Hiatus

It's been a while!
A lot has changed since the last time I posted... I got married... we bought a house.. I started teaching yoga more often and decided to go back to school. I have no regrets about any of these decisions, but what I do regret is that I have not found time to bring my hobbies back into my life. I still continue to make natural cleaners around the house, and am constantly looking for ways to cut back on chemicals in the home, and make the products we use instead of just buy them. I miss these hobbies.. I miss them so incredibly much.
I had told myself that I was just busy and that it was just a break, but each day I get further from my workshop the worse and worse I feel. I am my happiest when I am creating with my hands, when I am making things that other people can enjoy and are good for them too!
What I do not miss is trying to push myself into social arenas, trying to bring myself to a place where I can "market" myself. In fact... I despise the word "networking", and generally it causes me to cringe with anxiety and fear. The idea of putting myself out there, of meeting new people is absolutely terrifying to me, it does not sound enjoyable or pleasant in any way, but, what I have found is that the more I do it, the more comfortable I become doing it. So what if that person doesn't like me... that has absolutely nothing to do with me, and that's okay.
I'm not even sure why I'm writing this. Maybe just to remind myself, that it's okay that sometimes I'm not social, and partially to remind myself that sometimes it isn't okay to be mean just because you don't care for the situation you've put yourself in. That being said, I think I'd like to get back into the things I love, making things with my hands, creating things that other people can use... that do more good than harm.
More posts soon I promise,
I made some pretty cool stuff... or at least I think it's pretty cool stuff.. and if you don't think so... that's fine... I'm okay with that.
Annie

This. Is. SPARTA!!!!

