a “personal record”, that is, Full Primary, including dropbacks in just moments over an hour.
Not that it’s a race. But the fact that I could do it at all in that time frame – well, I’m just going to take a moment to be impressed with myself. I have no idea how I pulled it off. I came in feeling like complete crap. I had spent the day at the new house, which isn’t even mine yet, watering the lawn (no small feat, considering that there is roughly an acre or so of lawn out back alone) and training Lewis the Bagle to use the Invisible Fence. Never mind the fact that I was totally trespassing, which fact completely escaped me until The Husband pointed it out when I came home.
He was all, “You could have gotten arrested, you know.”
I was all, “Yeah, but the lawn was turning brown.”
He was all, “What if you got injured on their property?”
I was all, “Heh? If I got injured and no one gets sued, who really cares?”
When he was all, “What if you were so seriously injured that we had no choice but to sue?”
My mind went blank. That’s when I realized that I really am no longer a lawyer.
Anyway, it was lovely to be there. I decided on a place to put the Composting Bin. And I even collected some branches and twigs to use as my first layer. I am obsessed with composting. I am sure you will hear all about it shortly.
Lewis is a bit traumatized by the Invisible Fence, but that’s okay. Better that he should be a bit intimidated by it than that he should run away. I spent a lot of time and energy trying to soak the lawn, which has the consistency of a thick wool blanket and is about as porous. I also gave some attention to the lavendar bushes, which were quite sad looking when I got there. They did perk up quite a bit from the hosing down, I am happy to report The rose bushes are, at this point, pruned within an inch of their lives, so I have no idea how they are doing. The lawn, which has large patches of thirsty brown wherever the sun shines the brightest, remains to be seen.
Did I mention that my entire reason for being there was to check the mailbox for letters from camp? Hmmm. Maybe I didn’t mention it because there WERE no letters from camp. An entire week has gone by, and my children have not sent me one letter. I will have to make them feel very guilty for this.
By the time I got back to the city, it was already 45 minutes into the evening session with T, which made me sad because I have been really looking forward to doing dropbacks with her. I have heard very very good things. On the other hand, it was miraculous that I got myself to the mat at all, considering the resistence my mind was putting up. Damn mind. It had all but convinced me that there was no way I could even touch my toes today. Of course, it was all a big lie; as soon as I got started with my practice, it was clear that my mind had been playing tricks on me. Although my intention was to do only the Standing Poses, based on my mind’s protests against being pushed aside for an hour or so while my body went through its paces on the mat, turned out that one thing led to another, and I was on the Marichyasanas. So, I just kept going. Of course, since it was past 7 p.m., I was on my own, and Supta K was bound only by the grace of the loop of canvas I had waiting by my side. And dropbacks with T would have to wait for next week. Still, I almost stood up from a backbend without flailing into the wall in front of me.
Came home and went out to dinner at Amber on the UES, where I discovered the bestest drink ever: Malibu and Pineapple Juice, straight up. I just made it up, and it is much yummier than any of their strange concoctions involving vanilla vodka and pomegranate juice.
Did I mention that I actually convinced The Husband to let me have a couple of chickens? Laksmi, I need some help here. I want to raise chickens so that I can have my own homegrown eggs. My family is actually, historically, a family of egg-farmers, and I feel the pull towards growing my own. Eggs. I think two chickens would be sufficient. But not in a coop. They have to run free, right? Yeah, I know nothing about this other than the fact that I want to grow my own eggs. Luckily, The Husband said we have to wait until next summer to take this on. So, I have a year to play with my Compost Pile and read about egg farming.
Just call me Farmer YC.