Windows in My Life

Summer view

As if nature saw the calendar memo, autumn landed and the temperatures dropped. So I bought a few mums and closed my windows for the first time since May. They’re the old wooden kind that stick whether you’re trying to open or close them. Some need propping up with a piece of wood. Functionally, they all suck. Still, I’m not changing them.

Summer View 2

Window salespeople make a bee-line to my house to try and convince me to get their more energy efficient, very ugly plastic products. Religious proselytizers who knock on my door have a better chance of converting me – I love my old wooden windows that much. Most rooms have three windows giving my little cape an abundance of light and views. Downstairs I can look out at the garden and bird feeders and from upstairs, I live with the branches through the seasons. From the window at the top of the stairs I see the peach and pear trees and have a birds eye view of resident groundhogs as they snuffle around their estate.

Winter friends

These windows are drafty as hell – single glazed, some with cracked panes and at least one with a gap at the top no matter how hard I try shoving it closed. All need re-puttying. In another month or two I’ll be covering them with plastic vowing that next Spring, I’ll wash them. I can tell you right now, that’s probably a losing bet.

Bedroom light

The sun has an easy entry into all of my rooms. On a summer morning, the light that pours through my bedroom windows shines right through my closed lids. I like waking up like this – to the glowing gift of a day. With upcoming changing clocks nonsense, the hour I wake will soon be pitch dark. I can already feel a shift in my morning mood. Waking with the light brings me joy and I would not last long in a windowless cell. Just a skylight is not enough and no alley windows for me.

Winter tree view

My view of the trees is sweet and branches are a first marker of the seasons. But to have a view of water is a dream! A pond or a river or best yet, the sea. Always, at least – the sky. This is a requirement for any other real estate I ever move into. Plenty of windows. Quaint trullis and European cave houses so common in the hot regions of Italy, Spain, Portugal – with rooms with thick windowless walls like a tomb – do not tempt me. My happiness directly relates to being able to feel the strongest pulse of nature involving as many of my senses as possible. While my first choice is always to be able to step right outside, a window I can open is the next best thing.

Winter view

The first thing I do when I go downstairs in the morning, if it’s warm enough, is open the windows and the front door. In winter, I pull back the heavy curtains to let the light in. Always, I try and shrink the space between me and the natural world even if it means throwing another sweater or blanket on.

The sun porch wins for windows

My front porch gets a lot of use. Whenever I can, I like to sit out on the old glider to feel the air while I eat and drink. I like to read out there and take at least one nap each summer. The clothesline runs from the porch to the crabapple tree trunk and I hang my laundry until it freezes. The porch is where I welcome visitors and watch the birds and the neighbors go by. And when it rains or the mosquitos get bad, the sweet breezeway area off the kitchen is perfect. In the winter it becomes a quick pass through area to pull off boots and for over-wintering plants. There are plenty windows.

The kitchen sink.

While washing dishes, there’s an unexciting view of the garage but crane your head a little and look to the right to glimpse the great old oak tree. Raptors like to hang out there to watch for prey and when the leaves fall, there’s an easy view of them. I always plant my window boxes and they’re easy to water through the screens using the sink spray hose.

A summer eve.

Of course windows are also for looking in. When I’ve traveled alone in the past and been homesick and during unhappy times in my own home, I peered at and in (from a distance!) the windows of strangers, sure their lives were better than mine. As the day disappears and windows begin to glow, it’s easy to imagine the happy cozy lives within. And yet – I know that’s not always true. While the total number of happy days lived in this house now outnumber the troubled ones, there were tough times that the luminosity of these windows did not reveal. But now, in this home, what you see from outside is a life of serenity, sweetness and joy. With the approach of winter, my windows may darken at night but the warmth and love inside is bright and true – if a little drafty.

True answers only: How often do you wash your windows?

The Impossibility of a Simple Morning

Kyev – taken by me in … 1989? 1990? During a 10 day, 4 city trip – I led to what was then USSR.

