You Don't Have to Look Like a Willow, to BE a Willow

DeeBee suggested we go to yoga the other night. Um, this is not my usual routine. Every weekday night, I can be found cleaning dishes, yelling at someone to finish their homework, listening for signs of drowning in the bathtub AND planning lunches for the next day. But, I hadn't done yoga in a year and I try to never miss an opportunity to hang out with my DeeBee.

Tommy walks in and I'm in full throttle speed-clean mode. Telling him over, and over and over, "You know, I have to meet D for yoga at 7." Patiently, he says, over and over "Yes. I know. " Job didn't have as much patience as my husband, I swear.

I get there early. It's packed -- and no sign of Deebee. All the good spots in the back are taken. Dejectedly I walk to the front, pleading with my eyes for someone to make room for me. I take my place within a fingers length of the instructor, next to a willow. In fact, everyone up there was doing "warm up" poses or serenly siting in lotus pose, reflecting. D walks in and the instructor helps push people apart in the back of the room. DANG IT!!

I have been doing a tremendous amount of pilates, so I know I'm pretty flexible. But, it has been at least a year since taking a yoga class... butterflies. We get under way, and I'm not embarrassing myself too badly. I remember all the names of the poses. I'm liking the instructor. I haven't fallen on anyone. This is alright, I can relax now.

About 45 minutes into the session, we are doing some final leg poses. Deep runner's lunges and the like. Then she says, "And if you feel like it, maybe you could move into Monkey Pose." This confuses me, so I have to look. "Oh, I bet I could do that." Before I know it, I'm in the splits. I'M IN THE SSSSSS-Puh-LLLLL-LITZ!!! And, I'm 40!! If the instructor would have said, "And if you feel like it, maybe you could move into the splits." I'd have said, "Hell No!!." She threw me off with the whole Monkey Pose business. Oh, what I wouldn't have given for a picture of my face when I plopped down into the splits. It wasn't a oh-I'm-4-inches- off-the-ground-let-me-push-myself-down kind of split. It was a I'm-freakin-Nadia-Comaneci kind of split. The entire time I was yelling inside my head, "I'm doing the splits! Holy crap, I'm doing the splits! And it doesn't hurt, does it?, no it doesn't hurt."

After class, Deebee was praising me. She asked me if it hurt. I told her that shockingly it did not. Then added, maybe she could ask me in the morning. You know, when I have huge bags of ice duct taped to my thighs and I am unable to walk.

Good Ole Fashioned Snow Storm

Spit. Spit. Sputter. Sputter. This describes the snow storm swirling outside my window. If you squint your eyes and look sideways, you may see some snowflakes. Maybe.

As is every year, we wait in baited breath.. will they or won't they cancel school? Normally, our northeastern bred principal keeps school open no matter what!! She is usually unmoved by the tradition of following the Catholic High School's lead. But, I think eight and half months of pregnancy have her seeing things in a different light. Who wouldn't?

Normally, I like snow days. Tom rushed to the hardware store and elbowed his way to the sleds. We are stocked up on hot chocolate, marshmallow, cereal, bread, and milk. In my case, I am desperate for any reason to use the ski clothes. The problem is, there isn't any snow. Not even enough to cover the grass. Witness our illustrious snow angel. And our pitiful attempt at sledding.

No other family in the Southeastern United States has tried more diligently than us to find proper snow. Some may say, too hard. Enough, I say.

sssshhhh. I'm giving reverse psychology a try.

Tee Vee

We have a snow day, a snow day, a snow day. Alas! There isn't any snow. Just the THREAT of snow. Only in Tennessee is this possible. Well, and possibly in Misery-sippi.

Hey! Television stations! If you need to save some money, then fire your weather departments. I could really live without their tap-dancing, cheerleading, tarot reading routine every time a dark cloud aligns itself over the state. Just a 20 second blurb showing the daily & 5 day forecast. A la "local-on-the-8's" style on the weather channel.

I know this may come as a shock to some of you in the television industry but times are changing. audible gasping here. Your industry may need to look past the boomers and turn towards the next generation. The local newscast has had the same format since, oh, I don't know, 1950. Opening remarks, national news bits/ politics, commercial. Deaths/ Robberies/ local child abduction, tease of upcoming weather, commercial. Weather, dancing, dancing, dancing, jokes with the anchor, commercial. Finally, local stories that, if lucky, have some connection to national news story (resident had a 3rd cousin who narrowly missed Christmas Day/Detroit flight), tease to watch at 10... commercial.

YAWN. No wonder people go to the internet for news.

The Resolution-ists

Why is it that I'm shocked at the amount of people at the Y at the beginning of the year? I get that everyone is gung-ho to better themselves. I get it. Two years ago, I was one of these people. Plan A: waking at 4:30 (!!) so I could get there first thing, work out, come home wake the kids and begin my day. My thought was if I do it first, then nothing will prevent me from going later. Okay, that didn't last long... since, I don't remember driving to the Y that early and I nearly ran over a "boot camper" one dark morning. Plan B: I started going after dropping everyone at school. Banning myself from going home first, because I would always get sucked into house work. So, I work out along with all the mommies and retirees.

