Tag: yoga 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.

Nothing wrong with living in a fairy tale.

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Peter has been out of town for a few nights. That doesn’t happen often so I take the opportunity to clear out clutter. I’m not going into details on what got culled, I like to see if he notices- and believe me- he will look when he returns home.

I got inspired by a friend of mine who pretends her house is going on the market. She goes around cleaning, tidying, and staging each room. “I’ve got four rooms finished and even touched up the trim with paint!”

The least I could do, after chucking two bottles of fish sauce with 2014 expiration dates, was to continue to go through old beauty products.

The 24 mini bottles of body lotion I purchased on EBay that smelled so good in a hotel  ten years ago were among the first to go.

I also tossed an assortment of brushes that would have had more use in a kindergarten art class. I’m sure they came from a makeover in NYC around 15 years ago. I wasn’t aware that you should look for an advisor with similar skin tone or whose makeup you liked.

My makeup artist was a very attractive African American man half my age. He smelled nice.

My next cosmetic advisor, Nadia, was a better choice. Because she is my friend, she wasn’t making a commission. “Try this stuff, it’s excellent!” So I did.

I looked radiant, dewy, and downright perky. The products were fantastic! It was as if I were wearing no makeup at all. I could feel the appreciative, and perhaps slightly envious looks from others.

On the fourth day I realized I’d never broken the seal, nor removed the clear protective covers on the balm, stick, or bronzer. No wonder this product felt like I was wearing nothing at all.

I was literally and figuratively wearing Puss’s boots dressed in the Emperor’s new clothes.

I sure fooled myself. I love placebos, they get me all the time. Then again, confidence comes from within.

Namaste- nude with boots? No way!

Proudly celebrating 50 years of sisters wetting their pants!

Alexandra Langstaff6 Comments

Okay, so we had a late start.

It was the summer of 1972 and Dee and I were ten and twelve respectively. We were trapped in a house of, surprisingly clean, plastic panels. It was a House of Mirrors with no mirrors. “Over here!” I called. Her look of relief didn’t last long as she ran into the invisible barrier.

I didn’t feel bad because I hadn’t intentionally misled her. No one should feel bad for her anyway, I was the one wetting my pants laughing.

Since that episode I have been more of the catalyst rather than the reactor.

As we started down the aisle at Mom and Pen’s wedding rehearsal, my Wicked Witch of the West impression made her run out of the church.

In my defense, all I did was point one toe forward and say “Are you ready to go my pretty?”

More than once she’s had to sit on towels, after I’ve ordered iced teas at McDonalds using a clever blend of foreign accents. 

So many great memories!

It’s just by chance that our 50th year would culminate in two definites and at least four really close calls over a three day period in Burlington last week.

That’s a lot of urine. 

Dee‘s best line, “Let’s ask in the restaurant if they serve anything without liquid”.

My best was anytime she said “Stop… Stop talking now…I really mean it!” (I hear that a lot from her. It’s a sure sign that I’m on to something.)

Mom intimated that making Dee lose control is a mean thing to do but she’s dead wrong on that one. It’s not like I’m tickling her. That would be abusive. 

I just can’t seem to stop talking. Although I am the first one to pull the car over or say “You can’t see a thing with my sweatshirt tied around your waist.” I appreciate her release.

Engaging Muhla Banda is really helpful in circumstances such as these. By contracting the muscles in the pelvic floor, accidents rarely happen and your energy (prana) doesn’t cascade out of you. 

Unfortunately for Dee, she had to leave me and race out of the yoga class before that got explained.

But, yogis don’t engage Muhla Banda all the time. Releasing energy is also important.

Laughter is cathartic. It cleanses the system. Tears of laughter are the most delightful and the most joyous.

Namaste- here’s to laundry day every day!

Dishwashers and Treasure Hunts

Alexandra Langstaff4 Comments

Dinner was almost over when Peter said, “Just so you know, I’m putting the knives in the dishwasher with the points up. They get cleaner that way and don’t get rust marks. I want you to be aware and careful when you are emptying the dishwasher.” 

