Celebrity hound that I am.
Saw a cute, trim, grey-haired guy walking down my street carrying a gym bag and was about to make eye contact and smile (we married ladies are known to do that on occasion, and no one gets hurt) when I realized, “eh, I think he’s gay, no point earning a flirt-back here.” Then I realized it was Anderson Cooper.
Lots of celebrity sightings this week in Yoga Chickie Land. But most of them I can’t tell you about because it would be seem, well, unseemly, to discuss celebrities whose children go to school with and/or play on sports teams with mine. I will say that my younger son’s biggest athletic rival is the son of a three-named primarily indy film actor, and the two girls that my older son will have anything to do with at all just happen to be cousins of one another and share another three-named actor as an uncle. Not a film star, though much more famous.
Our shala is relatively celebrity-free, with the exception of the occasional drop-in, and the even more rare bunk-in. Yes, that’s right. Our shala has the distinction of having served as a temporary crash pad for an Ashtanga-practicing television star whose nearby apartment was being renovated.
The thing about New York City, because it is such a walking city, is that everywhere you go, you see people you recognize. My first instinct is always to think that these people that I recognize are people I know. Usually they are. But occasionally, they are people that I only “know” from the media. In Spanish class in high school we would say that the former constitute people we “conocer”. The latter, we merely “saber”. That is probably completely incorrect usage. But in high school, it made sense.
Speaking of high school, I was much more of a Veronica than a Heather in high school, although every Veronica evolves from a Heatherly existence . I have at times taken on the mantle of alpha female/queen bee-yotch. However, I was never one to take the inevitable falls from grace lightly – and so, eventually, tired of the game, I emerged as a Veronica, although the girls I befriended weren’t the Martha “Dumptruck” Dunstocks of the world, but the more middle-of-the road girls, the ones who were neither alpha nor beta nor delta.
Tis true, I was a cheerleader, and I captained the squad as a senior, drove to school most days in passenger seat of the basketball team captain’s Datsun (ah, Keith Kaplan, where are you now?) and went to the prom with the high school track star (not as good as it sounds: he left at midnight to wake up early for a big track meet the next day). But once I got to college, I shunned all things peppy and preppy and never got involved in the sororities, despite that my best friend was an Alpha Phi. I did have a tendency to go out with fraternity guys though, if you could call it “going out”. Heh. College. The site of the first booty call known to mankind, from way back in caveman times. It’s in all the history books, you know.
Now, at the shala, I am a bit of a social butterfly, but certainly not the most social nor the most fluttery. But at my kids’ school, I am known as someone who keeps to myself. I think that I am evolving into a quieter person as time goes on. This may change, at least temporarily, when we move to Westchester. I may have to become more outgoing in order to make sure that I have a network and support system in place for carpooling and such.
So, how did I get onto that topic anyway?? I was thinking of my practice, which is really quite enjoyable currently, although we all know that “currently” is a relative term in life and in yoga. A good practice today somehow seems to mean that practice will be good tomorrow too. And then when it is not, ouch. The suffering! Sir told me that my Supta K was good today – my hands stayed together a looooong time, and I even tolerated him crossing one big toe over the other before my hands slipped apart.
Sometimes I think that it’s as if my hands were, I don’t know, retarded or something. It’s always been so difficult for me to rotate my arms or my wrists or my hands or SOMETHING – I don’t really know what – to get a proper wrist bind in the Marichyasanas. Many times, my hands want to do exactly the opposite of what they are supposed to do, which is to say, the wrapper wants to be grabbed by the other arm, rather than to be the grabber. I am sure that something similar is happening with my grip in Supta K. Sometimes I flail my hands around, trying to get the grip the way I think it needs to be, which really is just a waste of time and energy, when I could be bound and my feet could be crossing (or something like that). Then I ultimately end up with my hands gripping, but somehow, not quite right. Today my right index finger felt out of wack, like it didn’t fit into the grip. Whatever. Maybe I have a neurological problem dating back to chemo brain. Yeah. That’s it.
On Sunday, I did all of Primary, and it was sooooo sooooo sooooo good, and I started longing to be “allowed” to always do all of Primary. And it took me until today to realize that isn’t the point. Anyway, come summer, I will be on my own anyway for much of the time, so I can do whatever I want at that point. Even Sir has conceded that self-practice is a fine time to do what you think your body needs to do.
I know, I was surprised too.