In the City by the Bay, Days 6 and 7.

Don’t you just love how it’s taken me months to write up this trip? Honestly, you’d think I had a life or something.

Anything, after my day traipsing around Hilary’s neighborhood with her and her kiddos, on top of the previous days of nonstop walking, I was in honest-to-Goddess pain. I fucking hurt, I tell you. If I owned it, it was sore.

So I went to the sex shop. Why, what would you have done?


I was pleased to discover that Good Vibrations, famed women-friendly purveyor of toys for grown-ups (or at least those over 18), had a location right around the corner from our hotel. I believe in supporting progressive, independent, and women-owned businesses whenever possible, so I (slowly, gingerly) walked myself down the street and did some shopping.

No, I’m not telling you what I bought. Yes, I do recommend visiting if you’re in town (Good Vibes has other locations, too. Plus, there’s always the internet).

The rest of my day was free except for our dinner date at Millennium, so I thought it wise to seek out a yoga class to help my poor muscles unclench. Luckily, there was one about a mile away. Unluckily (and typically, given my sense of direction and confusion with regard to mass transit), I picked the wrong bus and ended up walking most of that mile. It was worth it, though: Satori is a lovely, welcoming studio and I very much enjoyed a Mellow Flow class. I was glad I’d packed my travel mat; it’s very thin and unsupportive on wooden floors, but is perfect on top of those generic studio mats you probably don’t want to get too intimate with. To top it off, they offered post-yoga hot towels and I even got the right bus back to the hotel. Then I sat my ass in the hot tub for a while, soaking away any residual stiffness.

When I came back from all that me-time, Red was back from his final day of conferencing. I was happy because I like it when he’s around.

Then, Millennium! We both spiffed up and prepared for an awesome evening. Spoiler alert: We are big fans of Millennium. We sat at the bar, and Josh started us off with drinks that were so delicious, I can’t remember what they were. Mine had smoked pineapple sugar; that much I can recall. They get creative with their cocktails there, which I appreciate. Also, it was a dream come true to not have to fret over the wine list, wondering if any of it was vegan. BECAUSE IT ALL WAS. *fistbump*

And the food. Red and I were sort of, “We’re in your hands; feed us whatever you think we’ll like.” And so we had pickled veggies, a medley of olives, and fried oyster mushrooms to start. We shared a little salad that I think might have been warm and had potatoes and arugula in it (this is what happens when you wait five months to write up what you ate; I do remember the dressing being yummy).





As our entrée, one of us ordered these fried sushi rolls with asparagus:


I could have eaten a dozen more and been happy with my Millennium experience, but no. And look! My first time eating lotus root! It was very crunchy. And so pretty, too. I almost felt weird about eating it because I feel an affinity for lotus flowers. (Here’s how to do padma mudra. This has been your Daily Yoga Snack™.)


We also shared this delicious spicy glazed tempeh with veggies in a coconut curry. So rich and sweet.


During all this, Josh suggested wine pairings and made sure we picked wines that complemented our food. I fell in love with one wine (Woodenhead Halfshell White, marry me), only to have my heart broken when I got home and my liquor store guy told me he couldn’t get it. Looks like we’ll be going back to Northern California so I can stock up.

Oh yes, dessert. Not to be anticlimactic about it, but we were so full that we knew we wouldn’t really enjoy it if we snarfed it down there at the restaurant (my friend B calls it “eating through the pain”), so Josh kindly boxed it up for us. Obviously my photo is crap, but this little panna cotta was the perfect ending to a fabulously indulgent day.


HUGE thank-yous and hugs to Josh and the staff at Millennium for giving us an amazing final night in San Francisco. I hope we’ll be back soon.


Day 7 barely counts, because we got up and went to the airport. But there was food involved, so I’ll tell you about it. Because we were not lucky enough to be flying Virgin America, we couldn’t get to the terminal where Plant Café has their all-vegan outpost. I was bummed about this, because it also meant that we couldn’t get to the yoga room, either. Terminal 2 is where it’s at, y’all.

Still, we managed very well. Go Bistro only had one vegan option, but one is all we needed. Veggie stir-fry: Breakfast of champions. Then we found our gate and settled in to watch some Doctor Who on Red’s laptop. (We had Sherlock, too, but wanted to save the last episode until we got home.)


Dinner was less successful. We changed planes in Atlanta, which is a terrifying megalopolis of an airport. The best thing we could find to eat was french fries. Sad, I know. But after that, we made it home and crashed and woke up and brought Lucy home and everyone took a nap together and everything was awesome.

Thus ends our West Coast saga. I’d go back in a heartbeat; Red, maybe not so much. But wherever we go next, I’m looking forward to it.

In the City by the Bay, Day 3.

I spent the first half of our third day wandering around Haight-Ashbury, buying pretty things and taking pictures of weird hippie shit (says the weird hippie), occasionally texting Red when something was especially noteworthy (Tibetan shop, shrine to Jimi Hendrix). It was a lot of walking.

I bought lovely glass ear plugs here. It’s hard to tell, but the front of the shop is made of mirror mosaics!