My last sip of wine almost came out my nose. “Uh, when I empty the dishwasher?” I choked out the words.

“Well on the infrequent time, I just want you to be safe”, he answered, almost seriously. I kept laughing.

I’m not good at emptying the dishwasher, so it’s not often on my “to-do” list. I have an uncontrollable urge to put things away in different spots. It’s not like our kitchen is gigantic, but it would be nice to put things away without moving my feet.

I’m curious as to why egg cups are by the bowls and not next to the coffee cups. Who started that trend?

I’m also not sure why the soup ladle needs to go in the same place every time. It might be a good idea to mix the utensil drawers up so that we can discover things that may have been ignored or forgotten.

More often than not, when the ladle, can opener, flashlight, or some other gadget goes missing, my response to “Where did you put it?” is, “I believe it’s on your side of the bed.” At times, finding the aforementioned is like looking for buried treasure.

Whenever I’m off on an excursion for more than three days, I make a treasure hunt for Peter. I usually leave the first clue on his pillow so he gets it just before going to bed. The rule is no looking for clue #2 until the next morning, he can think about the next hiding place but no looking until the following day. The bounty at the end is often my return.

An example is “While you are watching Law and Order tomorrow night, someone is watching you.” There is a bust of my great grandmother next to the tv chair, there’s also a photo of me on the stairway wall, in clear view of said chair. Hmmm, where could the clue be? Under? Behind? (Okay, that was an easy one.)

The goal is to make sure the clues lead him around the house.

It’s my way of keeping Peter safe.

It’s a way for me to say, “I’m thinking of you”, “Be observant”, “Be comfortable looking at things differently”, “Keep your mind active.”

That’s what being safe means to me. It’s feeling cared for, being attentive, having the freedom to look at things differently, it’s giving permission to laugh.

Fear is the opposite of safety. Fear is feeling ignored, it’s a hesitancy to look beyond what is right in front of us, in case we are wrong. Fear is taking ourselves too seriously.

I end most yoga classes with a Loving-Kindness mantra “May we all be happy, healthy and safe, at ease in our bodies and at home in the world.” 

Simply stated, be safe and let go of fear.

Namaste- dishes are clean, I’m running away!

Spit it Out

Alexandra Langstaff4 Comments

My new dental hygienist asked, “Do you wear a mouth guard at night?” “Well, no…why?” I questioned. (Her inquiry seemed a bit odd. Did I have bits of rubber or plastic between my teeth?)

“I think you’re a grinder, or maybe a clencher,” she continued. “Let’s take a look at your canine teeth…no they look fine…I’d say you’re a clencher.”

Never in my life have I imagined myself a grinder or a clencher. In fact, I don’t think I’ve used those two words together in a sentence, ever.

Due to CoVid-19, my previous hygienist of 25 plus years had retired. I wanted to send her a thank-you note, for all of her emotional support. I used to be a shipwreck in the dentist chair for no particular reason.

Because of her, I no longer broke into a cold sweat worrying about annual appointments. Between her yearly compliments on how well my teeth looked and deep breathing, yoga style, I became a pretty good, calm patient. She changed my perspective on dental care. I figured the note could be forwarded to her from the business office.

When the dentist came in to inspect my current hygienist’s findings, he said, “I think we have some areas of concern. Do you floss?”

How insulting.

“Haven’t you noticed the sharp edges of this tooth? Can you see where part of the filling has fallen out?” he asked while pointing to the photograph of my tooth, that looked nothing like a tooth. (Seriously, it could have been an ultrasound of a fetus.) “Well, no”, I replied cautiously.

Am I unobservant, in denial, or just plain stupid, I asked myself.

It turned out that two 55 year old fillings had hit their expiration dates. I needed two crowns. “Do not start crying,” I said to myself.

