Posts Tagged ‘Easter’

Foiled By The Holiday

March 28, 2016

I rode my scooter up to the gates of the church to realize they were barred shut.

No doing that deal tonight.

Oh well.

I came home and did some more school work.

I just finished my third posting for my Applied Spirituality class and I did the rest of the reading I needed to do for my Therapeutic Relationship class.

I got a lot done today despite not feeling like I got a lot done.

I slept in for one.

Although I did still make it to yoga class.

I just decided to do a later morning class than I would typically.

I knew I needed to rest.

It’s been two weeks since I manifest the cold I have had, it’s last hooks seem to be easing up and though there was a brief moment of coughing on my mat–not literally, hello–I feel like I’m finally through the damn thing.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to push myself unnecessarily when I didn’t need to.

I normally meet with a lady at a certain point in my day and that was cancelled for Easter egg hunts and bunnies in Marin.

Totally respect that.

So.

Sleeping in for me, a later yoga class, and a later start to my day.

Which feels like it has sort of passed in a blur of children’s laughter–there was an Easter egg hunt in the back yard this afternoon for my housemates daughter and friends in the neighborhood and soft soreness from my yoga exertions this morning.

Plus, all the reading I did, so much reading, I do feel a tiny bit fuzzy with it.

And a softening in myself for the work of it all.

Yoga is work.

School is work.

Recovery is definitely work.

But the payoffs.

So good.

So much God.

So much love.

I also know to balance that too and when I didn’t need to do extra to not do extra.

I had an idea that I might make an extra run to the grocery store, but I was pretty mellow in my home and habits today and the effort of the yoga class sort of took out my juju to do a lot more.

As though, let me acknowledge to myself, I didn’t do anything, because that’s not true either.

I did laundry and I went to the market up the street and I cooked all my food for the week and I ate really well–someone in the neighborhood left out a box of free Meyer lemons from their tree, hello homemade lemon hummus–and I put clean sheets on my bed, I did all sort of reading, aforementioned, for school, I showered and wrote my morning pages–three long hand in my last notebook from Paris, the one from the Palais de Tokyo (stopping briefly to accept the wash of light blue tinged sorrow that comes over me when I think of that trip, still the soft bereft girl in me lingers there, in the pages of the notebooks I bought and brought back), I gassed up my scooter for the week, and I also had a tech call with Apple Care.

Which did not actually fix the issue and I’m going to have to call back and reschedule some more help.

The guy got me half way there, and it was going to take some time to move all my photos, 10,810 of them, to the external hard drive.

But for some reason it did not seem to take and I am still stuck with a lap top that is constantly telling me that it is has a full disc drive.

So.

Back to the drawing board there.

But.

Really.

A full day.

A reflective day, a quiet day, a day not quite of repose, but one in which I spent most of it reading from my chaise lounge, watching the light change on the surface of the page as the day melted away down towards dusk and sunset.

The ticking clock in motion.

The melancholic moment of day end and the awareness of all things done.

And not done, but mostly done.

I thought I might get around to writing one of my papers for the next weekend of school, but after all the reading, I didn’t have the gumption in me.

I think I spent all my gumption at the yoga studio.

I also had a really interesting experience.

Aside from falling over when I tried to do a side plank and also, exhorting, “oh my god,” when we did a pose that was to help do an IT band stretch.

At least the instructor chuckled with me.

She also helped me understand something new about my person and my experience with myself and my intuition.

My third eye, specifically.

She kept exhorting the class to soften that space between the brows, to ease into the poses and sometimes I could, but mostly, the spot between my eyes was furrowed in concentration.

Later.

Well, hmm, later I began to speculate that perhaps it wasn’t furrowed because I was trying so hard to do something, but rather that I was trying so hard to not allow myself to see.

To, in effect, utilize my third eye.

I have a deep pool of intuition and love and inner clairvoyance that I have not ever really allowed or encouraged myself to see or use.

It is strong enough that it comes through often to me none the less, intuition, gut response, a pricking of the thumbs, etc.

However.

I had this image of a large dragon eye, opening and closing, then falling asleep.

Rather like Smaug in The Hobbit, he sleeps, but knows that there is a mischief about.

A thief.

Bilbo with the ring poking through the treasure.

But the eye is closed, glued shut, sticky with sleep crumbs and gluttonous logic.

How could there be anyone there?

No.

Slumber on, but with brow furrowed, eye closed against the whispers of something is up.

The instructor during our final resting pose came to me as I lie on my back, eyes closed, heart furrowed against further insights, I had just finished a strenuous pose and felt opened to more sorrow and tears were on my face, and sweat.

Goodness.

I broke a sweat today.

Anyway.

As I lay there she gently approached, squatted down and placed a small amount of ointment into the nook of my left shoulder and rubbed a tight knot of muscle there I did not even realize needed relief.

Then.

She dotted the space between my eyes and rubbed the spot until it relaxed and opened.

I felt like that sleepy dragon.

I felt that eye open and look about.

It feels dangerous.