Then my feet were tired, but Golden Gate Park appeared so I could sit down and eat a Larabar.




After I bid the Haight farewell, I got on the wrong bus for Japantown. This situation happened to me with considerable frequency during the week, because Baltimore has no useful mass transit to speak of and my sense of direction could charitably be described as poor. No thanks to my own navigational skills, I finally made it to this stupid-expensive store that my friend Liz wanted me to say hi to for her. I was nowhere cool enough to be in there, and they didn’t allow photos, so I sort of felt like I’d wasted a trip, but what the hell. It was a new experience.

After I made it back to the hotel, Red and I skipped dinner in favor of healthy snacks because we were headed to Yoga on the Labyrinth! I was more excited about this than about any other part of the trip. If I’d done nothing else that week but stay in our hotel room and read, I would have counted San Francisco a success. I first learned about Yoga on the Labyrinth over the summer, and filed it in the back of my mind as something awesome to do one day. As our trip plans firmed up, I coincidentally found myself reading a book by the instructor, Darren Main—Red’s parents had seen two of his books on my Amazon wish list and given them to me for Christmas. Everything clicked and I realized that I’d be able to take a class with Darren and thank him for his inspiring work! I was a very happy yogini!

Of course Red and I had brought our yoga mats, but his buddy Tony was joining us too and had never done yoga. Luckily, he found a cheap Old Navy mat and grabbed a space next to us. The class was great and very interesting, not least because marble floors are less than supportive, even with a mat! It was so interesting to watch my practice change with the environment and remember that this experience was one I might never have again, so I’d better stay mindful and release my expectations for myself. On top of that, I counted over 100 people stretched out on the floor. 100 people in one class! That’s every yoga teacher’s dream!

Before and after class, we had a chance to look around the cathedral and take pictures. It is gorgeous. I felt so peaceful and centered there, surrounded by all the serenity. I introduced myself to Darren, told him about the serendipity of our trip and my in-laws’ gift of his books, and he was very welcoming and gracious. If I’m ever in San Francisco again, I’ll be sure to take another of his classes.

Lovely Keith Haring triptych in the AIDS Chapel.

AIDS Memorial Quilt. My camera doesn’t do the colors justice.

Thus ended Day 3—on a nice little yoga high and with no concrete plans for Day 4. Whatever could I have found to do?

CSA Weeks 21-24: Done and DONE.

Whew! That felt nothing like 24 weeks, darlings. Maybe it was because we only bought a half-share and were therefore less overwhelmed by random produce, but this year’s CSA was much more manageable than last year’s. Let’s see how it wrapped up (spoiler: anticlimactically).

Week 21 didn’t happen because it flipping snowed. In October! I hate the East Coast sometimes. The One Straw crew didn’t feel safe driving to the market, for which I couldn’t blame them. It was the first time in 23 years they missed a summer market day. Everyone stayed home, and we got twice the veggies for Week 22:


There we have some garlic, bok choy, sweet potatoes, multicolored peppers, broccoli, and it looks like some scallions. The bok choy, peppers, scallions, and broccoli went into this lovely stir-fry with some cashews:


I’m sure we added some garlic, too. Garlic is great because it can just hang out in the Crisper and keeps for a nice long while.

We’ve been really into dicing and roasting sweet potatoes this fall. Sometimes I do them plain, with just some olive oil and salt and pepper, and other times I add a little maple syrup and ginger. I can’t remember what I did this time, but it was delicious. Fun fact: roasted sweet potatoes are an excellent breakfast.

Week 23 didn’t happen either, but not because of any shenanigans by Mother Nature. Red and Lucy and I went to the beach because I had a three-day yoga training weekend. It was wonderful and exhausting and we took a huge pan of Vcon’s Pumpkin-Baked Ziti with us so we wouldn’t have to cook. Here’s a picture of my girl meeting the ocean for the first time:


So we got double the veggies for Week 24, which seemed an appropriate way to finish out the season:


So much leafy greenage! We got spinach, mizuna, mustard greens, bok choy, broccoli, and I think that’s it. We got two of a few of those, so forgive me for being a little confused.

We had to make space in the fridge, but in doing so we found some sticky grossness and also some random bits of onion skin and other detritus. So Red brought out the vacuum:


I suppose we didn’t use all the sweet potatoes after all, as we had one left over for to make this soup:


This is Double Mustard Greens and Roasted Yam Soup from Vegan Soul Kitchen. We made it last year and loved it, so I was glad to have it again.

We picked up some carrots and made this stir-fry with the mizuna, some of the broccoli, and one of the heads of bok choy. It doesn’t look like much in the photo, but it was yummy.


When we realized we had missed a bok choy and a head of broccoli, we kicked ourselves, then steamed up the broccoli and sautéed the extra bok choy with some garlic and all that beautiful spinach. Over rice, it made a perfectly simple and satisfying dinner. And thus did our 2011 CSA experience come to an end.