Now that I've been at it a few years, I also get that there are some who wait until the "resolution-ists" give up sometime around Valentine's Day. My dad, who has been going to the Y for around 30 years, turned me on to the term "resolution-ists". Some veteran Y members prefer to wait out the crowded period between January 1st and Valentine's Day. Confident their perfectly honed muscles will not atrophy or sag during that 6 week period. I am not one of those people.

I am in entirely different group. I LOVE seeing new people at the Y! I secretly cheer on those people who are staring at the elliptical, like "What-the-hell-have-I-gotten-myself-into"?! I'm screaming inside for someone to ask me, "How do you work this machine?"

I have been sending positive energy/love to a woman resolutionist, who this past year began swimming. She was very large. And I've been there... so fat that I thought I needed surgery for my hips, knees and back. I've had that hot, sick, empty feeling in my stomach. Standing in that bathing suit determined that if this is all I can do because everything else I do hurts, then I was going to do it. Every day she came. She got in that pool and she stayed for 45 MINUTES. At first she just did flutter kicks the whole time. She gradually moved up to flutter kicks and back stroke. After a few weeks, she moved on to freestyle. Surely she wasn't aware that I was up in the workout area that overlooks the pool cheering her on. The other day, I saw her in the woman's only area doing circuit training. And I couldn't believe her progress!! I wanted to to confess my stealth cheerleading. Telling her, "You're a true inspiration." But, I didn't. I just smiled.

Two years ago, I was sitting on the couch crying and depressed. I was so tired of being fat. I remember asking Tom. "Should I go to therapy, again?" And he looked and knelt beside me and said, "I think you should spend that money you would spend on therapy and hire a personal trainer." I did. I made a $1000 investment in myself . I hired a personal trainer and joined LA Weight Loss. I felt so guilty about the money. But, Tom told me to keep telling myself, "You're worth it."

And if you are on that couch, crying and depressed... you're worth it, too.

Maggie Valley, The less said the better

This image sums up my feeling of our ski trip. Here I sit in the bowels of a deserted employee dining area, nervously gnawing on something (glasses, fingernails, hair, &c), willing Jack's snowboard class to be finished. I think I aged 5 years that day. And I haven't stopped eating since.

I will concede to being woefully unprepared for that day's events. I will concede that, perhaps, unseen forces were at work pushing me emotionally to my very limit. And I will admit, I was over my head. Gasp.

At the very least, Cataloochee Ski Area in Maggie Valley, NC is experiencing some MAJOR growing pains. In their defense, I learned: 1) it was the busiest day of the season and 2) a ski lift that carts the ski instructors/employees from their cabins to the ski area had burned to the ground that very morning (lucky me). From what I could see, if you need a job... move to Maggie Valley. They could use about 100 more employees in the ski park alone. There were 3 horrendous lines you had to maneuver to get you to the point of skiing. The first line was to buy your lift tickets (2 hour wait). Next, a separate line which precariously mixed with the lift ticket line to get your boots (45 minute wait). And finally, a third line for your ski/snowboards (30 minute wait). You can do the math, I don't like to remember.. it was horrid. All the lockers had been long rented out, even the ones newly made with plywood. There were bags, boots, clothes, food... ALL over the place. Alas, through all of this... the employees, haggard as they may have been, were.. lovely.

All eating areas in the "lodge" (probably about half the size it needs to be) and outside were cash only. Let me repeat, CASH ONLY!! With nary an ATM in sight. So, if you have only read the website and think yourself as prepared, bring cash... lots and lots of cash. But don't

count on the ability keep it safe in a locker. At some point, I was crying to the ski school director because the girls had spotted a bag of doritos and wouldn't budge until I bought them (with cash that I didn't have). Gentle, blessed soul, he bought them for us. With orange mouths and fingers, the girls abruptly dislodged themselves from their snowbanks. Amazed he said, "Wow. Doritos are magic. Maybe I should get a bag for myself!"

I was able to find Jack and watch him shred the mountain on his snowboard. He had a wonderful time and was none the wiser about the doritos debacle. The girls did have their boots on briefly, but skiing wasn't in the cards for them. Maybe next time.

I will say, Jack and I went early the next day. It was absolutely wonderful. It wasn't nearly as crowded, even as we approached the "rush" hour. We went down a green trail.. laughing and ribbing each others technique. I was amazed that my old body remembered how to ski. All was well, until Jack undercut some guy standing in the middle of the trail blabbing to his friends. The guy's feet were totally knocked out from under him and he landed right on Jack's chest. Nothing broken, but... I'm gonna leave it here. I'm spent.

I think we are really more sand & surf type people. Judging by Hays's numerous goodbyes to the mountain as we left.