At the end of my appointment, it was all I could do, not to write on the newly addressed thank-you note envelope, “Please come back!”

Two days later, while flossing with diligence, the last remaining part of one of the tired, old fillings flew out of my mouth. “I’m not looking for it, the maid will get it,” I said to myself. “The maid” refers to whomever picks up the vacuum cleaner first, in our house. We can safely assume a piece of metal is still around.

It turns out I am a clencher. I know because I’ve been paying attention.

I notice when I wake up in the morning, my mouth is comfortably clamped shut. It feels perfectly natural.

My new oral practice is to relax my jaw, but it’s not always easy.

During the night, when I roll over for the 19th time, I ask if I’m clenching. Yeah, but it’s an easy fix. I think about softening the position of my teeth, bore myself stiff, and fall back to sleep (ideally with closed lips so nothing flies in) but also with my jaw slightly agape. I imagine.

During conscious hours, I begin to notice the sensation of clenching during some conversations.

How do you relax clenched teeth when someone says something that makes you want to grind in agony? This is going to take some practice.

Often, in yoga classes, we are invited to let go of things that no longer serve us, things that make us grind and clench. It may be our teeth, our fists, our minds, or our hearts.

When we become aware of physical reactions and sensations, and investigate what may be causing them, we can change things we may not have been aware of in the first place.

Maybe we clench and grind rather than speak what’s on our minds. Maybe we are gnashing and gnawing on something that really isn’t that important. If it is important, then we need to spit it out.

Teeth get old, fillings get old, hygienists get younger.

Namaste- pay attention, make it go away.

Tulip Town

Alexandra Langstaff7 Comments

Mom planted lupine seeds decades ago from Maine in hopes that they would consider her flower bed in Vermont a good place to establish roots. Apparently they can be fussy. It turns out they love the homestead so much that they suggested some of their children live in the neighbor’s pasture with the donkeys. If it weren’t for the electric fence, Mom would dig those plants up and bring them back to where she thinks they belong.

Funny, when we were growing up, Mom was adamant that we be not only prepared to move out of the house when we got older, but potentially out of the town, state and possibly the country. Maybe the lupine parents felt the same.

When she offered to let me dig some up from her garden, I was honored but also a bit suspect. “They are very particular. Either they like where they live or they don’t”, she said. Oh, I get it. This is a test.

I dug up 4 small clumps to relocate them into our flower bed. Gardening is not my forte. There is no rhyme nor reason why there is a single rhubarb plant, single peony and single rose bush, nor a small patch of mint. The Lady’s Mantle and Lemon Geranium don’t know who owns the most property. I’d make a terrible city planner. Maybe I have a subconscious hope that at least something will be blooming at all times during the summer but it doesn’t really look that way, at least not yet. It’s just green.

I cleared a space and gently transplanted the delicate newcomers. I even watered them. In order to keep an eye on them, in case I forgot what they looked like, I placed wire sticks with red neon flags next to each one. We never had an invincible dog fence so I can only assume I saved the flags from when CVPS was marking the electricity line. Even that theory is a little odd because the line was put down about 25 years ago and I have about 50 of them. A better theory is that they just appeared by magic.

Once finished, I took the weeds that were downsized and moved them to a condo in the compost pile on the other side of the house. When I returned-literally 2 minutes later- I saw the most beautiful flowers shimmering in the late afternoon sun.

“Oh my gosh! Tulips!” You may recall that tulips are not listed above. The 5 seconds of appreciation and joy was visceral. At 6 seconds I realized the tulips were the newly placed neon flags.

As a reader you may think that I was overcome with embarrassment or worry at my mental (in)capacities, but far from it. I was grateful for a moment of spontaneous joy derived from my own stupidity.

We perceive things through or senses, how our minds react to the information has a lot to do with how we move through life. To some, a wire stick furling a day-glo flag may be an eyesore especially when in contrast to something else. For others it’s just pure color.

