Friday, February 12, 2016
Last Day is Friday 2/12/2016
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Thursday 2/11/2016
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Wednesday 2/10/16
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Yoga with the guy named Nick
Second Tuesday
Monday, February 8, 2016
Monday 2/9/2016
Later Sunday Super Bowl
Sunday, February 7, 2016
Sunday 2/7/2016
Dinner at Bar A Cuda
Saturday, February 6, 2016
Friday 2/5/2016
Saturday 2/6
Friday, February 5, 2016
Yoga with Katie
It wasn't the easiest class. My bones hurt against the wood floor, the blocks and the weight of surrendering. Marilyn later said never again. Which was 'unfortunate'. I find this Relax Deeply so nourishing. But props and love are essential.
Such Singing in the Wild Branches
It was spring
and I finally heard him
among the first leaves––
then I saw him clutching the limb
in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still
and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness––
and that’s when it happened,
when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree––
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,
and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward
like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing––
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed
not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfect blue sky–––all of them
were singing.
And, of course, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn’t last
For more than a few moments.
It’s one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,
is that, once you’ve been there,
you’re there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then––open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.
-Mary Oliver
Thursday 2/4
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Dinner at the Webers 4210
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Fun with Ed and Marilyn
Wednesday 2/3 poem
above the horizon, like a shade pulled
not quite down. Otherwise,
clouds. Sea rippled here and
there. Birds reluctant to fly.
The mind wants a shaft of sun to
stir the grey porridge of clouds,
an osprey to stitch sea to sky
with its barred wings, some dramatic
music: a symphony, perhaps
a Chinese gong.
wants more than it has—
one more bright day of sun,
one more clear night in bed
with the moon; one more hour
to get the words right; one
more chance for the heart in hiding
to emerge from its thicket
in dried grasses—as if this quiet day
with its tentative light weren't enough,
as if joy weren't strewn all around.