, later that day I sent in a PDF.

Thank you so much for sending over your book and for the trust that comes with sharing such a personal and beautifully written piece. I’ve started reading Virtuous Sinner, and your voice immediately struck me: warm, candid, and effortlessly wry. It’s the kind of memoir that doesn’t just tell a story it invites readers in to recognize their own.

What’s the worst that can happen? It’s like giving away a free book right? I actually made things pretty easy for a theft of intellectual property. A friend said this happens in the cookbook world all the time. A book written here can get hijacked (or get giddily handed over).  After a few cosmetic changes and a new author, someone in Croatia or Australia has a best seller on their hands.

In a way, I’m honored that a well versed person or AI thingy took the time to contact me directly. How cool is that? Unfortunately it means the stats for book sales for Alexandra Langstaff will remain static but the ones for Langdexter Scammith will fly through the roof. That author will end up with a big chunk of change and probably land a movie deal. 

There’s a lesson here. I know it and you know it. There’s no need to rub it in.