Flash-forward

The other day I woke my son for school.

I leaned in and whispered, wake up baby, time for school. And he sleepily put both his arms around me and pulled me in close to him. He said nothing, but I almost felt him saying, "Not yet." The experience gave me a sudden flash-forward vision about how my son would be fifteen years from now, as a man...with a woman.

Oh my goodness.

Yogamad

I am a freak. I know it. I spent my day off doing what most people would consider to be altogether too much yoga. Hatha with Kumaran at 9:15am. A 75 minute Yin class with Catherine, which was almost hypnotic...and then, after a light lunch and some book hunting at Kino, back to do Hot Flow with Ross at 4:00. Total time: three hours and fifteen minutes. At a certain point in Hot Flow my body gave a little twinge of tama na...so I faked my chatarangas...and stayed longer in the downward facing dogs. I managed to do the wheel for the first time since I was 15...which was crazy exhilerating. But still no sign of the crow. Why I care is a mystery. But I do so want to do the crow. Uwak uwak uwak. T says I'm insane. Maybe.

Major personality change

Apparently, it happens more often than you think. Or maybe, it's just what you call a midlife crisis of a sort. What do you do when the the things you used to be able to do you find you just can't manage to do, anymore? And we're not talking here about physical feats like no longer being able to do a bridge stand or a split (both things I was able to do at age 15). I'm referring to certain kinds of conversations that have lost their allure to the extent that the effort to participate in them can no longer be mustered without disagreeable discomfort.

It appears I have morphed into some kind of introvert, no longer endowed with the ability to gracefully flit and flutter into connections that do not at once engage. It is rather frightening to discover this in one's self. And it is difficult not to wonder whether it is some kind of temporary madness or something that has lodged into the character, for good. How strange to suddenly encounter yourself on the proverbial street in your mind and have no absolutely no recognition of what you have become, so much so that you feel you need an extended introduction.

Midweek musings of a desultory nature...

My new nokia phone has many features, but my absolute favorite is the recorder. Because of this function, my morning alarm at 6am for my 7pm yoga is Coby saying, "Wake Up Mama, time for work!" And my ring tone is Kaylee singing ABBA's Mamma Mia lustily into my ear: "Yes, I've been broken-hearted, blue since the day we parted. Why Why, did I have to let you go. Mamma Mia, now I really know, why why, I should never let you go!"

M and D brought LOST, 2nd Season. Like junkfood crazed teenagers, T and I went for it way too fast, and now there's a sugar crash in the aftermath. And there's also more craving and the first season of Joey, as amusing as it is, just doesn't cut it. I think it's the hunger for a good story. As annoying as LOST can be, there's plot there that satisfies in that "and then what happened?" way. You can't help wanting to know what happened. Must remember that for fiction. The minute people stop caring about what's going to happen, you've LOST your reader.

Am rereading Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Wow, wow, wow. It's even better now than when I first read it. There are three dimensional pictures in his words. And he died a drunk, with just one or two other works. Tragic. It makes me want to weep.

Coby got sent home from school yesterday. They suspected he had HFM Disease. Apparently, all the parents of 1B got an email saying there was a case of HFM. I hit the roof and called the school. Told them it was highly premature of them to issue this email and that they were being very irresponsible, causing a panic among the parents. As it turns out, there was an actual confirmed case, other than Coby (who by the way was given a clean bill of health).

It's been raining. Hopefully, I make a dent in the work.

What I saw at the bookstore and other non-sequiturs

A new book entitled, "Japanese Women Don't Get Fat Or Old" - clearly riding on the "French Women Don't Get Fat" trend. Maybe I should write, "Filipino Women Don't Stop Smiling."

Had a conversation with a someone at FX recently, about how certain people, no, how a lot of people here are "matipid sa ngiti." I keep trying to come up with a satisfactory translation into English, and only hit on "thrifty with her smile." She relayed the experience we apparently both share...how she'll be humming at work and someone will inevitably say to her, "Wha, so happy, lah?" She and I both tend to answer, "No, not really."

Yin yoga is hugely hip opening. Did a hatha for an hour. Had a fifteen minute break. Then went on for a 75 minute yin. Yowch! I imagine it's good for the digestive and reproductive organs. Very slow and deep and intense on the tissues, but at the end of it all, I'm not really sure what I did for myself.

Crockpot stew is even better on the second day.

Kids are on term break. Wish I could be, too.

Rewatching an old SATC episode

and it occured to me to wonder why friendships on TV, even in the well-written, realistically portrayed ones, seem better than the real thing. Why is that? Aah... not this thread again. Am rereading Nora Ephron's Heartburn and finding myself bursting into gales of laughter. Feeling an itchy trigger finger in my right hand. Right. Write.

Who would have thought?

Under the circumstances, I should be more affected by the recent surprises thrown my way. The art director changed her mind and is no longer coming on board. I have a first-rate writer that I would hire in a snap, but apparently, it is not entirely up to me. The U2 concert has been postponed indefinitely. All these things should have added up to stress and disappointment and yet, I'm cool.

And zen...zings will juz have to zort zemzelves out, yez?

A good weekend was had by all, and in the end, that is what matters. Why good? Everything and nothing special. Just happy moments with K, C, and T. And yoga tomorrow...

Speak of the devil

Father O'Niel SJ is a wonderful preacher at St.Ignatius who, despite being almost medievally old-fashioned, often triggers in me fitting reflection for these contemporary times. He's ye olde Irish - in his nineties- and the cadences of his voice are ever so comforting. Due to his age, of course, he has his good days and the days when rambling man appears in his stead.

At yesterday's 6pm Ash Wednesday mass, he opened with his perennial reminder of the Devil, and the war that is taking place in the world for human souls. "Remember," he chided us, "The devil hates you, but God loves you." This is a favourite thread of his, and one that I particularly like. T hates it, and my Mom doesn't like it either. And I ask them, why? I guess people don't want to be reminded that evils exists, let alone the devil who salivates over our souls. For me though, it's like bracing cold water. It's refreshing and allows me to see this modern world with open eyed clarity. As we go through the motions of our lives, we have to be reminded to choose God, to plant our feet firmly on his side of the battlefield, and constantly try to undermine the other side by our day to day deeds. Fr. O'Neill on his good days is a paradoxical breath of fresh air.

And my favourite part was when he mixed the ashes and water vigourously, the reverberating clicks against the tin pan picked up by his microphone. He looked up at us and with a gleeful smile in his voice, said, "I like to use plenty of water, so the cross is very black!"

I remember now that I am marked by God with a very black cross on my forehead. And so lent begins...