Last night was cold enough for my furnace to kick on. I woke to a warm house and made my way downstairs. I switched a lamp on in the living room. In the kitchen, I filled the electric kettle from the faucet and then washed the glass and plate I’d left in the sink last night. The feeling of my hands in the hot water was soothing. Kettle ready, I filled the teapot and then added half a cup of boiling water into my mug to warm it up. After a few seconds, I emptied that water into the sink. I took the milk from the refrigerator and poured in a splash then filled the rest of the cup with steaming tea. Hot mug in hand, I paused at the window and looked out at dawn cracking red on the horizon. I returned to my still-warm bed to indulge in the luxury of a Saturday morning. At every step of these simple tasks and throughout the day, I am newly conscious of just how damn fortunate I am.

One of countless destroyed villages I traveled through in Croatia and Bosnia.

Dawn broke hours ago in Ukraine and brought no relief from the nightmare the rest of us watch from afar. I think of a woman in one of the places under attack and imagine what her morning is like. If she is still in her home, if she managed to sleep at all, it is cold enough inside for her breath to be visible. There is no water coming out of the tap – never mind, hot. Maybe she had the time and forethought to collect water in the bath and buckets but that won’t be good for drinking when there is no way to boil it because there is no electricity, no gas. If she is lucky, she will have bottles of water to use sparingly because who knows how long this will go on for. The collected water will be for washing – cold sponge baths at the sink, washing dishes, clothing. Maybe this already feels like an indulgence. The refrigerator is dark and functions only as a cupboard. And anyway, there’s not much in it. Food is getting scarce and fresh produce near impossible at this time of year with roads and supplies being blocked by the Russians.

More ruined homes – Bosnia – I think around Mostar? From Neil’s photos.

She is not having a Saturday like mine or probably, yours. No lolling about, no anticipation for the day, only dread. She has already learned how to identify proximity and risks for all the terrifying new sounds around her – shells whistling through the sky until they land in horrible explosions, endless gunfire. How close? What got hit? Who lives there? Have they gone?

I imagine this based on flashes of my life in Croatia and Bosnia during the war. These memories surface easily as I watch the news or check my phone to see reports and images – with deja vu, my stomach in knots. But it is Ukraine being bombarded. Hospitals, homes destroyed in minutes. (What Geneva Convention?) Women and children are being targeted. Familiar scenes and familiar tactics of terrifying bullies. Tyrants who murder and lie without flinching. I’ve seen this horror, these actions, before. But never, never at this level and before, there were no iphones, no social media with almost minute to minute updates. And so we watch. What else can we do?

On the streets of Sarajevo.

During my 4 years in former Yugoslavia, I was incredibly privileged as a well-paid international staff member with a diplomatic passport. I could and I did – leave when it became too much. My life and my perspective was not comparable to anyone from there. When it became too much for me, it was because the picturesque village outside of Sarajevo where I was based began to ‘clean’ the surrounding area and village right before our eyes. That’s the language shamelessly used to describe murderous ethnic cleansing. Can you imagine? It wasn’t because of a lack of basic services or the danger that got to me, it was the sadness and the shame and frustration of how ineffectual I was – that’s what broke me.

On the road to Pale. This is one of the guns that Serbs use to bombarded Sarajevo for 3 years.

What could I do to stop the madness, provide assistance or at least some kind of relief to the suffering? I never found that answer and so thoughts and feelings about myself in that time are complicated. And now, these questions are front and center again as is the question of how can I go about living my life so normally while this insanity is going on in Ukraine?

Sarajevo. From Neil’s photos from when he was with the ICRC.

Hell if I know anymore than I did 30 years ago. But here’s what I do know: send money (not your expired medicines or children’s old toys!) to organizations on the ground that you think are reputable and that spend most of their money on action, not bureaucracy. When I was in the field, a NGO (non-governmental organization) that was always the first to get into a troubled area, and the last to leave, capable, able to pivot and good people – is MSF (Medecine San Frontiers – Doctors Without Borders). I also support the vision and speedy action of Chef Jose Andres and his World Central Kitchen (click on either link to get to site). What’s your go to?