Yep, that's right, my husband, his best friend Dan and I ran the Spartan Sprint yesterday. If you don't know what the Spartan races are (I had no idea, pretty much up until they released us from our corral yesterday), it's an indeterminate length(4 to 5 miles?) of up and downhill running inter-dispersed with horrible horrible horrible obstacle course activities for sadomasochists, fitness junkies, and college students with their bright eyed enthusiasm about how they can bounce back from a hangover while running under the aforementioned conditions.
Here are the facts; 1) I am not a runner 2) I do not run 3) Running any distance is neither enjoyable for me, or comfortable on the knee I've had meniscus and an ACL repair on 4) I love my husband and 5) I love to try new things that challenge me, physically and mentally.
So our herd is released from the corral at 9:15 and we immediately run right past the parking lot where all of the cars are and I am fighting everything in me not to slightly veer left, duck behind the nearest car, find the keys to our car and enjoy a nice nap for the next few hours, but alas, my pride wins over and I tell myself I can finish this (what I assume is an.. ) easy 3 mile jog through the sunlit canvas of a Phoenix Sunday morning unscathed. First up, a wall we have to jump over, then one to roll under, and then jump through, and then we do it again. I watch my husband fly through these with ease, roll under the wall and hop over the walls no big deal, I'm a quick learner. Okay no problem here... not too bad, the knee is doing okay, my stamina is fine, my vision is fine, I'm a bit out of shape but that is fine. I am sure the 2 well trained Marines I am with are not even breaking a sweat, fighting the urge to blow through the next few obstacles, but I tell myself this is just a warmup for them, ha, which proves to be more true than I thought. Then we start running again... okay.. now another wall. This wall is about my height, maybe 6 ft tall. I jump and have grossly overestimated my ability to scale walls like Spiderman. Okay cool, so now if there were a pack of rabid dogs chasing me I'd be dead, good to know. Well, maybe if they were weak from hunger I'd be okay, I have to give myself some leeway, I mean.. I am running from rabid dogs in my own "why would I ever need this knowledge in real life, it's the same reason why I refuse to learn calculus" fantasy. Second try, I jump a little higher, pull from the strength of my spirit animal and complete this obstacle. Cool, what's next?
We run a little more, the terrain is more sand and wash like.. and the knee starts to hurt, but I cannot let my husband know he married a weakling, so we press on. It starts to get worse, I voice my concern, because there are visions of me not being able to care for our kids when I have a prosthesis for a right leg. How I jumped from a sore knee to total amputation? Not sure.. it just happens.. follow along. At this point my memory starts to get fuzzy. I think there was some more running.. yeah probably more running.. the Marines.. my husband, Matt and his friend Dan... haven't even broken a sweat yet.. Dan is forced to wait for us every few hundred yards or so because he grossly overestimates my ability to keep up. Next up in the obstacle round? Move this big heavy object over there, do some burpees ( a burpee is some sort of movement designed by Satan to slowly reduce your love of life over time, you drop, do a pushup, jump up, clap your hands above your head and repeat), and then bring it back. WHAT!? you have got to be kidding me!? Why would I even want to move this huge ball of cement over there? Has anyone ever asked this spherical object if it even enjoys being moved this way and that all day long, feeling as used as a shopping cart must, with all work and no play? Again, I can see the parking lot, it's so close, but so can everyone else as this is near the start and finish and I'm pretty sure Matt and Dan would notice if they saw me sprinting toward the car. Okay, so I pick up my new friend the cement orb, I speak to her nicely, tell her it's all going to be okay, that I'm going to drop you on the ground but only because I lack the back strength or social graces to set you down nicely, I do my burpees, pick up my new friend again and carry her back to her beginning destination, preparing her to be used by another Spartan.
And then we run, or walk, or breathe heavily and slow down, at this point I'm not sure, my vision is getting fuzzy, I'm holding on to my husband for support, resisting the urge to fall over dead. But we trudge on. Next up (I think... I told you the memory starts to go here) is a rope and pulley system with a weighted bag on the end. Matt instructs, sit down, pull with both arms, you'll be fine. Surprisingly, this one is not too bad, my upper body strength is holding up as we haven't had to do this entire race walking on our hands, awesome. Next up, the rope climb. There are maybe 20 ropes, held up by a scaffolding system, hanging over a pool of waist deep muddy water. Cool, I got this upper body thing, I find the wussies ladies' rope and start my ascent. I pull up, plant my feet, step up on the knots in the rope. Okay, now, what the hell, that knot is so much further away than the last one, and at this point I start cursing everyone who ever participated in this race ever. I muster up the strength to get up past that one and find that I only have one more before I can reach the stupid fucking cowbell at the top signifying my completion of this challenge. I grab the rope, both hands pull up, get one foot on the knot but the inch my other foot needs to magically levitate to reach the top of the knot is not there, I panic, I wrap my legs around the rope and sit on the knot with my legs crossed. I can hear Matt and Dan cheering my on from the other side, I attempt again, and again.... and again. I have never wanted and hated a cowbell so much. At this point my loving husband and Dan jump back in the water climb up the ropes (for the second time, mind you) flanking me on either side and show me how to situate the rope so that I can stand on it bypassing the knot. I begin to cry. I love my husband so much. I do as he instructs reach up and with a "this is the last time I will be attempting this" exclamatory "fffuuuccckkkk" I slam the stupid stupid cowbell and attempt to grab back on to the rope to start my descent. I miss.. and fall back into the muddy waters below. It was a moment I will never forget. I've never been so motivated, inspired, and encouraged all in the same moment. IT WAS AWESOME! But apparently I lost points for my dismount, since I only fell back into the water, no big deal, I kicked that cowbell's ASS! Okay, energy level somewhat up, motivation level increased, I am covered in mud and feeling awesome! Let's DO THIS
Oh, what the hell is this!? Next up, let's crawl under some barbed wire while some jackass sprays water on you. Well, shit.. that other part wasn't so bad, I'm pretty skinny, I can manage. The first 5 feet not so bad... We "climb" up over a minor hill and into a pool of muddy water... the icy cold water is actually doing wonders for my knee, giving it a moment to cool down and not move, then we start our big ascent up and I am now either hallucinating or just hating barbed wire so much I think they've actually placed pieces of broken glass in this obstacle. I think about writing a strongly worded letter, and then realize the waiver I signed stated in large BOLD RED LETTERS, YOU COULD DIE!!! so I decide not to and just tough it up. I'm a big girl, I've got my big girl panties on, let's go. I shimmy my way to the top, and then see the others rolling sideways down. Got it, remember I can learn quickly. So let's roll! What they don't tell you is this makes you dizzy as shit! I get up and walk to my husband in what I assume is a drunken straight line. And we march on.
Next, I don't remember, some inverted wall I bet, some other stupid stupid climb, some go up this mud hill, go down it and wade in some cold muddy water and repeat (again good for the knee so no complaints here), take this big bag of sand up this hill and bring it right back to us, then drag this cement trapezoid through sand by this large chain up this huge hill then back down, at which time I think Matt and Dan are so tired of watching me get stuck they help pull the stupid stupid trapezoid back to it's starting place. Then there is another rope and another wall thing, and a spear throw, which consists of a broom handle with a musket spike attached to the end, which in all my skepticism I doubt the Spartans had muskets.. or broom handles.. Anyway, you throw this spear at some hay (I'm not sure what the hay did to deserve this but we are so close to the finish so I throw) and holy shit it sticks! SO if I can't outrun some rabid dogs I could fashion a MacGyver spear and probably lightly poke them to death. Then we turn around a corner and  have one more wall to go under, this one is up to the brim in muddy water so you have to swim under. Awesome, I was a swimmer in high school, I can hold my breath for 3 seconds no problem, then while you are all wet and muddy hold on to this rope and climb up another slippery wall. AND THEN WE CROSS THE FINISH LINE.
That last paragraph is pretty indicative of my mental state at the time also, a little hazy, detail resistant, and blurry. But the finish line, oh, the finish line, I've never eaten a banana that tasted so good. I am warming up under the Phoenix sun, enjoying the embrace from my loving husband, telling me how proud he is of me, that he's seen grown men not be able to do the things I've done, and secretly I'm thinking how little he knows about my rabid dog survival skills. We attempt to rinse off in the "showers" (a bank of hoses) and collect our t-shirts and converse with the others who've just finished, then start our journey back to Tucson.
Today? Well today, I've noticed how many bumps, bruises and lacerations I have, and notice that every muscle in my body hurts, and I know this is only day 1. I'm laying in bed... thinking about chores, but really just loving that I have the day mostly off and enjoying the time with our animals, and here are the facts that are still true, 1) I am not a runner 2) I do not run 3) Running any distance is neither enjoyable for me, or comfortable on the knee I've had meniscus and an ACL repair on 4) I FUCKING LOVE MY HUSBAND and 5) I love to try new things that challenge me, physically and mentally.