Like I said, this year was much better than last year, but we were still finding our feet then. This year, we’re old pros. I’m very thankful for One Straw. One of the things I love about them, aside from their excellent food, is their communication. Joan is always available to chat on market days, and she sends out emails when there’s something we need to know. I found her CSA wrap-up email especially interesting, because she explained how this year’s cracked-out weather really affected their harvest. We had a super-hot July and then a really rainy September, so the hard winter squash didn’t fare too well. The beets didn’t have a good time of it, either. The spinach was delicious, but it made only infrequent appearances at the market. Because of a lack of sunshine, the broccoli heads were very small (and being broccoli lovers, we noticed). Evidently many East Coast farmers experienced the same conditions, and flooding left some without a harvest at all. This is very sad, because I’m sure they are small family farmers, like One Straw, and the weather determines their livelihoods. It really brings into focus just how interconnected we all are, and I hope next year is kinder to those who dedicate themselves to feeding us healthy, natural food.

CSA Weeks 3 & 4: Yeesh, I’m a bad blogger.

First, the good news. My awesome husband, who ably handled Week 3’s CSA run solo, took a picture for you. Like I mentioned at the end of Week 2’s post, I was in yoga teacher training all weekend and had not a moment to spare for all the foraging we vegans must do to feed ourselves. I haven’t mentioned it here before, but in April I started my 200-hour program, which I hope to finish within a year or so. Training days are tiring, but so much fun and I’m learning a lot.


The bad news is, I’m not sure I can remember what we made, and I flaked on taking a picture for Week 4 (and Week 5, so don’t expect much there). Anyway, you can see that he scored us some garlic scapes, broccoli, kale, and a cabbage from One Straw. The other stuff came from random vendors, but allow me to mention the Lodi apples. These freakin’ things are everywhere this summer. I never knew there existed an apple tarter or greener than a Granny Smith, but lo and behold, the Lodi is it. They’re supposed to be for turning into applesauce, but I eat them straight-up because that’s how I roll. Not as juicy as Granny Smiths, but they’ll do. Also, their seeds are white. White apple seeds! My mind, it was blown.

I just realized I have no idea what became of those carrots. Husband, what did you do with them?

Anyway, here’s this spinach-strawberry salad from Becoming Raw. It’s amazing. We made it once last summer, and only the short season for strawberries keeps me from making it every day. I even stuffed some into a tortilla and made a very drippy but delicious wrap. The dressing is this orange-poppy seed combination that is like being kissed by a unicorn.


Here’s a picture of the baby birds who lived outside our front door. They’re fledged now, and I miss them. It was funny to see them sitting on top of each other. You’d think Mom would get a clue and build a bigger nest, but maybe she doesn’t want her offspring to get too comfy. Empty nest, har har har.


Healthy dinner ahoy! Steamed broccoli, brown rice, and some spicy cabbage from Vegan Soul Kitchen. Even though on my best day I am sort of meh about cabbage, it’s tasty. I think I’m still recovering from childhood mushy-stinky-cabbage trauma. A head of cabbage goes a long way, so Red fixed himself some coleslaw as well.


You absolutely want to make this, but I’m a bitch and can’t give you a recipe, so I apologize. We call this Adam’s Kale Salad, because this dude Adam would bring it to Vegan Pledge Program meetings, and it always disappeared like rapacious vegan aliens had abducted it. I don’t think Adam used exact proportions, but Red is really good at approximating it, so I let him carry on. It’s garlic, Bragg’s, lemon juice, and maybe one or two other things? Ask Red, he’ll tell you. Then you just toss your kale with it and go to town. Anyway, Adam is a ferocious activist, and you can read a rockin’ interview with him here. He doesn’t talk about kale, though. MORE KALE, ADAM.


I think we’re into Week 5 now, but who knows. Our house is like a time warp sometimes. I’m lucky I even get to work. We picked up two purple peppers from One Straw, and I knew exactly what I’d do with them. I’d agreed to test this Greek barley salad for Tami, and it is like all of Greece is having a party in your mouth. Spinach, olives, sundried tomatoes, lovely grilled peppers and red onions…and barley! I’d never cooked with barley before, and I really like it. Oh, don’t be scared of purple peppers. They taste pretty much like green peppers, only they’re purple and therefore better.


Here’s the first frittata of the CSA season! I tend to stick to the Vegan Brunch recipe because it’s reliable and easy. Here we have red chard with garlic scapes and a few portabella stems mixed in. I didn’t really notice the shrooms, but I sadly noticed the scapes a bit too much in places. They tend to get woody, don’t they? Scape-lovers, how do you know how much to trim off so you’re not munching twigs?


We got some beets, too, but those are Red’s domain. He roasted them, dog bless. I don’t like beets, so I’m glad to have him.

Um. What else? Right now, when I’m not at work, my life is pretty much cooking/testing (I love you, Tami!), yoga (although I could use more), and school. I’m getting my certificate in web graphic design, and one day in the distant future I do hope to pretty up the blog a bit. Come fall, I hope I have time to read a book or maybe just comment on y’all’s blogs, but right now I’ve decided to just do my best to keep up with these recaps. Please love me anyway? I’ll bake you a pie!

In which I didn’t mean to let the muffins get moldy.