Sarajevo. From Neil’s photos.

Certainly we need to make sure our representatives are doing whatever is necessary to support Ukraine in meaningful ways. And if you believe in prayer, say one for all the brave journalists and photographers bearing witness, and for the relief workers and most of all, to the incredible Ukrainian people — so many ordinary folk-turned soldiers and my lord — their incredible leader. And then – with all you can muster – send every hex and curse to the horrible, hideous man in the Kremlin.

What Next? (Help! Time’s Running Out!)

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Just Married – Sarajevo 1994



I’ve spent the last twenty-five years working at the same job as the sole support of my little family. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know that along with the joy there have been challenging and tragic times. Life is good now and the past feels lighter. Most importantly, my cherished daughter is launched, happy and solvent so I have started to think about what I want my future to look like. A future that I accept becomes more finite with every year. So – what next?

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Out in the field as a UNICEF Program Officer – Croatia

Do I (CAN I?) retire? Or should I keep working until they send me off with a piece of cake in the break-room? Are you in this boat too? Chances are at some point either we or our employers will decide that it’s time for us to move along. I don’t know about you but the thought of living my life without a regular paycheck and benefits makes me nervous.

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Dubrovnik – on to another adventure with Molly in tow. 1995

But an even bleaker thought is working until I drop — even if my excellent employer will let me. I LOVE the thought of having my days to myself to write, to read and maybe I’ll even start painting again. Sleep late and spend the day puttering? Travel to see my friends around the world? No problem! Sounds dreamy to me.

However, the fact is that no matter how much I do the math, without my current income I would not be able to live for very long in my beloved little house in my wonderful community.

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Premie Molly’s first day out of Brindisi Hospital – home in Ostuni, Italy.

But there are options and I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately. Mostly, my scheming includes moving to Europe. Did you know that there are places we can live that are cheaper, charming and maybe, a little warmer than where you live now. Not to mention that the healthcare is excellent and affordable. I have experience in this and I can vouch that it’s true. Back in my earliest travel days I successfully applied for and now have Irish citizenship – certainly making it easier to dream about this.

In the Japanese Countryside

If you have been reading my blog for awhile, you know I’ve happily lived and traveled in other countries. I dug out some of these old snapshots and you can tell it’s been a long time so I’m pretty rusty. For inspiration, I subscribe to International Living magazine – to get a sense of what people like me – my age and with a taste for adventure and maybe not the biggest bank account – have figured out. I recommend at least following them on social media.

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Leading a tour in Yalta – in the last year of the Soviet Union’s existence.

I’ve never been to Portugal but it’s one of those places where the living is cheaper and it sure looks lovely. I’d love to go try it out and that’s why I need your help! I entered a contest that would allow me to do just that: a ‘trial retirement’ in Portugal. In the link below, you’ll find my entry video. I promise if I win, I’ll post like crazy all about the good food, drinks, views and share lots of tips with you – in case you might be tempted too!

Please ‘LIKE’ my video — before November 22 when voting closes. Three finalists will go on to the last round. THANK YOU – for sharing with your friends – any help you can give in making me one of them! xxx

https://internationalliving.com/win-a-dream-retirement-overseas/

Summer’s (almost) Here!

And like that, we are into another season. When I attempted this post a few weeks ago, spring was in full bloom with summer just licking at its heels. This weekend we made the leap into July-like heat. Garden season.

I can barely keep the English Ivy from swallowing up my property at home yet signed up for not one but two community garden plots. The new one is in the upper field where animals seem to be less of a problem. Almost no one has a fence up top and the bounty seems better than what us poor neighbors below harvest. Or maybe it’s just me. I’ve been at this for years but am not a particularly skilled gardener.