This Bitch got Hitched!

Yep, it happened. Yesterday, Matt and I went down to the courthouse and got married. We were officially engaged for a few hours short of one week, as he proposed after my Tuesday yoga class around 8 p.m. and we were married around 5:30. We decided not to post the engagement on Facebook, and I  only told my immediate family. I generally don't like to have a fuss made over me, actually I get really uncomfortable when too much any attention is placed on me. I would have happily gone through this entire experience not telling anyone, quietly slipping the ring on my finger and happily knitting my way to domestic bliss. Part of me also wanted to avoid the sideways glances, the impending questioning, and the assumption I was pregnant considering the short span of our relationship and engagement. Although I knew Matt was the one for me on day 2 that feeling is hard to portray to those who haven't felt it. Then I thought about the conversation we had early in our relationship about being "all in", and I knew this marriage had been in the making months before the engagement. Then I thought to all the lessons I'd learned in the years leading up to meeting Matt and how much I'd grown, and then realized this experience was a lifetime in the making. God had been preparing me for Matt and Matt for me, and placed us in the right place at just the right time.

It wasn't until spilling some of the information at my Yoga Teacher Training that I realized how selfish I was being by not telling anyone, and how ridiculous protecting this happy information was. I got to see how other people could share in the excitement of an engagement, and it was contagious! Although I'm more of the quiet contemplative celebrator I got to see how other people get excited. Friends reached out in very touching ways. There was an out pour of emotion, love, well wishes, and genuine excitement! I got to see the light turn on in others and was feeding off of that excitement.  It brought me back to hearing my sister was engaged to the love of her life,  and when a dear friend had only one ovary and very little chance of having children had conceived twins,  and hearing all of the little stories and moments that happen that allow us the opportunity to pause, and possibly sigh, or scream, or smile ear to ear and share in life's smile miracles.

While all of the details of yesterday will not be shared (yup, I'll be selfish about that) I will share some of the amazing moments I won't forget. Like that the judge's name was Paul Simon, the wedding certificate guy pounding my new husband and saying "look what you got", and the look... the look my husband gave me after saying our vows, and the expansion of love in his eyes that sunk down into the depths of my icy cold heart and allowed me to be myself, completely and unabashedly in the forever of every moment.

So, thank you for sharing, and thank you for everyone who has ever been on this path with me, for making me the woman I am today, thank you to God for giving me Matt, and thank you to Matt for loving me for everything I am, I am so blessed.

Word of the day : Terror

 

ter·ror

[ter-er]

noun

1. intense, sharp, overmastering fear: to be frantic with terror.

2. an instance or cause of intense fear or anxiety; quality of causing terror: to be a terror to evildoers.

 I started this journey officially in August 2013, although in hindsight it may have started much earlier than that. It may have been that one moment in D's class(circa 2010) when he said my extended side angle pose looked "good" (still to this day one of my favorite poses). It may have been the couple months I was trying to get sober and would weep silently in savasana. It might have been the moment I found out about the teacher training at an impromptu breakfast with two dear friends and the feeling I had in my heart that God wanted me there in August. Or it may have been the first workshop I took with Darren and Christina in January of 2013 when, after an intense morning of back bends on the second day, I sat in my car and cried my heart open during the lunch break. I was unsure of where it would lead, but knew that it would change me. It started with a love of practice, and an untapped desire to be helpful to other people, to possibly allow them the space to find the things they wanted in life as it has for me, and it has become so much more. 