I don’t really like zucchini. I’ve tried, but it just doesn’t seem very cooperative. It turns mushy in stir-fries and gets squeaky when you bake it. It’s tasty if you shred it and make it into fritters and fry it, but that takes time and work and I quickly get sick of frying things in the summer heat (and since we’re talking about zucchini, it’s almost always in the summer). Zucchini bread is good, but trying to keep up with the never-ending stream of zucchini yields a shit-ton of bread and inevitably I run out of people to give it to.

I returned from my trip to Charlotte to find three zucchinis in the fridge. “Where did these come from?” I asked Red. Turns out, his parents had given them to us, which was very thoughtful but didn’t help me figure out what to do with them. I looked at them for a few days. They mocked me every time I opened the fridge. “Ha ha, now you have to eat us,” they sneered. Bastards.

Finally I cracked open Vegan Brunch and found a recipe for Zucchini Spelt Muffins. Well now, that sounded easy and wholesome, so I went for it. I cackled as I shoved my zucchinis into the food processor, jubilant that they hadn’t defeated me. To sweeten the deal, as I was preparing to pop the muffins into the oven, I received an invitation to a yoga class/vegan potluck at an acquaintance’s house! The timing couldn’t have been better. My muffins would be the perfect post-yoga snack.



They came out very well. They were a bit like a healthier zucchini bread—not as sweet, and I didn’t go as heavy on the spices as I normally would because I like to follow new recipes pretty closely the first time. My fellow potluckers agreed that they were a great counterpoint to our other snacks: super-sweet crumb cake (so good, I brought a piece home), baguette slices with a pesto-chickpea spread, and tofu scramble. I was happy. My muffins were a hit.

Since we still had plenty of muffins left over, I started taking them to work for a midmorning snack. Removed from their brunch companions, they were a bit blander than I had originally noticed, but I figured that if I toasted one and added a little Earth Balance, it would rock. Imagine my dismay when I went to do that, only to discover that my four remaining muffins were playing host to a very healthy colony of mold! What gives, zucchini muffins? You were a week old and I’d kept you in the nice cool refrigerator! How dare you repay me thus? Compost bin for you, ungrateful vegetable-based wretches.

I guess that explains why the muffins I’d eaten in the day or two before tasted a little weird. My immune system got a mini-workout there. For real, though, anyone know why my muffins went all moldy? I was pretty bummed about that.

Gonna make you sweat.

I did a silly thing on Sunday. I waited too long to book my spot in a yoga workshop I really wanted to take, and it sold out. I pouted for a few minutes, then turned to the most nonsensical yoga fallback plan ever: Bikram.

As I told you here, I really struggled doing outdoor yoga on a 90° day. I was seriously rethinking the 5-class Bikram Groupon I bought impulsively, and even tried to sell it last week. Evidently all my Facebook friends thought it was spam, and I got no takers. Being cheap, I didn’t want to let it go to waste, and I started resigning myself to the fact that I might actually have to take at least one Bikram class to feel like I’d gotten my money’s worth. Financial incentives aside, I was really apprehensive about doing yoga in a 105° room. I also wasn’t enthused about the idea of wearing shorts and a sports bra in a room full of strangers and a huge mirror.

You know what? I did it, though. My regular instructor told me to hydrate like hell beforehand to prevent dizziness, so I made drinking water my mission that day. I downed about 60 ounces; I’d been going for 80, but ran out of time. Knowing my blood sugar like I do, I filled my bottle with half water, half orange juice. I grabbed a towel, tried not to think about being half-naked in public (says the girl who pulled up her shirt to show strange men her tattoo), and prepared to get my Bikram on.

“We who are about to die salute you,” I said to Red as I headed out.

“We who are about to rock,” he corrected me.

Initial thoughts: It was hella hot. I was not the nakedest person there. I was the most obviously tattooed. I was sweatier than I’ve ever been (holding Eagle Pose with slippery arms and legs is no joke!). All that drinking must have made a difference, because I only felt dizzy once. I tried to leave my ego at home and not have expectations about how much I’d be able to do, but I felt confident and strong. The instructor was very welcoming and encouraged me to do my best, although he didn’t do any of the asanas. Seriously, you can put a group of people through sweltering yoga boot camp, but you’re not gonna do it with us? Way to rest on those instructor laurels. Maybe I’m spoiled because my regular instructor always does asanas along with us, and I prefer that method of teaching.

I never thought I’d enjoy standing poses until the alternative was to be face-down on my sweat-soaked towel on my sweat-soaked yoga mat on a sweat-soaked floor. This may be a problem endemic to hot yoga studios, but the floor stank like week-old unwashed crotch. (Obviously, I’m assuming here, because my crotch-sniffing experience is limited.) I’m sure I smelled less than delicious myself, but damn, that funk stayed in my nose for two days.

Bikramites, tell me: What is with your obsession with locking elbows and knees? I don’t lock my joints on purpose, ever, and no teacher on Earth can convince me that it’s a good idea. Bikram, dude, you could be the second coming of Jesus Christ, I’m still not locking my joints for you. Why the insistence? Is it because you’re kind of a douchebag? I’m guessing so.

