Fire and Ice Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. Robert Frost

I'll confess I had my share of jesting over the most recent apocalypse non-event, but not even nearly full-hearted jesting.  My Facebook nod in the doomsdayers' direction merely stated that it was a beautiful day in which to be left behind--and I meant it. After a week of rain and drizzle the sun made an appearance, even if the Son didn't.

I spent the morning of the last day that wasn't teaching a yoga class then ventured to my hometown to work a large garden plot with two of my sisters. My grandpa has gardened all his life yielding enormous bounties of tomatoes, corn, potatoes, turnips--all good things. This year he has offered up a section of land and access to his city water shares. My sisters and I decided to put all our agrarian local cooperative talk to the test. The soil was heavy from the recent rain, but with my brother-in-law at the helm of a rototiller we worked it into decent shape and planted  several long rows of potatoes and corn. We'll get beans, tomatoes, squash and greens in later this week. It was a lovely day. I had no desire to be lifted up from the earth, not when I could smell fresh loam under my fingernails and casually chat about what's wrong with the world with two people who share a similar perspective on account of our common upbringing.

Saturday evening, 7 PM MST, 6 PM PST, my daughter played multiple roles in a Hamlet parody. She stole the show with her Granny Polonius. I looked around to see if anyone was going to be lifted up but the only levitating was that of was human laughter, and isn't that just as it should be?

Don't get me wrong. I understand doomsdayers on a certain level. Something begins; something ends. That much seems to be true of just about everything. Whether the sun goes supernova or we humans consume ourselves out of house and home, banking on the end of the world as we know it is a safe bet.  I felt this personally on a field trip with my 2nd graders to a local museum. Standing in the paleontology room inspecting the length of a full-scope historical timeline I took in the reality of the blip human existence is in the big scheme of things. I can smile wryly with Billy Collins when I read:

It doesn't take much to remind me

what a mayfly I am,

what a soap bubble floating over the children's party.

Standing under the bones of a dinosaur

in a museum does the trick every time 

And still, there I was on Saturday, cutting seed potatoes into plantable segments as though there were plenty of tomorrows in which to enjoy a harvest.

Musings on a Quiet Sunday Morning Before the Fanfare of the Holidays Reaches Fever Pitch

Ahh, 6:30 AM on a Sunday. The kids sleep. Chris sleeps. I sit with a steaming cup of coffee flavored this morning with a coconut milk creamer. The coffee and the somewhat processed creamer are an indulgence I partake in consciously and with pleasure. I drink it from a dollar store snowman mug my oldest daughter gave me for Christmas last year. Christmas. Now there's a thought. I'm not usually a big celebrant of the traditional winter holidays, but this year I feel some anticipation in my secular, buddhish, yogini kind of way. In fact, lovely readers (I say that tongue in cheek, I know there are a few of you out there, but it's hardly a following, right? And don't we like it that way?), I'm planning a sort of musical goody fest for this blog. Beginning the day after Thanksgiving, I intend to post a holiday tune du jour with a twist. If you like dark chocolate and a little irreverence from time to time, you'll want to check in. At least I hope you will. We can all three or four of us have a sweet virtual chuckle then be on our way through the hustle and bustle of the holidaze.

But I do feel positive anticipation for the days to come. It's a dark and cold time of year, why not string up some LED lights, sing songs, imbibe (responsibly, of course) and get each other through wintertide with gifts and good will?  So the season begins with Thanksgiving, which gets so shortchanged. I'm not talking about celebrating the irony of Native Americans breaking bread with Pilgrims before the rest of history unfolded, but the idea of taking pause to experience and express gratitude can't be too harmful, I imagine.  My life has been blessed by my connections to others. I'll begin with my family for being adaptable, for our ability to support each other in our singular endeavors, and for coming together when the shift hits the fan. Of course, I must thank every yoga teacher who took the time to care enough to see the students, me included, who showed up on their mats. One particular instance changed the trajectory of my life. I was attempting vasistasana with a slightly overweight body at the time. It was hard, and I was unplugged energetically. The teacher came, held on to the wrist that was lifted toward the ceiling, gave a gentle tug that instantly connected the loose electrical currents in my body. It was my first experiential understanding of what yoga is about.  Bear in mind these acknowledgements come in no particular hierarchical order. Friends of all sorts have passed through my world, some staying a short time, others hanging around. Shpongle's album title says it all: Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost. The YaYas saw me as beautiful when I hardly saw much of myself at all. My mom gave me a sense of the value of art and an appreciation for solitude. My dad showed me that behind the wizard's curtain was this little man trying to act big. I cannot forget to mention my sister, Denise, whose irreverent humor and crazy collages saw me through a time when it would have been easy to grow over-pious and take myself too seriously. She might not know the impact her letters had when I naively acted as an LDS missionary many, many moons ago, but I looked forward to them and savored the laughter. And that's just it, we never fully know the effect our simple gestures and everyday actions have on the world at large. So you see, my life is full. What is there to do but pay it forward? I hope I can. I'll give it my best shot.