And amazing.

Then I cried some more.

Good grief.

I did not know, thank God my person did, how much sadness and anger needed to be shed out of my body.

It feels amazing.

And tiring too.

It was a lot of work to show up on that mat today and I am grateful for the body that did the work and the mind that finally got the hell out of the way.

And for that opening eye.

I am nervous to see what visions it brings.

But enthralled with it too.

Life.

It keeps getting richer.

I just have to keep taking the suggestions.

Grateful I didn’t balk too long at the yoga one.

Grateful I show up.

Just grateful for it all.

Third eye open.

Blind.

No longer.

All the Bunnies Go Boom*

April 16, 2014

I mean, what else would all the bunnies do?

I am betwixt a rock and an Easter basket.

I just realized, even though I sort of knew, that this Sunday is Easter.

Not got a plan for that one.

I could re-enact a great scene or seven from my child hood wherein I hide my Easter basket in a hideously hard place to find it, then torment myself for not being able to find it, then eat all the chocolate in it when, in tears I finally locate the fucking thing.

Thanks mom for many memories of Easter trauma.

Not too closely followed thereafter by fond memories of being in kindergarten and having mom break the news that there is no Santa Claus.

I had already suspected, but my younger sister was abjectly heartbroken.

To give my mom some credit she was just trying to ease the pain of us watching our cousin, whom we happened to live with at the time, opening the largess of Christmas from the mom and the recently separated dad, pending a divorce, both parents had gone over the top for their solo offsprings affection.

Nothing says good times like having just turned six the week before, don’t remember at all if I did get a birthday present that year, and then watching my cousin rip into her presents on Christmas morning.

I can even remember the dingy fawn colored carpeting of the steps that my sister and I sat on that ascended from the living room to the upstairs bedrooms.

Bedrooms I did not have access to either.

My room was a mattress in the basement.

We didn’t have a lot as kids.

Mom had a room that she must have shared with my sister, my aunt had her own room and my cousin had, of course, her own domicile, which was smashed with Barbie’s and Barbie corvettes and Barbie Dream Houses and Barbie shoes, and more crap all Barbie.

And the gigantic, SOLID chocolate Easter bunny she had won at the Easter egg hunt in Warner park that Spring.

My sister and I got to sit and watch that too.

The torture of a child eating chocolate in front of two other little kids who don’t have any is horrid.

Watching my cousin savor that chocolate for over a week drove me to distraction and I think my sister to tears more than once.

If life was fair my sister and I would have found that god damn chocolate egg with the congratulations you won the whole damn egg hunt before it even started.

I mean.

She really did.

My cousin that is.

We walked out into the field, had just barely begun, wasn’t more than a minute, children flocking all around, scrambling to burrow through the bushes, it was cold, not snowing, but frosty, and grey overcast (if it doesn’t snow around Easter there’s something wrong, it typically does, the weather gets all cheeky, then either the weekend before or the week of Easter, it snows, at least according to my memory), my cousin hadn’t walked more than five feet when she bent over and plucked the plastic egg from the grass.

The winning egg.

Repeat sad face of Christmas when my sister and I watched from the stairs.

I think my sister might have won a little prize too, maybe a package of dusty yellow peeps, that were promptly eaten in the car on the way home, while my cousin sat proper and straight holding the biggest chocolate bunny in the world in her lap.

She didn’t even unwrap the thing.

The willpower.

Not something I have ever been able to muster.

Surrender.

Oh yes.

But willpower, like that?

No.

The fact that she eked out eating that bunny for over a week still amazes me.

My basket, little chocolate bunny, not a solid one, mind you, a few smatterings of jelly beans (hate jelly beans, never liked them, gross candy along with licorice) and I think one Cadbury egg cream.

I loved Cadbury eggs.

Gimme!

My sister’s basket might have lasted into the next day.

Needless to say, Easter in my house was never that much fun, although, my mom, in hindsight really fucking tried.

We always dyed Easter eggs.

With Paas Easter Egg coloring kits.

With the little wire egg holder and the little paper cut outs of bunnies and chicks.

I can remember the smell of the vinegar that my mom would mix with the Easter egg dye.

And then dipping the eggs and making stripes.

The eggs drying in the kitchen.

And then after we went to bed, my mom would hide the eggs.

Easter morning the hunt was on.

For the Easter baskets of course, but also for the eggs, and inevitably, I mean every year, one would not turn up.

Until weeks later.

And you knew where it was from the smell of it.

Whew.

My sister and I never ate the eggs.

Only mom.

I remember watching her peel an egg with a very satisfied expression on her face, the shell crackling down as she rolled it along the table top, then the shells falling away and the egg emerging a gray, brown, weird red or blue-green, from the dye soaking through the shell, and then she would put salt and a little pepper on it and eat it with the most smug look on her face.

It smelled awful.

Funny how much I like a good boiled egg now.

Not so much then.

It grossed me out.

I liked the hunt.

The adventure of finding was more appealing than the actual reward that was given, if any.

