Warning: Hair Levitation is Dangerous

When I sent out my e-newsletter, I got back this very funny reply from my high school friend Jamie Winslow (he’s part of a very cool nonprofit–The Salute Military Golf Association–they offer golf as a therapeutic outlet for soldiers undergoing prolonged treatment at Walter Reed Hospital).

Lisa,

Be very careful…back in the old daze, when I used to go to my happy place and contort my body in a myriad of similar pretzel-like manifestations, I too experienced hair levitation. I got so adept at the practice, particularly during stressful times–the first tee at major golf tournaments; public speaking engagements before short, Japanese businessmen; and even at the birth of my first-born son–that my hair literally left my head, sometimes hanging in mid-air for the splittest of seconds before falling to the ground never to return to its once proud follicle. Well, you’ve seen the result, there’s precious little hair left to levitate.

Now, I know what you’re saying. And I agree. It’s true, it’s true…few have, few will ever reach the sheer heights that unabashed hair levitation requires…Still, as Swami Muktananda teaches, hair levitation is serious bizness. You know this; I don’t have to tell you. But I learned my lesson too late. Please, I implore you to remember the teachings of power yoga as taught by the masters in Himachal Pradesh, India, to channel this energy more evenly throughout the body. I too once thought that hair levitation was the path to true Nirvana, what I found is that it’s only the path to a cheaper haircut.

I Survive the Reunion

Ok, I am trying to jot off a quick blog before I settle down and transcribe an interview for an article due very soon (too soon).

It’s a cold, rainy day in Marin County and I’ve decided to work in the library in Corte Madera because if I go home I may disappear into Facebook or MASH DVDs and I’ve got too much work to do…so to comfort myself, I’ve snuck in some healthy food (tempeh, daikon, carrots and broccoli–the uninitiated palate may disagree that this counts as nourishment, but I’m healing my nose from getting a skin cancer patch removed so am diligently being healthy–even though I wanted so, so badly (heart-poundingly badly) to order a mocha latte from Peet’s–but I didn’t. I bravely ordered a large (go wild!) Genmaicha (green tea with toasted brown rice). Which I also snuck in along with a baggie full of supplements. (I still love pills.) So now I’m tucked into my little study carrel, breaking library law. But enjoying myself. Kind of.

But the reunion, you say, how was it?!!

Fantastic!!! In the photo are people I have known for 29 years. People that have known all sides of me and still love me. It’s wonderful to see people build lives and realize dreams…to see the wild bunch become parents. To see that everyone looks better with a little age on them.

Some things never change, though.

Dinner at Houston’s in Bethesda was a scene! 9 of us crammed in a booth. People asking to be moved away from us because we were so loud–a $700 bill–more than half was alcohol I’m sure. Love this about my diehard friends. Even though I gave up drinking and drugging long ago, they still go at it with the same Olympic enthusiasm that they’ve possessed for three decades. My stomach hurt from laughing so hard.

The event itself, held at The Barking Dog, was super fun. Reconnecting with people who remembered eating stuffed mushrooms at my prom party (Darren Cave!), playing pool with Mike D, my brother Chris and my surrogate brother, Brett. (I could go on, but there’s this interview I’m supposed to be transcribing…)

My brother and I drove all around Rockville on our way home, getting all nostalgic and weepy (I was anyway). Rockville High School, Wood Junior High, Manor Country Club, our old house. Scotty’s house, Babette’s house, Mike and Diana’s house, Betsy’s house, Brett’s house, Delpo’s house, Chris Steed’s house, St. Patrick’s church. Coming face to face with some of the best parts of my past and some of the worst (I did not always behave well under the influence of tequila). Returning to salvage friendships and reframe the past as a rich tapestry–a little threadbare in some places, a few snags, but all in all, a beautiful work of art.

Survival of the Hottest

I’m lying on my back, gazing at a ceiling fan that is apparently on. I see it turning, but I feel nothing of its effects. My heart is pounding in my ears, nearly drowning out the sound of the large industrial heaters that are cranked to 105 degrees. Sweat is pouring across my skin as though someone were standing above me with a fire hose.

I wish they were.

Did I mention it’s hot?

Someone asked me the other day how I liked Bikram Yoga. My response? “Well, other than the struggle to survive without passing out or throwing up, it’s pretty great.”

For an hour and a half we do a set series of postures–twice. I’ve done it a few times now, and it’s changing me. I have some tightness in my middle back and some compression in my lower spine, and if I don’t practice yoga, I’m in constant pain. The crippling kind. Since doing this insane style of yoga, I am better.

I remind myself of that while I’m lying there wondering if the fan is really on or if I’m hallucinating. Somewhere off in the distance, I vaguely hear the teacher crack the window open, and almost instantly feel a cool breeze wash across my body. I gulp it in with gratitude. There’s something about being taken to the edge that makes you weak with relief when something nice happens to you. I suddenly love that teacher.

Except for the occasional “get me the hell out of here” and “help me, God” prayers, my mind stops when I’m in Bikram. That’s the best part. And when I leave, I feel peaceful and contented (especially after a shower and a huge bottle of cold water). It’s like taking a Quaalude, but infinitely better. In the afterglow, I love my life. I love everyone. Everything is okay.

Red Dragon

Bikram San Rafael

Yoga !08

Rest in Peace, Natalia

A beautiful yoga teacher and human being left the Earth yesterday.

Natalia Rae Kraft passed away in her sleep at home around noon. I did not know her well, but she was a huge inspiration to me. Passionately political and always finding the humorous side of life, Natalia lived with purpose and wonder.

Please send your prayers.

A Croc of…?

When I want to discipline my daughter, I tell her I’m going to make her wear Crocs…she cries out in fear and falls right into line…

Can someone please tell me what is so great about Crocs? They are made of plastic, ugly as sin and must make your feet smell like hell…and they’re coming out with new styles and colors so everyone in your family can look like Minnie Mouse…

More trash, anyone? Or are they made of recycled something? Help?

???

Green Festival

Go.