I thought I was clever when I planted a cover crop of rye last autumn. I did no research beyond reading the package I’d picked up from the cool, organic local herb farm. As you can see from the photo above, it made a lovely thick lawn in my limited square footage. After earning nice blisters trimming the grass with hand clippers before it seeded, I left the clippings to dry and a few weeks later turned them into the soil. As you can see below, now it looks like a great mess. I’m hoping all the great rye grass nutrients in the soil (along with seaweed Molly and I gathered from the beach) will make for some tasty vegetables. I’ll keep you posted.

I can’t help noticing that everyone else’s plots look more organized than mine. This won’t surprise anyone who has ever seen my work desk. My neighbor’s gardens have rows marked with string and little markers identifying what is planted where. I imagine their kitchen shelves are similarly organized. I admire, maybe even envy a little, that way of being but I have never been that person. With anything. I made a conscious effort to try and wrap the hose in a nice loop when I was done with it and this is how it ended:

Seedlings are starting to sprout in the new patch – and I’d tell you what they are but I made no sweet tags to remember what’s what. In the past I stuck a stick through the seed packet that usually fades or blows away in the first storm. I didn’t do that this year. I vaguely remember planting carrots in here and beets there. Or the other way around. I was strategic in how I planted the lettuce – sprinkled where they might benefit from the shade of tomato plants. They don’t appreciate the hot sun for too long. Spinach and peas I think are in the middle. It will be a mystery until the first true leaves are visible. This is the way I garden. A little chaos to keep things exciting. No need for perfection in my life.

Any gardening tips?

Nurtured By What Used to Be

Barely awake, I pull a coat on over my pajamas, leash Rufus and step out into the frosty morning. A red sky announces the sun is on its way and today’s weather should be fine. Rufus does his usual pause a few steps from the house, lifting a leg for a long pee on the hedge. The bushes are dripping from last night’s rain and I walk gingerly over a slippery mat of leaves. We are only half-way down the driveway before the stubborn dog turns back to go inside. He’s persnickety about getting his feet wet.

I see the orange of my bagged newspaper at the end of the driveway and drop the leash so he can wait by the door rather than me drag him the five extra steps. Paper in hand, I turn back towards the house when something catches my eye just above the hedge next to the oak tree. I have a sense that something is missing but where I stare is only empty space. Yes, the leaves are newly gone everywhere but that’s not it. Something should be there next to the slowly rotting tree trunk. In decay, it has slowly been separating from the oak. I can’t place what caught my eye, what I think is gone. Did something disappear during the night?

There used to be three trees where now there is a only an oak tree and the rotting trunk of the elm that died when Dutch Elm disease hit the Northeast hard a few years ago. Ever frugal, I chose the bargain tree removal, leaving the branchless body of the tree in place. The trunk is a great playground for the squirrels and a smorgasbord for the birds and recently, a rabbit has found haven in the hollows of the roots. For a few more years, the oak and Norway maple stood together with this dead but lively sentinel.

Then two years ago, the Norway maple fell under the weight of an early snow, crashing through the hedge and landing in the street. Within 24 hours, the city cut it up and dragged it away – a gift – costing me only my tax dollars. This was the dramatic end to decades of togetherness. Three different trees – elm, Norway maple and the oak fused together, trunks and roots entangled.

Now, only the oak continues on – surviving longer because oaks do.

This morning, I think I ‘saw’ the other trees there- some essence – like a phantom limb. Or a flashback of the past. A flicker of movement that made me look again. A shift in light maybe? Or simply a reminder that I am not alone, that what is there cannot always be seen. These moments remind me that I live with benevolent ghosts.

Recently I read this piece in the New York Times Magazine – how forests, trees, communicate and support each other, even in death – and it doesn’t matter whether it’s a birch tree or an elm, a maple, an oak. My scrappy oak is probably being supported by the fungus of the long gone trees. Perhaps beneath the earth, their roots embrace. And maybe what caught my eye was a glimpse of love.

I like to think that it’s always love that lurks beneath, love that remains.