I don’t think we got more candy for finding the eggs, it was just the finding of the eggs.

And the basket.

I usually found my sister’s first, and would grouse about how easy my mom had hidden it.

Please, mom, in the oven, again?

Then I would become more and more morose as my own failed to appear and my sister happily gnawed on peeps.

Also an absurd candy that icks me out.

I don’t recall this, but according to family legend one year I found both my sister and my Easter baskets before anyone else was up and I ate all the candy in both.

Oops.

So, mom always made a point of hiding mine in the most challenging of spots.

The year my cousin won her foot high solid chocolate Easter bunny I had almost given up, it had taken hours and I still had not found it.

Only when I went digging for my mittens in the wicker hamper holding all the scarves and mittens and hats, did I find it.

Remember, Easter’s cold in Wisconsin.

I need my mittens to go out and I couldn’t find both, so I dug to the bottom, nearly toppling over the hamper, when my fingers grazed the handle of the basket.

At last!

Finally.

I burst into tears.

My mom and my aunt smoking cigarettes and drinking instant coffee in the kitchen laughed out loud at my cries of relief.

I could let go Santa, but I was having a hard time letting go the Easter Bunny.

I don’t have any plans to go hunting through the grass this weekend.

But maybe I will go out and get myself a little Easter gift.

Perhaps a new bonnet.

We used to get one of those too.

That was the best part for me, the new Easter hat my sister and I always got.

That’s what I remember the most.

My sister with her long dark hair in ring curls topped with a straw boater hat that had a black ribbon around it tied into a bow–the ends of the bow draped over the back of the hat and moved with it when she shook her head, and she was dressed in a white sailor dress with a navy ribbon square lined collar,  lace ankle socks and patent leather mary janes finished the look.

That’s my best Easter memory.

Getting ready to go to Easter Sunday dinner at my grandparents house in Lodi and my sister in her Easter bonnet rig.

And despite the poverty of it, looking back, it was exactly what it was supposed to be.

I had a perfect childhood, give or take a chocolate bunny, given enough time and perspective.

It was indeed a grand life.

*No rabbits, chocolate or otherwise, were harmed in the writing of this blog.*

 

Round Two

April 9, 2012

Argh.

I am writing a whole new blog.  Fucking Christ.

I had just written my blog.

I am going to whine about this for a minute, then get over it.

One thousand word post about the fabulousness of Easter in San Francisco at Dolores Park for Hunky Jesus and the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence all gone.

Boo.

I don’t understand new media apparently.  This is the second time that I have had this issue with Word Press.  I go to insert an image into my blog–basically a picture and I lose all the text that I wrote to accompany the pictures.  I am not a tech savvy giant–witness that fact that my picture for my gravatar was side ways for months as I could not figure out how to rotate the picture.

Sigh.

Ok, round two.

Synopsis of blog.  Easter, blah, blah, blah.  San Francisco is super cool to live in, Hunky Jesus, Easter Bonnets, pink, eggs, fertility, Jesus is gay, punch line.

Ahem.

Now I get to start all over again.

Oh well, at least my hard drive hasn’t punked out.  At least I type quickly.  The problem is that I don’t feel like re-writing the entire blog post that I just did.  I used it all up.  It was a good blog too.  Kevin in his Easter finest, an Ostrich cape.  His wife Beth, my newest new girl friend from Hawaii, a blanket, the San Francisco sky line, the craziness of being the park with half the city.

Memories of previous Easters and family.  Conversation with my mom.  The worst Easter egg hunt ever.  The one where mom forgot to note where all the eggs were hidden.  Man, did we find out about a week and a half later.

The idiocy of my own hormonal nature, spring, fertility, posting up a new OkCupid profile.

Sigh.

Yes, you read that right.  I did open up a new OkCupid profile.  I don’t know what came over me.  The recent full moon, the spring time ness in the air.  Hormones.

Most likely hormones.

Actually, I had a good self-pity moment in the park with Beth, then realized, oh duh, hormones.  I have a tendency to forget that I have them.  I haven’t had my period since I lost so much weight.  I guess that it some times happens and maybe I will get it back, but frankly, I don’t miss it at all.

I do, however, forget that I get emotional around the same time and I get acne.

Happy Easter, here’s a zit for you.

So, that makes sense too, wanting to go out on a date with a guy.  Spring time fertility mating dance and all that jazz.

The difference being that this time around, oh yes, this is not my first OkCupid rodeo, I was honest with what I want.  I put down only interested in long-term relationship.  I put down only interested in people who don’t do drugs, smoke, or drink.  Guys.  Men.  I added to that, no nookie without a lot of dates.

My chances of getting a date with those criteria are slim, but what ever.

If anything, it will make for some interesting blogs.  Then I will probably get annoyed with the site again and cancel my profile after a couple of disappointing dates.

But, it was a momentary distraction.

I don’t know where or how or when I am going to meet my Hunky Jesus, but he’s out there.  I don’t doubt that in the least.

I’ll delete the profile tomorrow.

 


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