Yesterday, I went to The Yoga Shala in Georgetown, Connecticut. It’s not more than 30 minutes away, and the route is all country roads, which means less stress than driving on commuter roads. And the best part? It’s an actual ashtanga yoga shala, with an actual ashtanga teacher who has an actual Mysore program in place, which doesn’t start at the crack of dawn, thus permitting householders such as myself to get there and practice after dropping the kids off at school.
It was awesome. I got some very unique and useful adjustments, and the room was warm and humid and full of energy. Teacher, Valerie, is off on retreat with Eddie now, so I will go back next week when she returns and when the husband is on vacation from work – he has promised me that I will be able to do as much yoga as I want. Yay!
But back to being a householder, or rather, the sucky side of it….I was perusing an adult education brochure yesterday and saw a class called “Home Maintenance for First Timers and Beginners”. I mentioned it to the husband, and he scoffed.
Fast forward to sometime after midnight on the same day, when a scary alarm went off in my basement. Was it a burgler? No. It was, in fact, a bit scarier than a dark and evil human being whom in my fantasies I like to believe I could dispatch with one swift kick to the groin.
Rather, it was….the SUMP PUMP. Also known as the thing that keeps the shit moving from toilet to septic tank. Or rather, it was the alarm telling me that said pump was broken, or that something else was amiss with my septic tank.
New territory for a recently erstwhile city mouse.
Luckily, the former homeowners had penned a list of their service providers (at my clever husband’s request), and so, I had the name and number for a septic service man. I woke him up and tried to find the words to explain what was going on, which was tough, since as little as I know about it now, I knew still less then.
Long story short, today some guys dug up a portion of my lawn to discern the problem, and later today some more guys will arrive who will fix said problem. In the meantime, iand wholly unrelated, I am keeping a handyman and plumber very busy with an assortment of other fixes around the house, most notorious of which is the faucet on the kitchen sink…which FELL OFF the day before Septic Hell began.
So, in the midst of the digging up of my lawn (they did put it all back, at least), I had to get to the nearby plumbing supply store to pick up a new kitchen sink faucet. Happily, they had the exact one I was looking for. Of course, one day earlier, I did not know I was even looking.
Good when you own a house to be willing to roll with the punches, as it seems there are many punches with which to roll. Perhaps that is why Guruji has different rules for householders than he does for others.
I had to bring it back to yoga.
I don’t talk that much about yoga at the moment because nothing much is happening. I can do every pose in Primary myself on most days, although I am now VERY grateful to get any adjustment, especially in Supta K. I can sort of stand up from a drop back, although I still resemble a rather large and pale macaque when doing so.
My flat palmed vinyasas are enervating, but I suppose (or, hope) that will pass.
And so now, I am doing exactly what I said I would never do again after getting all of Primary:
I await the next pose.