Our perceptions are what keep the mind active. The active mind then categorizes the situation and responds or reacts. Things are good/bad, pretty/ugly, unpleasant/pleasant, the worst/the best. That’s what the mind does. It tries to simplify what we think we know, even when the grey area may be the most important. Atman, our true self, sees no distinction between dualities. It accepts things as they are. If we begin to notice how our minds jump to conclusions, we may be better equipped to pause and appreciate what’s in front of us more calmly. Calmness should be right up there with cool outfits as a reason to practice yoga.

Four days later the lupine are still perky. If they decide not to stay and opt for a better neighborhood in the compost pile, I’m okay with that. I know I have some rolls of different colored surveyors tape somewhere. A garden of multi-colored flags could be spectacular, a real no fuss garden.

Namaste- neon tulips are okay!

Blue Bloods

Alexandra Langstaff4 Comments

Peter and I have been catching up on the series “Blue Bloods”. It’s fun to see how often we say, to the hot-headed Detective Reagan, “Awwww Danny.”

“I have such a busy day tomorrow”, I said, keeping my eyes peeled to the TV.

“Wait. What?” Peter’s astonished response was very satisfying, (Thank you Lord for allowing me yet another successful dead pan delivery.)

“Kidding. I just miss saying that.”

It’s just about a month now that we’ve been here together 24/7. Make that 22/7. We spend about two hours apart each day. One of us is looking for porcupines and the other is trying to find the daggone leak in the roof.

I do miss making detailed lists for the days ahead. I have a crazy fantastic schedule…had.

I teach…taught…Aerial, Yin, Vinyasa, privates, exercise, dance and classes for kids. Every day something different. I have a calendar on my phone and by the phone. It takes organization to keep track of who, what, where, when, and how I’m teaching. Add to that my regular life duties including crossword puzzles, reading, writing, knitting and day dreaming: Busy, busy, busy.

Lists are essential so that the pieces of my life are jostled carefully, ensuring that nothing and no one gets short changed. Least of all, me.

These days my lists are different. Daily lists give way to an ongoing one.

* Make a better face mask, preferably one that doesn’t make my ears stick out.

* Find the necklace that was choking me in class six months ago.

* Clear out desk drawers. Do I really need four packages of blank CD-ROMs?

* Develop a porcupine yoga sequence for prickly adults.

* Go through photos. Maybe before and after haircut shots through the years should have their own album.

*Take wheels off my scooter and use them to replace the cheap plastic ones on my grocery bag cart. Then use the friggin cart.

* Check eBay and see if anyone’s buying vintage trophies for first place in the lead line class at the Bull Head Pond Horse Show in 1964.

Actually, I am kind of busy, but it’s different. The schedule isn’t as strict or mandatory. Taking care of the animals and watering the kale seedlings is about it.

I’ve been given the gift of time, the opportunity to contemplate what is making me feel anxious, impatient, sad or irritable.

How do I react when I don’t hear from family or friends, when Peter says “Dinner might be a bit later than planned”, when I think of those who are missing out on society’s major milestones, or when I realize that vacuum cleaners were made for a reason?

I’ve been given the opportunity to investigate my emotions, and to challenge myself to react and respond differently. What’s really important here? What is urgent? Urgency is slowly giving way to calmness, patience, compassion and understanding.

Like yoga, it is and it takes, practice.

The other night I had ridiculous dreams. Each time I woke, I sang silently Mary Magdalenes’ song from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Jesus Christ, Superstar”:

“Try not to get worried, try not to turn on to

problems that upset you, oh,

Don’t you know

Everything’s alright, yes everything’s fine.

And we want you to sleep well tonight,

Let the world turn without you tonight.

If we try, we’ll get by, so forget all about us tonight.”

Make a list of things that you can take care of eventually. Make a list of things that you can’t do anything about. Note how you feel, how you react. Is it possible to let the world turn without you tonight?

If anyone should sing that song, it’s Danny Reagan. Talk about being anxious, impatient, sad and irritable.