Bottom line: I survived, didn’t fall on my ass, honored my body and my limitations, and expanded my yoga horizons a little. I might do Bikram again, and I might not. Either way, I’ve overcome my apprehension about hot yoga, so I count that as a win.

A very sweaty namaste to you all!

In which I am clearly not cut out for hot yoga.

On Saturday morning, I gleefully packed my yoga mat and some water and went on down to the Inner Harbor, where Charm City Yoga was offering a free outdoor seva class. Seva means “service,” and I think it is kind of the same thing as a mitzvah: Do something good. In this case, everyone who came to do yoga was asked to pay it forward in some way to a worthy cause. I liked this idea. I was optimistic that I would get a solid workout and feel spiritually awesome at the same time. Besides, two nice things had already happened: Next to us, a wedding party was preparing to depart on their day cruise, and a sweet girl had offered me her prepaid parking receipt, saving me $2. I was so shocked that I’m not even sure I thanked her properly. I knew it was going to be hot that day, but I had water and a towel and was feeling froggy, as my regular instructor likes to say.

Then it rapidly approached 90° at 9:00 a.m., and my ambitions turned into a miserable puddle of sweat and fervent prayers to remain upright. I was mildly nauseous and a little overwhelmed. Midway through, as we flowed into Warrior II (and I really like Warrior II, incidentally), I heard my body say very clearly, “Bitch, if you don’t take Child’s Pose right now, I am gonna render your stupid ass unconscious and then we’ll both have something to be embarrassed about.” I sank to my mat, feeling my sweaty forehead squish into the rubber, and tried to re-focus on my breath. This sucks, I thought. I will never ever be able to become a yoga teacher if I can’t handle practicing in the heat. When I finally stood up, the glaring brightness of the morning (and it was still morning, pathetically) clashed with the dizzy blackness in front of my eyes. I probably said “fuck” a time or two.

Of course, as fate would have it, the sky clouded over as soon as we finished with standing poses. Even with the clouds, I noticed something funny about doing sitting and lying poses outdoors: Your mat gets hot. I don’t know whether having a rubber mat is better or worse, but I was irrationally pissed at my Manduka eKo for having the gall to superheat when I was already struggling so hard. As we stretched out for Savasana, the fountain show at the nearby visitors’ center kicked off, complete with the bombastic strains of “Good Morning Baltimore” from Hairspray.

All of which is to say, I might be regretting the 5-class Bikram pass I bought for cheap off Groupon. Any takers?

A moment of namaste.

This morning, I stepped outside my office to get a little fresh air and stretch my tired body. Standing, I reached into Gomukhasana, which feels so lovely in my arms and shoulders. “Yoga!” exclaimed a guy on the sidewalk. “That’s right, that’s right, relieves the stress!” I laughed as he continued on his way, smiling.

Image courtesy of Yoga XTC.

Namaste, howdy, heya!

Welcome and namaste to everyone who’s found their way over here from EcoYogini (or anywhere else!) lately. I’ve loved reading your comments and exploring your beautiful blogs. I’ve been working on cultivating a regular, stable yoga practice, so it’s wonderful to have your experiences and perspectives to encourage me. I’ve written a bit about my practice, and I do hope to write more about it, especially as it aligns with my practices of ahimsa and veganism. If there’s anything you’d like me to tackle, just ask!

Photo by Meghan Arts.

Savasana, and then some.

Through the practices of yoga, we discover that concern for the happiness and well being of others, including animals, must be an essential part of our own quest for happiness and well being. The fork can be a powerful weapon of mass destruction or a tool to create peace on Earth. – Sharon Gannon

It’s October. Vegan MoFo has launched, and my month of yoga has limped across the finish line. I committed to practicing each day during September, and I think I did a decent job. I missed four or five days, which out of 30 is 16% or something. If I’d been taking an exam, I’d have about an 84%. I think. Someone with actual math skills may come along and tell me I was flirting with a D-.

Why am I trying to quantify my success? Why am I framing this in terms of success at all? I have no idea. I think I wanted—my expectations getting the best of me again—to have a yoga epiphany, to desperately long to spend hours practicing Sun Salutations. Instead, most evenings I dragged myself downstairs to my mat, yawning as I pushed back into Downward Dog and sighing with relief as I sank into Child’s Pose.

Y’all, I am tired. I don’t know why, but I just want to sleep for a week. If I could fall sleep on my back, I would have passed out during every Savasana like it was my job. (Why do I use the Sanskrit names half the time and the English translations the other half? I have no idea.) I was fidgety and itchy and wanted nothing more than to rush through my practice so I could go to bed. This happened more frequently than I care to admit.

At the same time, I noticed some changes. For one, I don’t need a class or a teacher or even a DVD to practice. For another, some days I can actually feel my body responding. I’m not a huge fan of the Warrior Poses or standing side bends, but I did them the other night. My obliques felt nicely stretched out the next morning. I reminded myself that I wasn’t half-assing it if all I could do was a few Cat-Cow rolls before bed, even if I did them in bed. I treated myself gently, shortening a practice when my right shoulder acted up. (What it’s acting up about, I have no clue. Maybe that’s my weaker side.) I think I can fold more deeply into Seated Forward Bend, though I definitely need to get back to weight-training if I want to get anywhere with arm balances.

