Shattered Dreams

I am not a natural athlete.

Ask my childhood best friend, who helped me lie about my number of push ups for the Presidential Fitness Test in 8th grade. Or the clerk at Second Time Around Sports, who assisted my family in switching out at least 8 different types of gear during my “optimistic” years of going out for any/every team.

TLC would be planning television special events about cutting my 600 lb body out of the apartment, had I not discovered yoga.

Yes, it’s impossible to make the varsity squad of vinyasa, but it’s never too late to turn around your life, fitness and health. 

I didn’t start classes expecting to morph into Gisele overnight. But I’m feeling better, physically and mentally, every week I complete a session. I bounce in on Monday nights, a ball of raw nerves, with extensive to-do lists fighting to maintain focus over the chanting of my class.  Somehow I always emerge relatively stress-free, happy, strong and capable after an hour and fifteen minutes.

It makes me feel like a better person.

And it certainly helped control my range  of emotions when my garden stool unexpectedly passed away, a month ago.



“A friend, a slippery coaster, and the prettiest thing to stub my toe on in the morning.”


Sadly, my favorite decorative accessory perished due to complete idiocy irresponsible FedEx shipping practices, sometime between December 29th and January 15th. It may have been seldom utilized on a regular basis, in the corner and all, but its presence was just amazing. There are no words. The stool will be missed dearly.

Last known photo of my ceramic child:

Yes, I was frustrated by the loss. I mean, WHO WOULDN’T STOP TO SLAP A FRAGILE STICKER ON A BOX CONTAINING FORTY SOLID POUNDS OF CERAMIC POTTERY, BEING SHIPPED 900 MILES. But bitching about my experience won’t bring back my garden stool. And actual people are dying in this world. So I took a deep yoga breath (okay, maybe 1,392,393 breaths)  and moved on.

In the form of a new mosaic project.

Time to dry the eyes and pass the caulk, I’ll be projecting through the grief this weekend.

And exclusively using UPS for the rest of my natural life. 

2 thoughts on “Shattered Dreams

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