Namaste- let’s try and stay calm today.

A Prickle of Porcupines

Alexandra Langstaff2 Comments

I’ve been watching this porky for two weeks now. It moves from branch to branch in a fir tree just down from the house. Last year I saw a prickle of porcupines (that’s what a group of them is called). Then again I never saw them all together. It could have been the same one. It’s kind of hard to tell them apart.

It’s a little bigger than a basketball balanced on slim branches. Big old tubby, without a care in the world. Calmly eating, moving, sleeping, and watching. When the wind is strong, it gets bigger, almost the size of 2 basketballs. The breezes lift up its quills. When the breeze stops, they settle softly against its back.

Baby porcupines are called porcupettes. They are born with soft quills (fortunately) that harden within days. After 4 months or so, they head off on their own. Porcupines are happily solitary animals. They do what they need to do and that’s that.

Animal symbolists describe porcupines that appear in life or in dreams, as signs to inspire us to face our weaknesses and vulnerabilities head-on. We then do what we can to protect ourselves from anything or anyone that wishes us harm.

First we ward off potential threats with warning sounds by rattling our quills. Just a reminder that we aren’t aggressive. Then we puff up, doubling our size as a visual cue that we aren’t going to be shoved around. Finally, when all else fails we run sideways or backwards into our tormentors. Maybe we don’t want to see the effects.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that perceived threats are just that. Thoughts, comments, or actions that aren’t meant to harm. There is just something in the air and it will pass. Down with the quills.

Porcupines also prompt us to rediscover the joy and innocence of childhood, remembering the days when our quills were soft. We are encouraged to leave the chaos and turmoil of our adult worlds and to honor our internal playful sprit.

Perhaps by sitting in a tree, calmly watching the world go by, repeating a mantra like “Polly porcupine and her prickle of porcupettes patiently picked through the prickers” will help.

At this time, many of us are living the solitary life of a porcupine. It’s an opportunity to practice equanimity.

“Equanimity is not insensitivity, indifference, or apathy. It is simply nonpreferential. Under its influence, one does not push aside the things one dislikes or grasp at the things one prefers. The mind rests in an attitude of balance and acceptance of things as they are.”

—Sayadaw U Pandita, “A Perfect Balance”

Picture yourself resting on a tree limb. Observe how you feel, your surroundings, the woman constantly taking your photo. Shake your quills if you think it’s necessary, then relax.

Namaste- this porcupette’s climbing a tree today.

The Elephant in the Room

Alexandra Langstaff2 Comments

There’s an old story about 5 blind men who have no idea what an elephant is, until they are given the opportunity to explore, one by one.

The first feels its tail and reports back, “It’s nothing but a rope”.

The second feels a leg and says, “No you idiot, it’s a tree”.

Third man feels the ear, “What are you thinking, it’s a fan”.

Fourth feels its side and says, “Oh for Pete’s sake, it’s a wall”.

The fifth feels the trunk and says, “What are you all, blind?! It’s a snake”.

What we believe to be true is made up by our experiences and perceptions. Often we don’t appreciate the thoughts or opinions of others because, we feel we know what is true and real, even when some of our senses are hindered.

Dee and I often wonder how people describe us, especially after we’ve made a comment like, “She’s so nice” or “He’s a dope”, about someone else.

“I wonder if anyone thinks I’m nice… or sweet?”, she asks.

“Do you mean as in a sweet old lady? It’s not like you bake or anything”, I reply.

“Christie does think you’re funny though”, I add to be kind.

“Well, Diane said someone called me aloof. Is that a good thing?”

“Probably better than a know-it-all. Do you ever have those times where everyone is talking but you? Do people think I’m a good listener or just stupid?”, I ask somewhat rhetorically, which is my wont.

Being sisters, we can, tirelessly, have this same conversation at least every 6 weeks and never really come to any conclusion.