I also discovered that I enjoy Seane Corn’s teaching style. I borrowed two of her DVDs from the library, and found the first one easy to follow and free of annoying yoga-speak. You know the kind. I was looking forward to the second DVD, but when I popped it in, I found…the first DVD. Again. The library had another copy of the first session in the second session’s case, with the second session nowhere to be found. I cracked up, then followed some of the practice anyway. I’m going to have to talk with the library when I return the DVDs.

I don’t think I’ll be practicing yoga every single day. Of course, I could be wrong. But I’m trying to listen to my body, and if sometimes my body just wants to take a long shower, paint her toenails, and go to bed early, that’s good too. I love yoga, and I’ve loved exploring it during this past month. Now I know that I can create my own practice (thanks, Eco Yogini!), and I’m more confident about deepening my relationship with yoga. And that means knowing when to take the night off.


Photo ripped from Zazzle.

Ramble on.

This will probably be short and nonsensical, as I’m trying to memorize the text of my friends’ wedding ceremony. It’s hard to do this quietly at work, since I can’t read it out loud, so I’ll probably resort to typing or writing it out until I can get Red to practice with me. Ahhh, takes me back to high-school theater. Only, you know, I’ll be marrying two of my friends, not fumbling my way through A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

I’ve also been twitchy and jumpy lately. My skin itches, and I have a hard time concentrating. It will pass soon, but it sucks to be in the middle of it.

Politely declined a piece of strawberry shortcake for a coworker’s birthday. Not as hard as declining cake made especially for me, but no one seemed to mind.

I am loving Rescue Ink’s book. Kudos again to Jill for running the contest and for keeping up with this grassroots tattoo pledge movement thing we’ve started! So far, three coworkers have come up to me asking, “Was that you in the paper?” One has asked to borrow the book when I’m finished. She’s a cat person and has opted to not get a tattoo, but is more than willing to donate when Rescue Ink comes to town. Her favorite rescue is Best Friends out in Utah, where Red and I would love to go someday.

Red and I attended an information seminar hosted by B-More Dog, a newish non-profit that has a special love for pitbulls. We learned a lot of new things about dog body language and social skills. We’re also going to try target-training Lucy—getting her to touch a hand, toy, whatever. It’s a good way to get your dog’s attention, and a neat trick to show off. The more we work with her, the better prepared she’ll be for more formal training and (fingers crossed) her CGC test.

Sweet Lucy needs a tiny bit of surgery. (Sad panda.) For the past few weeks, she’s had a callousy, scab-like bump on her elbow, and it’s not going away. It doesn’t seem to hurt her, but she’s rubbed it raw a few times and it’s in a really awkward spot. Her vet recommended that it be removed, then biopsied just in case. Since the bump is still small, probably about a half-inch in diameter, it’s better (and cheaper) to remove it now, before it gets bigger and requires more stitches. Lucy is a good patient—twice last winter she cut her paw on buried glass in the backyard, and took the repairs and pills like a champ—but is not so good at convalescing. She wants to run and play like usual, not understanding that she has to stay quiet and rest. One day last winter, I gave her a doggie pain pill in the hopes that it would zonk her out, but it did not. So far, the only thing that does the trick is full anesthesia. So we’ll have a dopey dog for one day, then a frustrated, full-of-pent-up-energy dog for the next week or so. Oh, and she won’t be allowed to lie on hard surfaces, so our house will be carpeted with blankets and cushions like the aftermath of some skanky swinger party.

Thanks to this third medical incident, Red and I are seriously considering buying her insurance. She’s only two, and if she keeps this up, either she needs to get a job or we need to get insurance to cover some of the costs. Good thing Springsteen tickets sold out before we could get them.

Coming up: The conclusion of Red’s vegan challenge, our vegan-friendly wedding reception, and the end of Yoga Month.

Lost my tail again.

A wedding reception recap is coming, I promise. It really and truly is. But first, I must share this valuable lesson:

Never take a yoga class on game day.

I cannot stress this enough.

Let me back up. The reception on Saturday was wonderful, as you will learn when I can think clearly enough to write about it. Wonderful and exhausting. Afterwards, I dropped my friend Jess off at the airport, went home, and (I think) went more or less right to sleep. We may have made popcorn and watched an episode of Mad Men first. I have no idea.

By the way, I missed two days of yoga. To be fair, they were the days I sort of expected to not find time to practice, due to reception insanity. Friday, Jess and I split a bottle of wine after setting up a million tables and chairs, and I wisely decided against drunk yoga. Saturday—well, I just told you about Saturday.

On Sunday, Red and I woke up very late and slightly out of sorts from all the organizing and cleaning and family-wrangling and partying. We’d probably eaten too many vegan desserts, as well. I decided that a yoga class was the perfect thing to soothe my tired muscles and get my head back to normal. There was a community class (read: cheap) late that afternoon, and I looked forward to it all day. There was also a football game, but whatever. Traffic was fine, and I was feeling confident and peaceful.

