Yoga for Three

Last night, I attended my first prenatal yoga class, at my usual yoga studio The Yoga Garden in Narberth, PA. I was hesitant to attend prior to this week, feeling it was too early and even at ten weeks I was worried I wouldn't fit in with all the second and third trimester bellies. My slight fears were for naught, though, as there were women at all stages of pregnancy. Being pregnant with twins is a great ice breaker, even with this crowd, as people had plenty of questions.

It was great to be in a class completely focused on the unique changes the dozen or so of us are experiencing. The poses we did were centered around stretching, flexibility and strength helpful during pregnancy and birth. We also did two sets of Kegels and plenty of breathing exercises. During savasana (modified for those further along), the instructor reminded us that our babies are completely content right now. They have everything they need and they are happy and relaxed in the homes being provided to them. So when we are stressed in our daily lives, she suggested that it's okay to draw on their calm as a source of strength and use this a reminder to take it easy. I really liked this idea and it provided a great visual.

Looking forward to next week's class!

Full Circle

For fourteen years, our little family has been just Gus and me. No roommates, no pets, never so much as a gulping goldfish has kept us company. I suppose one could say our family circle has been more like a rectangle these many years, as each of my hands is held in his, strong, soft and sure. It's nice here, in our little box, comfortable, quiet and all to ourselves. The rare opportunity to live long and deeply without interruption with another person, his shoulder, arm and outstretched hands melding into mine until one can hardly be distinguished from the other, much less separated.

And so, in the days of late, it has been with great wonder that the two of us have begun the process of extracting one hand each from the other, slowly creaking one set side of our elongated square open to welcome not one, but two into our small midst. Each of us readying to reach out for a new hand that will become as familiar as the one just let go. In this, a true circle will now be formed as we begin a new journey, anchored in the same love and commitment that has guided us this far, as we await the arrival of twin babies on, or likely before, February 26, 2011.

Repentish

Okay Philly, I'm semi sorta slightly sorry, but only just.

The wet heat built and built until the pressure burst and a rumbling storm crashed through the city, slapping and swirling its wet, windy way east, lightening in streaks across the dark sky. When I stepped outside after my acupuncture appointment into its drizzly aftermath, I found the air surprisingly...nice? Clean. Breathable. By the time we arrived home, it was downright lovely. The air conditioners shuddered to a welcome stop and windows were yanked open to welcome the fresh breezy air and birdsong, temperatures which fell to the unfamiliar mid-60s by morning.

Maybe it's not so bad here after all, only just ever so slightly maybe and that's completely contingent on this livable weather pattern sticking around. Otherwise, we're back to shameless spit and vinegar.

Major Grump.

I hate summer. There, I said it. I suppose I could qualify and say this particular summer in this particular city is the object of my ire but why bother.

Although I'm sure spring was in there somewhere, it feels as though we went from this nightmare to its current incarnation, a neverending stretch of sweltering 90 degree plus weather, the days only defined by whether or not the humidity is also stifling and whether or not a severe, soaking thunderstorm is in the forecast.

I'm still trying to figure out the definition of this "Summer Fun" people gab on about. Sweating at dawn, sucking down Freon, literally unable to go outside, what the hell is so fun about this crap? Maybe if I was a Main Line housewife, wiling away the heat lounging by the pool under an umbrella in linen and flip-flops, sipping lemonade and browsing the latest Lilly Pulitzer catalog (actually, scratch that last one as that shit's nasty) things wouldn't seem so bad, but for the rest of us that don't have a porch, much less a pool, and, anyway, have to schlep downtown everyday by the power of our own two feet where it's even hotter, stinkier and more miserable than the 'burbs, I really don't see the yearly appeal.

Check the weather report for Ardmore, PA anytime, any day and all you'll see is complete misery as far as a squinting, sunburned eye can see. If I didn't know I'm escaping this pulsing inferno in - what's that I see, 116 days? - I'd have to seriously question my overall mental stability to stay in this burnt-to-a-crisp hellhole. Don't all these millions of people realize it doesn't have to be this way? That there can be life without crushing humidity, constant air conditioning, flash floods and excessive heat warnings every time you turn around? On second thought, never mind. Let them continue to think we all still deck ourselves out in grunge flannel, hug trees, eat tempeh and live in log cabins singing Kumbaya to the fertility goddesses. That is rains a lot out there. Oh, and that "you'se all don't have decent pizza and hoagies." Yes, heaven forbid one can't find gray meat, processed cheese product and sodium on a bun. At least we don't have this shade of shit summer weather.

Jailbird

Warden, release me from these four walls early for (pretty) good behavior. I’ve done my time fair and square but I’m ready and able to move on to a world outside this one. An ongoing heat wave has put temperatures above 90 for weeks on end. Foreseen changes at work have flushed my job satisfaction down the dank metal toilet. Standard issue rose-colored glasses removed, this city prison’s good is eclipsed by its persistent and prominent bad and ugly.

I’ve done my best to wait out my 30-month sentence. I’ve played nice with my cellmates. I’ve lived within these confines, accepted situations beyond my control. I’ve eaten the unfamiliar food, drank the tepid water, looked beyond the dirt and grime to squint at the blue skies above. I’ve zipped my lip against the powers that be and rules I don’t abide. I’ve been rehabilitated to not believe this city a complete wasteland and I’ll do my best to defend its principles against critics outside these walls.

But it’s time now to rid me once and for all of this steamy, sweaty and overcrowded concrete jail. Hand me my papers, roll shut the barbed wire fence, and see me down the street, until I'm just a speck on the horizon, kicking up your dust toward the Pacific sunset.

Load the car and write the note.
Grab your bag and grab your coat.
Tell the ones that need to know.
We are headed north west.
One foot in and one foot back.
But it don’t pay to live like that.
So I cut the ties and I jumped the track.
For never to return.
                                --“I and Love and You,” The Avett Brothers

Domestique

Despite the fact that here in Philadelphia we are on our fifth heat wave of the season and the calendar says summer began June 21, for me, the true start of summer began yesterday. This year, July 3 marks the start of the 97th Tour de France. For many, this cycling race is the only one they pay attention to, but not in this house. Here, cycling is followed all year long, each and every day. The off season team moves and rumors, the Tour of Qatar, the Tour Down Under and the Tour of California, giving way to the Spring Classics sprinkled throughout Europe, the Giro, all these races leading up to the twenty stages of The Tour, the climax of the season, this year starting off the excitement in Rotterdam before heading south to France. From now until the laps on the Champs Élysées, our lives will be non-stop cycling -- online, on television, in magazines and in conversation, cycling, cycling, cycling.

Cycling is my husband's die hard hobby but I'm a fan in my own way, doing my best to keep up with the excitement of the race leaders, teams, sprints, mountains, road rash, flat tires, trash talking and, unfortunately but invariably, doping allegations. Perhaps best of all, I love the views the Tour provides of back roads of France, as the peleton snakes between villages, flanked with towering plane trees and thousands of fans.

Vive le Tour!