It’s interesting to wonder how we could be described by others. Chances are the descriptions would be based on the way they know us, as family members, friends, co-workers, students, opponents, teachers, parents, or partners.

“The whole is greater than a sum of its parts” is often, incorrectly, attributed to Aristotle. He wrote something similar but more complicated. None-the-less, the simplified version makes for a nice bumper sticker.

We are all multifaceted and sometimes it takes a while for the big picture to emerge. Letting go of the pieces we believe to be true about a person or a situation can be enlightening.

Sometimes I feel like I’m waiting for everyone to get it together and see that I’m not just the ass end of an elephant. “Would you let go of my damn tail and check out my ears? They listen. And the wall you think you feel is just a thin layer of skin making sure my innards don’t fall out.”

I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.

Perhaps the solution comes by patiently paying attention to ourselves just a little bit more. Notice a consistency or lack there of, in thoughts, words and deeds, in all situations. When we shed light on the truth in ourselves, it’s easier to find it in others, no matter what the relationship.

Then there’s this:

Five blind elephants were discussing what a man was. They plainly had no idea. One day they decided to investigate.

The first elephant went into a tent where a man was reported to be. When she came out she said, “Men are flat”.

The other four went in and after they came out they said, “Yes, you were right”.

Give it a minute.

Namaste- move that blindfold out of the way.

Word Salad

Alexandra Langstaff4 Comments

I thought I had a book in me ready to print until this past week at the Institute for a Whole Bunch of Cool Things in Rhinebeck, NY. About 35 of us sat with the book we were born to write on our laptops, in spiral notebooks and binders.

There are educators, entrepreneurs, parents, preachers, therapists, teachers, life coaches, life savers, strivers, survivors, even a couple of lawyers.

People from every walk of life, with all kinds of stories, baggage, dreams, and hopes gathered together in an attempt to help transform lives.

How often does this happen?

Wait, what am I saying? This happens in the yoga studio all the time. Classes are filled with individuals on journeys hoping to change themselves and ideally the world at large.

Maybe change isn’t the right word. Understand? Expose? Enjoy? Accept?

How hard could it be to write a book to assist in this transformation?

Sure is a lot harder than I thought.

I found out I don’t know much about putting a book together. Don’t get me wrong, I understand basic rules of grammar and sentence structure but; developing a hook, crafting a book proposal, establishing a platform, these are all things that are so jumbled together now that I can barely remember my middle name.

It gets worse with this simple question:

“What is your book about in three sentences?” Now I’m f*cked.

It turns out I don’t know much about anything these days, much less what I’m writing about. I’m not sure I can explain the difference between yoga and yodeling.

The only way I can describe my new vegetative state is by the phrase “Word Salad”, a somewhat disorganized string of incoherent ideas.

Yoga, kids, creativity, teaching, dancing, telling stories, humor, sins, virtues, acceptance?

I pride myself on tossing together some pretty good salads but there is little chance Panera will put them on the menu.

Before anyone thinks I’m upset, in a funk, depressed or miserable, fear not.

Three years ago, I’d have been so discouraged I’d have skipped the tenth vegetarian buffet at the workshop and gone out for a burger and a Bud.

This time I stayed put.

This is where I am in my writing career, right here, right now.

Breath in. Breath out.

People spend years putting together recipes for restaurants and cook books. They know kitchen tricks that a lot of us don’t. It’s their profession, bailiwick, forté.

Just because I want to join in their professional circles doesn’t necessarily mean it will happen when I want it to happen.

We have to know what we don’t know first. Then we get back to work, measuring, mixing, adding, whisking, beating and learning.

Acceptance of where we are right now, is the bowl holding all of the ingredients. Let the feelings of inadequacy or disappointment hang around until the meal is over and then toss what’s left into the compost.

Learn from the aromas and flavors around us. Good or bad, they don’t linger long.

Namaste- it’s okay, time to play, it’s not a bad day, thoughts ricochet, come what may, just might end up with a book someday!