Until the street was closed.

To be clear, I’m pretty sure that street is the only way to get to the neighborhood where the yoga studio is located. And it was closed. Because of football. Oh, I was livid. In my frustration, I misjudged which street to take next, and ended up back on the freeway. Cursing a blue streak (how yogic of me), I gauged that I had enough time to get off the freeway and try again. I did, and: FAIL. For all my efforts, there was no way into that corner of the city. It was completely walled in by asshole drivers, rabid football fans, and unsympathetic traffic cops.

I was so looking forward to class, too. I drove home, feeling like Eeyore. I told Red my tale of woe, then sulked a little. Had you been there, we probably would have had a conversation like this:

Me: I hate the fucking Ravens.
You: I can tell.
Me: I hope they lose.
You: Actually, they won.
Me: Go screw.

I tried to salvage my practice by doing a short online Yoga Journal core sequence, which fell sort of flat because I only had one block and needed two to do the arm balances. My abs were sore the next day, though, so it worked on that level.

Moral of the story: my city goes insane for football, and woe betide her who tries to pursue her own agenda on game day. Oh well, as least the Ravens didn’t sign Michael Vick.

Yoga Month: Ninja Warrior edition.

I’m stunned: I’ve managed to practice yoga every day so far! I haven’t always been thrilled about it (oh, how my bed calls to me….), but I’m pleased to report that I have carved out small nuggets of yoga time from my ridiculously fractured schedule. And I think it has made a difference. I’m not calmer or anything, but I feel better knowing that I have a few minutes—maybe 10, maybe 40—of yoga to look forward to. For the most part, I’ve only been able to find time before bed. It’s funny to find myself yawning as I move through a slow Sun Salutation or try to balance in Tree Pose.

Some nights are better than others. Over the weekend, I tried a short restorative sequence that included a supported Shoulderstand with a chair. I don’t know about you, but trying to wedge a blanket under my shoulders while perching my butt on the edge of a folding chair and trying to angle my legs over its back was not restorative. Regular Shoulderstand is better.

Does this look relaxing to you? (eHow)

Another evening, I followed a TV sequence led by Sara Ivanhoe. The model (Sara? No clue) was silhouetted against the sunset, which was nice, except I couldn’t tell what she was doing. It might as well have been an audio practice! That was when I also learned that Half-Moon Pose is tougher than it looks. I ended up in a pile on the floor, wondering what had happened.

Tougher than it looks. (Yoga Journal)

Last night, I made another discovery. I was wiped out, but wanted to practice and dedicate it to a coworker who has just passed away. I never met him, but I was sad and the solemn energy around the office affected me. I tried what might be called mattress yoga—oh, that sounds dirty! Seriously, I sat in bed and went through Bound Angle Pose, Seated Forward Bend (love that nose-to-knee action!), a half-dozen rounds of Cat-Cow, Downward Dog, Child’s Pose, and Legs-Up-the-Wall. It would have been relaxing, had I thought through the logistics of mindfully dedicating my yoga practice while Ninja Warrior raged in the background.

It was totally not the husband’s fault. I was the one who decided to get my yoga on in bed, instead of the basement, which was just so far away. And when I could focus on my breath instead of the manic shrieks from the TV, I felt very centered. But I found myself peeking up from Child’s Pose to see what crackpot competitor had just faceplanted into the Lagoon of Death or fallen off the Log of Doom or whatever the hell else they do on Ninja Warrior. This then precipitated a discussion with Red about whether Ninja Warrior is actually popular in Japan, or if they just throw it together solely for export to the U.S. because we will watch anything. It was not conducive to prayers for the dead.

So, I learned something. Maybe there are people who can tune out any and all external distractions when they have to, and maybe one day I’ll be one of them. For now, though, my internal distractions are plenty, and when I practice, I need space and quiet. Namaste.

I think I can, I think I can....

Happy National Yoga Month! I didn’t even know that there was a month dedicated to yoga, but I’m happy to be enlightened. (Buddhist joke!) I have decided, literally three minutes ago, that I will make September a true celebration by getting my yoga on every day this month. Fortunately, I practiced at home last night, so I’m already off to a good start. I was pleased with myself: I was so angry and frustrated after my last post, and I knew I needed to do something with all that energy. (My Facebook status became, "Fuck, I need some yoga," which earned me a gentle but deserved admonition to watch my language.) So, rather than bitching or (worse) taking it out on Red, I retreated to the basement and rolled out my mat. After 30 or 40 minutes of Sun Salutations and restorative poses, I felt a million times better.

I could have chosen an easier month. We’ve got the reception next weekend, and one of my dear friends is flying in to spend a couple days with us. Free time is already at a ridiculous premium. But how is that any different from usual? There will always be conflicts and obstacles; it’s up to us to decide how we engage with them. Do we bulldoze them over, or work around them? I usually try the latter, which is why I’m pretty confident I’ll be able to manage 31 days of yoga.