Our YogaHour 200hr Teacher Training is coming to an end this weekend, and although others are excited, nervous or possibly even sad for it's culmination, I, am terrified, and add to that the fact that I am scared to admit I'm terrified.  A lifetime of insecurities are flooding the space between my ears. "What if I fail the test?", "I was never good at memorizing", "I probably did too many drugs and now my brain is fried", "I will be the only one to choke, they will all laugh at me and drum me out of the studio". Even in the time I've found to study the sequences and script I find myself drifting into these places of doubt, self-pity, and terror. It feels like now I am not only fighting the battle to study well, but first to fight off the dragons that keep me from learning, growing realizing my true potential, and it is exhausting. 

When this is all over this weekend, I will have already taught 41 hours of yoga, and my heart is so full because of this. Already so many amazing memories have happened in the big studio at YogaOasis and Yo Downtown, that I feel blessed to call them home. I think the reason why the test terrifies me more than anything is because it is not a true reflection of the woman I have become over the last 6 months, 1 year, 5 years. This introverted, anti-social, awkward human being can now stand confidently in front of a classroom and teach fairly well. And although as soon as the class is over I fold back comfortably into my previous self and reflect, I am happy. I have a hard enough time articulating what that means to me let alone putting it down on paper. And although I'm absolutely terrified that any of the aforementioned "failures" may happen I know in my heart of hearts that even if I sat down in front of my instructor tomorrow and cried the entire test period I would be okay, because I've already received so much more than I bargained for. 

So . Many . CARROTS

So, in true American style, my sweet sweet man and I signed our lives away to Costco. The wonderful fluorescent world of mass production and over consumption so neatly packaged in the well oiled machine that is the Costco warehouse. Although we don't even venture down the bread and chip aisles, and I have to yell loudly to divert his attention from the tool aisle (as he diverts mine from the ice cream, fresh flowers, coffee, candy, clothes and free samples) we generally go for the produce, bulk meats, and paper products and the like. Anyway, on our last trip we bought the necessaries; toilet paper, ground beef, perrier, and yes... a 25lb bag of carrots. What, you ask, was I going to do with 25 pounds of carrots? No idea. But the American in me totally justified spending $15 on 25 POUNDS of carrots without a plan for the aforementioned carrots. Although my honey and I go through a lot of food, we can't seem to go through the produce fast enough. We buy in bulk and try to eat the perishables as quickly as possible, but sometimes they just go bad. I was determined to not let this happen. We had just finished eating all of the leftover carrot soup we had conjured up after the last 5 pound bag of carrots we were trying to salvage, so that was out of the question, so what was I to do?
We found a couple of recipes for carrot chips, Matt making long strips of carrots and baking them, while I shredded them and put them into any kind of slaw and cold salad I could think of. I also tried to use our mandolin to cut thin chips and bake them. This experiment did not go well as I lost more finger skin than I care to admit while slicing those orange sticks of doom.

And then I remembered... the juicer! TADA!!!! Then a flood of projects washed over this discovery that I had been meaning to try! I had been wanting to incorporate carrot juice in my soap making (the beta carotene is amazing for your skin, and the orange color would be amazing to try!) and had also been craving a cracker (sigh, I miss crackers... since embracing the paleo lifestyle I hadn't realized how much I miss having cheese and crackers as an afternoon snack). I wanted something fucking crunchy dammit. So here was my problem solved on 3 levels; 1) I would be able to put to good use the remainder of the Mt Everest pile of carrots in my fridge 2) I would be able to use the carrot juice to enhance my soaps 3) I would be able (theoretically) to use the carrot pulp to make a crunchy cracker alternative. YES! Success!

20 carrots made about 32 oz of juice! The pulp was enough to make two cookie sheet size batches of carrot crackers (I halved the batch, added; sage, thyme, basil, salt pepper, a little almond flour and coconut milk, rolled between parchment paper and baked for a million hours on low heat in the oven - it's still a work on progress, good thing i have another half batch!) AND being the lover of efficiency that I am, I even froze the carrot tops to put in our chicken stock, the next time we get a full chicken. Dang I'm good! These are the moments of domestic introverted bliss where I raise my fist in the air 'Breakfast Club' style and wait for the affirmation from the dog and two cats about how amazing I am, they usually agree.