The Importance of Updating

Well, hello there! Did you miss me? I was locked out of my blog for more than a month. Yes, I was hacked but it was also my own fault: I’d ignored the pesky reminders to install updates. The format or something that I was using became so out-dated that I was no longer able to upload posts. What a perfect metaphor for my life. I need to keep up with the program. Lesson learned? I hope so but this feels harder as I get older. Does it for you?

I used to be adept at change, regularly going somewhere or doing something different. In my youth, I moved every few years – often to another state or country. The grand finale before settling here in Connecticut, was in Molly’s first year of life when we moved four times, three different countries. Same with jobs. A year in one place was my average until I landed at the United Nations where after a few years at the NYC headquarters, I left to work out in the field. Boyfriends? Rarely did I hit the six month mark with any of them. Friends are different – I’ve treasured and nurtured those loves and they’ve sustained and supported me for decades.

Physically COVID makes the advisability of change questionable. Time to hunker down and hang onto whatever is working and hibernate through the seasons. Luckily I adore being in my sweet house with porch and garden and the Long Island Sound only minutes away. I miss sharing meals and drinks with friends but not being able to meet up in big groups is not a hardship for me as I am more on the introvert than extrovert scale. My daughter is with me – a joy of daily laughs and hugs. Molly’s cheerfully helpful, running all errands including braving the grocery stores. She cooks gourmet meals and makes a mean cocktail. We have become YouTube fix-it experts with the latest accomplishment: replacing our toilet! And she’s my IT specialist — the reason why I am here with you today.

But: this is not what’s supposed to happen. She should be launching into her own adventures and discoveries – not stuck at home with mom.

We are in a kind of forced meditation, aren’t we?

I don’t hate it. I appreciate being forced to look inward. The search of self and being feels rich and interesting to me and if anything, I wish I had more time for that. But of course, I am distracted by practical questions too. How do I hope to spend whatever years are left to me? What can I sustain? I used to feel stressed going down this path — regularly doing math as if the answer lay in a budget I don’t have. But these days, I worry much less. So little and yet so much is possible. Does that make sense? What can we control, anyway? Breathe – because we know how precious that is, don’t we?

These days, as I imagine my daughter’s eventual adventures, I remember my once intrepid self and realize that gal, that ME is still here. A little rusty but that’s what happens when you fail to move. What’s next? I’m not sure but as my blog reminded me, it’s impossible to move forward if you don’t refresh and update. And dream!

What’s happening in your COVID world? Are you taking good care of yourself?

On the Water

gorgeous Sound

We get to the beach early, landing a parking spot right next to the kayak launch spot. Molly hauls our boats to the shore and I ferry the life jackets, paddles and water bottles. Within 20 minutes of leaving our house we are floating on the Long Island Sound.

As we push into the heaving tide my mind-muddle of to-do tasks is left on shore. At high tide our usual spits of land and sandbars that inspire lazy paddling, were nowhere to be found so we head to a more distant island with an inviting empty beach. This stretch can feel like Grand Central Station at rush hour on a sunny weekend day but in the morning, there are only a few oyster boats probably out before the sun. We have a few hours before motorboats with loaded beer coolers begin tearing through the water and we savor the quiet, only the lapping waves and sea-bird shrieks.

me on grassy island

Terns and gulls swoop across the sky. The rhythm of paddling returns even after a year. Pushing through the water feels good. Molly is usually ahead of me because she’s younger and stronger but also because I periodically pause to just float, my plastic boat bobbing, the morning sun warming my bare legs and arms. When I open them again, Molly is near the island. I straighten up and paddle hard to catch up with her.

Me and my gal

We pull onto the sandy beach. This island is city owned – it’s possible to camp here and the thought of sleeping on this patch of wild in the water has appeal – an easy getaway with only nature’s luxuries. For now we are happy to unpack the fruit and coffee we carried with us. We sit on our towel and marvel at the beauty until we are discovered by horseflies. To escape their nasty bites, we strip to our bathing suits and make our first plunge of the season. I am not much of a swimmer, but there is something about that deep breath and dunking into the muffled, other-world of underwater that shifts my brain immediately into vacation mode. My summer baptism.