Actually, this couldn’t have come at a better time: today, Eco Yogini declared her Personal Practice Adventure, her commitment to practicing at home at least one day a week. I realize now that framing a goal as a challenge galvanizes me. So often I flake out of doing yoga because I think it’s somehow more “authentic” to do it in a studio, where the lighting’s perfect, the music’s ethereal, and everything smells like a head shop. (Yeah, sometimes my house smells like that too.) This is a way for me to get back to what’s real, to focus on the process instead of the product that yoga is so often treated as.

I’m not fooling myself into thinking I’ll be practicing for an hour each night. Some days, I might have the time or energy for only a few Sun Salutations and a brief Savasana. Maybe all I’ll be able to do is hold Down Dog for a few minutes before bed. It’s the intention that I’m after, the awareness that I take my yoga with me wherever I go. Anything else is just icing.

I don't think I'll ever be able to do this one. Photo ripped from ashtangayoga.info.

Veganasana.

This weekend I was lucky enough to participate in a Jivamukti yoga workshop. I’d been curious about it, as it’s the only style of yoga that overtly advocates a vegan lifestyle, but there are no Jivamukti teachers where we live. (The closest is in D.C., and I don’t go to D.C. unless there’s a truly above-and-beyond reason. D.C., I hate you and your pointless layout and horrible traffic.) It’s a relatively new style, developed by Sharon Gannon and David Life in 1984. Jivamukti translates as “liberation while living,” and as Gannon writes:

The first step in Patanjali's system of Yoga is Ahimsa, which means the practice of non-harming and nonviolence. This is the reason vegetarianism is a main tenet of Yoga. You simply cannot eat another being without harming them first. The practices of Yoga are meant to be practices, meaning you work toward the attainment of perfection, knowing that perfection may never come.

As long as we are living in physical bodies we will continue to cause some harm to others on this planet. So the practice of Ahimsa becomes one of trying to cause the least amount of harm. Everyone knows that eating a vegetarian diet uses up the least amount of natural resources and so causes the least amount of harm to the whole planet.

As you get better at Ahimsa, you get closer to the realization of your True being as that which is Peaceful and free of debilitating internal conflicts. Many people have difficulty with accepting a vegetarian lifestyle as intrinsic to the practice of yoga asana. Perhaps we can clarify that by examining the Sanskrit word "asana". It means "seat." Seat means connection to the Earth. Earth means all things: animals, plants, minerals, all existence. To practice asana really means to practice your relationship to Earth and all of her manifestations.

In my own practice, I try to keep ahimsa in the forefront of my mind as I walk my vegan path. (I did not display much ahimsa when I flipped off that idiot driver on Saturday, but….) I loved the idea of vegan yoga! Anyway, I received an email from the yoga studio where I occasionally take classes advertising this two-hour Jivamukti master class. It sounded amazing, but master class? I gulped. I love yoga and practice when I can, but masterful I am certainly not. Red assured me that I would be fine, that no one would be criticizing my Downward-Facing Dog or ability to kick up into Headstand (an ability which is wholly absent). I felt some anxiety as I drove to the studio, but reminded myself that pushing out of my comfort zone from time to time is one of the best ways to learn.

The class started off with a short session of chanting and sitting meditation, which is always a challenge for me. I hate sitting still, and I knew that at least one of my legs would fall asleep, but I tried anyway. I was surprised at how well I was able to calm my mind and actually sit still without fidgeting—as I closed my eyes and focused on my breath, I swear I actually started to fall asleep. I jerked back to full consciousness, then continued sitting with my eyes open. And yes, my right leg did fall asleep, but it woke up as we went right from sitting to asana practice. I had never tried to do Downward-Facing Dog with a numb foot, but it worked.

The practice itself was vigorous, but it felt good to move in and out of the rhythmic asanas, with Allison (the visiting instructor) counting inhalations and exhalations. The studio was almost uncomfortably warm—not as warm as it would have been during a hot yoga class, but warm enough to have all of us soaked with sweat in less than half an hour. She walked around the room, rubbing eucalyptus cream into our necks and shoulders. It’s always weird to have another person touching me, even a yoga instructor, but the cream brought a cooling tingle and smelled divine. Must find eucalyptus cream, I said to myself while huffing from Downward Dog into Plank. (Aside: weight training with Red seems to be working! My arms and shoulders definitely feel stronger.) The asana series wasn’t all that different from what I’m used to, but I enjoyed it and was definitely challenged. It’s fascinating to watch my body as I move into different asanas—how my shoulders feel rolled back, for example, instead of hunched, and how much easier it is to hold Downward Dog when I press my fingers into the mat instead of only my palms.

After two hours and an abortive Headstand attempt, I was a puddle of exhausted, sweaty vegan. I felt awesome. I was completely wrung out—and so was my headband, which didn’t do a very good job of keeping the sweat out of my eyes, but that’s okay, headband. Today, two days later, I’m ridiculously sore, but in a satisfying way. Allison didn’t talk about Jivamukti’s focus on veganism, as I’d been hoping she would, and I was too tired to ask her about it personally. Still, I’m very glad to have finally experienced Jivamukti yoga. Whether or not I ever get to study it regularly, I know that I can find my own vegan asana wherever I am.