Finally, a decent iris picture. I took this Monday morning. It is getting crowded on the flower clock with, early lilies, columbine, fox gloves and roses coming on.
Diego is doing well, and he has even put on a little weight. It is a relief after the difficulty I had getting him stable during the winter. He still has difficult days, but he is having good quality of life, and I am doing a lot less laundry. He’s going in for a vet visit at the end of next week and I get to go in with him.
Mostly I love living alone and am grateful I have the resources to do it. I can head down all kinds of rabbit holes, creatively, yoga teacher wise, just plain interest wise. I can eat what and when I want and don’t need to plan meals or do laundry or clean up after anyone else.
The downside, though, is when something deeply, cosmically, disturbing happens like the massacre of children in their elementary school I don’t have anyone to process it with.
I felt bad this morning when one of my students, who has recently left a 43-year marriage and is on her own for the first time ever, and is fragile, told me she didn’t consume any news after I mentioned the above fact.
We didn’t talk about the shooting after that.
I reached out to Mrs. Sherlock yesterday to ask if she wanted to schedule a time to Zoom and talk about her strength training practice as it has been a month and hours later, she did respond saying that May had been crazy busy and giving me a date next week. So that is good.
Her ability to travel and do the things she wants has been curtailed by Covid and my guess is that as things open up, she jumped in with both feet, not aware of the change and how it might affect those who rode the pandemic out with her.
Unlike most people that I know, over the many years I have known her, I can talk to her about current events. The good and the bad. That is why we joined The League of Women Voters together. It isn’t just me she has drifted away from. She is not doing League stuff either.
That makes me so grateful that our discussion group leader joined my classes, so I have that connection to the League. She was telling us this morning that she was playing in an over 65 doubles tennis tournament today and that her partner and the woman organizing the thing were taking it way too seriously.
The guy that facilitates our weekly Yoga Teachers Calls got Covid. He’s okay, the whole family got it. And like everyone I have heard that has had it, it is rough to go through but then it is over. At least for 4 out of 5 of us.
My favorite teacher, (I am taking a live class with him later today on shoulders) is putting together a course for the Fall on Long Covid and autoimmune conditions in general. He says that we are in the third wave of yoga here in the West as we move out of the pandemic. One that is way more sensitive to how we can ground, soothe, and regulate our systems and one less focused on fitness or image.
Works for me.
The book group this Sunday is doing a Zoom reading of Song of Myself by Walt Whitman. Not my favorite poem but it has its moments. I like the way it describes life in the mid 1850’s, the time most the buildings that surround me were put up.
He revised it periodically for 30 years and I am not sure which version we are reading. The cool thing about the book group is practically everyone that attends has a poetry or theater background so the reading will be excellent. I am trying to get through it before we tackle it together. It has that transcendental vibe.
A transcendental vibe that appeals to old White men in my age cohort.
Which takes me back to how glad I am that I live alone.
Even if all the chickens in the cruel, violent, rapacious, way this land was settled by our ancestors are now coming home to roost.
Last updated May 25, 2022