 

Temporarily Out of Stock

I sell books. Selling houses, cars, clothing, even towels would earn me more money than books, but that stuff doesn’t stir my soul. Being a salesperson doesn’t come naturally to me but my love of reading allows me to convince myself it’s a good cause. Of course it helps that I sell mostly to teachers who have the mission of teaching kids to read. I know so many remarkable ones determined to mobilize the power of books to open minds and hearts. I’m lucky to tag along on their great work.

The perks of being a bookseller include a great discount and free advanced readers copies, ARCS – a sneak peek at soon to be published books. I’m just finishing The Buddha on Death Row: How One Man Found Light in the Darkest Place by David Sheff (also author of one of the finest books on addiction, Beautiful Boy). Sheff’s newest title is a blend of social justice and Buddhism – a good read in my quest to live life from a place of peace and love rather than fury. Jarvis Masters has managed to do this through meditation and Buddhism, while living on death row in San Quentin. For 30 years and still today, this Black man has been denied a fair hearing and remains on death row for a crime he did not commit. Yes, more fuel to take to the streets.

book stack

I look to books to help me be a better person, to explain the world. And it makes my heart sing to report that I am not alone: last week, bookstores across the country sold out of  books on racism. Take a look at the New York Times non-fiction bestseller list transformed into a veritable what-to-read to know How to Be an Antiracist – my next read. What are you reading?

**In support of #BlackoutBestsellerList and #blackpublishingpower, we are encouraged to purchase two books by Black writers between June 14 – June 20. (Happy to recommend titles!)**

 

 

 

A Sadly Prescient Post from November 2016: Caution – Danger Ahead

kiseljak

I am re-posting something I wrote and posted in November 2016. Four years later and the predictable tyranny, chaos and destructive forces are now in full gear. Did you vote for this?

I support peaceful protest and support my Black brothers and sisters with love. You lead the way – I am listening and I will stand with you. As a veteran of a war fueled and led by bandits who benefit by fanning the flames of division with nationalistic lies, racism, militias armed with assault weapons is familiar territory. We are in a very dangerous place. Pay attention — it is happening here. Where do you stand?

*************************************************************************************

This is an excerpt I’d edited from my memoir The Things We Cannot Change:

From my window, rooftops are visible against a ribbon of the almost-green trees muting the incessant drone of the highway. Everything appears serene and lovely this early spring morning but I cannot help and wonder what goes on inside these houses. What hatred, prejudice, violence might simmer under those roofs? Could this community in Connecticut combust? Might neighbors turn on each other in violence? Of course not – that seems impossible. We are sure we are different. That is not who we are. Yet I have seen what darkness can reside in homes with roofs just like ours and know such horrors are possible anywhere.

***

My apartment sat on the main road of this tiny predominantly Croat town in Bosnia. I heard everything. Nights, I hid under a ridiculous number of blankets for warmth and to try and drown out the drunken shouting and yelling of local soldiers in the street. The next day at work, I knew I’d be reading UN military reports of Moslem families being bullied from their homes, men taken away in the night. It could not just be me listening but doing nothing about the evil soundtrack of those sleepless hours? What about my neighbors? Under the veil of darkness, families were forced from homes they’d lived in for generations. The Croats were ‘ethnically cleansing’ the town of Moslems – right on the UN’s doorstep.

Man’s inhumanity to man being played out so close around me, overwhelms what should be memories of my excitement of new love. Instead, an icy fear and anger clutched at my throat and tightened with every night.

