Wild Yoga

OK, maybe it wasn’t wild, but it was loud, that’s for sure.  Day two of Andrea and Lisa’s Wild Adventures centered on trying out a newish yoga studio in Manchester called Lotus Yoga.  Now, I’ve been to many, many yoga classes.  Whether Kripalu or Hatha, professional studio or community center, they’ve all been one thing: quiet.  Generally you walk in to a dimly lit room with soft music playing and people gently stretching to get ready for the class.  So imagine my surprise when we walked into a loud, raucous room of chatty ladies at Lotus.  It seemed so wrong.  Like throwing a party in a library.  But we went for it and found our spots in the crowd.  The instructor, Melissa, came in and began to settle the crowd.  The chatting and laughing quieted, and then the instructor began to talk.  And talk and talk.  In my head I was thinking, “Oh, I’m so not coming back again.  This place is too talky.”  Andrea told me later that she was thinking the same thing.  But then the class started and it was wonderful.  Melissa was upbeat and motivating.  She led us through some combinations of poses I’ve never seen which made the same old favorites seem fresh and new.  An hour and a half later and I was wishing it wouldn’t end.   I forget how much I love yoga classes until I sit in on one.  It’s so much better than doing it alone at home where you can cheat and not hold a pose for long, or skip the ones you don’t like.  We’re hoping to join the Tuesday night class as more than just drop-ins as long as Andrea’s schedule will allow it.  I think you should join us!


Going Wild

Yes, my first ever pedicure was wonderful and came with a hot rock leg/foot massage, a scrub, some sparkley orange polish, and a brief, warm shoulder massage. I don’t think it will be my last visit to that place. The pedicure was the first step of my two day adventure with my sister, Andrea. She’s super busy with two boys, a busy job, and a husband who works full time and is going to school, too. This week she has the evenings of Monday and Tuesday free since Christian’s classes haven’t started up yet for the spring semester, so she called me up and told me she wanted to do something “wild”. My mom got so lucky having two lame-o daughters like us. We tried and tried to think of something properly wild to do, all she came up with was getting ice cream, I managed to suggest seeing a movie or going to a yoga class. Woo. Wild. Everyone can rest easy, there should be no calls from the police department to bail us out or pick us up, we’ve decided to drop in on a yoga class at a fairly new studio in Manchester called Lotus Yoga. And of course, we’ll also be getting ice cream. Man, we’re lame, but we have very pretty toenails.


A few weeks ago, I bought a six-pack of my favorite beer at a little package store around the corner from our house.  Or so I thought.  When I brought the beer into the house, there were only five beers in the six-pack holder.  That’s odd, I thought.  I vaguely remembered hearing something “clink” in the gravel in the driveway as Molly and I got out of Luke’s truck, so we went outside in the dark and searched the driveway.  We saw no sign of the missing beer.  My thought again was “that’s odd”.  Luke’s thought was “the store ripped us off”.  He thinks that a combination of me being oblivious and not noticing that my six-pack was indeed a five-pack, and the evil cashier who allowed us to pay for six, but receive five, was the reason for the missing bottle.  I swear on all that’s holy and brewed with hops and barley that there were six beers in my hand when I left the store.  Beyond that, in the three minute ride home and walk into the house, you’ve got me.  I’m still convinced that it’s going to show up.  I look for it in the driveway when I go out to work in the morning.  I keep checking under the seat in Luke’s truck.  I’m optimistic.  It’ll show up.

I thought of this story this morning because I added a lip gloss to the swirling vortex that is our gravel driveway.  I heard it fall, I know it fell, yet I can’t find it anywhere.   I was standing next to the car, there is a limited number of directions it could have gone, but still I can’t find it.   Under the car?  Next to the car?  Under the deck near the driveway?  In the flower bed?  Nope.  Gone.  It’s sort of scary.  Let this be a message to all of you, if you visit my house, please don’t fall in the driveway.  I may never see you again.  But wherever you end up, at least you’ll have a beer and a nice shade of lip gloss.


Well it seems that Miss Kitty and I have come to a bit of an agreement. She agrees not to wake me up howling at 3am every morning, and I agree not to trow things at her. She goes off like clockwork each morning at 3am (and Luke tells me she wakes him up each afternoon at 3pm, weird…) but now that it’s cold outside, she only THINKS she wants to go out.  She howls, I stumble out of bed and over to the door where I stand and wait for Miss Fickle to tiptoe over in the general area of the door, I open it and then see her shrink back at the cold air coming from outside, then run the other way back into the house and into hiding. Fine. I go back to bed and even though she knows she doesn’t want to go out, she howls to wake me up and try it again. The other night I was just sick of this crap, instead of getting out of bed, I threw a book at her. Don’t worry, it was a paperback, and it was dark so I’m almost sure I missed. She was quiet the rest of the night, and this morning when I woke up and saw her curled up on the couch by the wood stove, I realized that she didn’t wake me up last night either. How nice. Let’s hope this pattern continues. Maybe I’ll stop disliking her so much. Maybe.


No time for stories, how about some cute pictures of the cutest nephews ever in their Halloween costumes?

Cameron was a police officer, Alex was a fireman.  Their friends Joey, Katie, and new baby Matthew were Superman, a princess, and a teeny bear.

The tooth fairy stopped by, but was nearly obliterated from the picture by a speeding Superman.

Alex the fireman was ready for action.

The looks say “Are we done?  There’s candy waiting for us, you know.”

And they’re off.  I’m really disappointed,  my brain wasn’t with me yesterday and I kept putting my camera on the wrong settings, hence the grainy pictures.  I’m such a dope.  Or maybe a Halloweenie.


Happy Halloween!  This past weekend we proved, once again, that you’re never too old to do something silly, like carve pumpkins.  Luke, our neighbors Roland and Renee, and I got together and gutted some squash for fun.  Can you guess which is mine??  I bet you can’t…  Renee was the creative one who carved the goblin, mine is the face on the left, next to Roland’s.  Luke’s is all the way to the right.  Here’s what they look like lit.

Ohhh… spOOOoooky!

At home today I’m living my own spooky scene out of The Birds, only for me, it’s The Flies.  Luke is on vacation this week, and all day yesterday while I was at work, he was working outside with the doors open.  The house is now FILLED with flies.  I went downstairs this morning to start the wood stove and spent half and hour killing flies like a maniac.  I came upstairs and killed a few more in the kitchen.  I went into the bathroom and killed a bunch more there.  As I type, there’s one soon-to-be-dead fly who keeps skimming the top of my head.  It’s disgusting and I don’t know what I want to do more, whack flies, or smack Luke with the fly-swatter for letting them in.  For someone who normally “wouldn’t hurt a fly” I’m feeling a bit violent today.  HA!  I got him.  No more tickling my hair, you sucker!  Anyhow, I’m heading out in a bit to go see my nephews in their costumes.  I can’t wait.  Melt-your-heart cute pictures to follow shortly.  Happy trick-or-treating to everyone!


Sexy, huh? The sad thing is that I look at this picture and think: I rolled out of bed, put a hat on, and never did my hair. How embarrassing. Oh right, the big gash on my lip, yeah, that’s pretty awesome, too.

So we were target shooting yesterday. I decided to try out a shotgun that a friend brought, and it kicked up and back more that I thought it would, causing me to clock myself. That’s right, I punched myself in the face. It really didn’t hurt, it was just a little shocking, and then there was all the blood. I was worried I broke a tooth but luckily it was just a gash on my lip.

I called my mom, who is the #1 most awesome mom/registered nurse on the planet. Imagine calling your mom, slightly freaked out at the fact that you just split open your lip and are now bleeding all over, and saying something to the effect of, “we were shooting guns… and I punched myself in the mouth…and I’m not bleeding anymore… should I get stitches?” Now imagine how YOUR mom would react. My mom quietly gave me advice to ice it and keep it moist, she said good-bye without ever screaming “you did WHAT!?” or driving over to my house to smack me for being stupid. This morning when I sent her an email to thank her for her advice, and thank her for not acting shocked, she said, “you shooting a shotgun does not shock me” and also “I would avoid vigorous kissing for the near future.” Two of the many reasons I love my mom.

So I’m fine, I’ve got a nasty-looking fat lip, and I’m storing up potential stories to tell strangers in the grocery store. Luke preferred the “I fell down the stairs” line, I thought I might use Amy Sedaris’ line “I’m in love,” but I think I’ll just go with, “alligator wrestling”.  And I’m also looking forward to healing quickly so I can smile again, and of course, the vigorous kissing.