Years later, I remain haunted by that Bosnian-Croat town – the dark secrets and nights of violence spilling into daylight.

destroyed-village

This chapter selection is from my time there when Central Bosnian villages were being ‘cleaned’ out. During the day, from the safety of the UN armored car, what from a distance looked sweet bucolic cottages, up close became surreal scenes of horror. Windows smashed – ruffled curtains flapping like surrender flags flown too late. Some houses burned. Doors left open – chickens wandering the yard, a dead dog. No human in sight. Eerie. The village had clearly just recently been ransacked – the people fled, taken prisoner, killed? Any of those was possible — all of it happened. We sped on to our meeting.

kids-in-sarajevo

The beauty of the places I lived and visited in Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia and Slovenia during my four years there is unforgettable. But the hatred between those cousins wore my soul out. In 1996, I was ready to come home and glad to settle in the diverse, welcoming community I now love and call my own. While racism and prejudice has always existed in the United States, in my experience, it was rare to encounter it as shameless. There was at least a sense of being wrong and certainly some modicum of legal protection against hate crimes, discrimination. That’s what I thought in 1996 as I packed my bags to move back to create a life with my new family in my home country.

I’ve gotten a glimpse of what can happen when government leaders and their propaganda machines fan the flame of fear and hatred. I’ve seen what happens when citizens feel free – even encouraged – to harass (and worse) their neighbors with impunity. It’s more terrible than you can imagine. Let’s not go there.

Silver Lining: ZOOM Yoga with Robert

I love being at home, especially now as Spring explodes with flowers and my little patch turns into paradise. Pre-pandemic, I rarely wanted to venture out into the world beyond my little house and yard.  I was happy to clock every hour of the weekend at home. When the weather was cold and miserable, I was inside by the wood stove, sometimes climbing back into to bed after a quick dog walk. Days like we’ve been having, I’m outside for hours, pruning hedges, pulling weeds and sitting on the front porch reading the newspaper while the birds sing and the squirrels tear through the trees torturing Rufus. I am very lucky: while the reason is bleak, it remains a pleasure for me to spend every day and hour at home.

But there is one weekend outing I made religiously pre-Covid that I have missed. Every Saturday, earlier than I left for work most mornings, I was out the door to go to the gym. Yes, the gym. I’ve had a membership for at least 10 years. For a few of those years, the neighborhood gals would inspire me (meaning pick me up in their cars) to join them for a weight and a even a few zumba classes. (you don’t want to see me dance — sadly, I suffer from serious white girl-disease) Sometimes I forced myself to get my heart beating by huffing and puffing on the elliptical. Ten minutes was about all I could ever muster and that ten minutes felt like eternity. The only reason I kept my gym membership and got up and out at 6:30 on a Saturday morning was for Robert’s yoga class.

I’d wager Robert’s following is larger than any other yoga class at the gym although not everyone loves him. It’s not unusual for a new person to pack up their mat and leave the class early because they wonder what the hell this guy is up to. And Robert jokes about it. Light’s are dimmed and like most classes, each session begins with a few minutes of meditation. But he doesn’t play any woo-woo music and his non-stop talking veers from the profound to the irreverent — weighing more on the side of irreverent and to me, he is laugh out loud funny. No sun salutations for us — we may spend 3/4 of the class sitting on our mats twisting and leaning and stretching only inches at a time – and always, he’s talking.

By listening to him, I have learned to listen to myself. And the next day, I’m pleasantly sore and grateful.Robert’s quirky, warm and wise guy reminders motivate me. Since going to his classes, if I feel a pain anywhere in my body, I almost always know how to figure out what is causing and how to fix it. These days, sitting for long hours in front of my tiny work laptop, it’s not hard to know why my shoulders are tense or my hips tight. And I know what to do about it. I credit Robert for teaching me this.

But here’s the thing – a silver lining to the current state of things: Robert is teaching on ZOOM twice a week. So now, I enjoy his class in my own cozy room with the sound of birds wafting through the open window rather than the clank of weight machines outside the freezing cold room at the gym where we met for a mere 40 minute class. Robert’s classes are over an hour – that flies. And YOU can join too – no matter where you are in the world! There’s a class on Tuesday at 12:30 PM or Saturday at 11:45 AM Eastern Standard Time. This will be the best $15 you’ll spend in a week — you should try it – no matter how creaky and stiff and challenged you might feel. All the better – as Robert says – use it or lose it! Even if you have never done yoga. Let me know if you’re interested and I’ll send you the info. It would be fun to see you there!