thanks, V.

One of my dear friends came to town this weekend with a belated birthday present.  Knowing just HOW MUCH I love poetry and the art of writing in general (she - having been my roommate for the better four years - has heard me recite my fair share of Robert Frost as I putzed about the apartment), she handed me the collection, “Prayers & Run-on Sentences” by Stuart Kestenbaum.   I was stoked, though I’d never heard of him before today - a shame since he’s a poet from Deer Isle, off the coast of my Maine.  After sitting with this book for the early part of my Sunday eve, I’ve already got a favorite.  I love this one.  Write more later.  Probably about giving thanks.  I have a lot, after all, to be thankful for....and it’s almost Thanksgiving.

if you don’t like or know how to read poetry, there’s really no trick.  no need to pause at the line breaks; just read it as you would one long (run-on) sentence.  and don’t think so hard:)

enjoy, you.

Prayer

Our problem - may I include you? - is that we

don’t know how to start, how to just close 

our eyes and let something dance between

our hearts and our lips, we don’t know how

to skip across the room only for the joy of the leap.

We walk, we run, but what happened to the skip

and its partner, the gallop, the useless and imaginary

way we could move through space, the horses we

rode before we knew how to saddle up, before we

had opinions about everything and just loved

the wind in our faces and the horizon in our eyes.

x(ohiloveits)o.

kay

little lion man.

thursday night

mumford + sons

clay, claire, kevin, kay.  

a foursome whose names keep hard “C" sounds and make alliteration a job.

king charles

cadillac sky

turns out the opening bands have hard “C” sounds, too.  stars aligned.  i like that saying only because i think of stars in a straight line across a galaxy above our earth but have no real belief that it would effect human behavior.  

kay, claire, kevin, clay, king charles, cadillac sky.  

amazing openers and one of the best shows i’ve seen at the house of blues ever.

I don’t care about bandwagons or how Mumford’s blown up in recent months

how they fill the venues

how people talk

i only wish i’d seen them when they filled small houses because the intimacy that came from 1,000+ humans staring at a stage watching 4 guys who are covered in passion was just as real as if i sat on the edge of my couch and watched them break banjo strings in my living room.

at one point king charles, cadillac sky and mumford were all on stage together. it was the encore.  the banjos found each other, the bass sunk into slow sorrow and the fiddles winked and twinkled as the kick drums pulsed.  harmonies, bearded men bellowing into shared microphones, leaning shoulders and backs into each other as if the sounds escaped between their ribs touching

and we’re beaming under lights and singing, too

all of us and the balcony.

a crowd of consonance 

another hard “c”, more stars form a straight line somewhere in this universe above us

i found myself standing staring in awe at the awesomeness 

how music brings us to each other

we ate burgers at 1am

we lost kevin.

we cabbed home and my head told my heart....

and awake my soul.....

and little lion man.

xo

kay

i couldn't find a good video from boston, so i went with this one from london's apollo taken about a month ago. the energy from the crowd is just as amazing here. singing with the band made for a great night.  fun fun times.

Yoga Love

I’m sitting on my couch with tea and a pile of chocolate callets from Trader Joe’s on my lap.  Peering into my freezer, I was surprised to find just how much dark chocolate I’ve hoarded.  If Trader’s runs out, come find me.  I will hook you up with my Willy Wonkian amounts of cocoa bean goodness.

Anyway, it’s been a while, twelveohsix.  I haven’t told you this yet, but my running shoes are getting a bit of a rest since I’ve started doing yoga.  Yes.  I’ve gone every day for the last week and am loving the way it makes my mind feel.  A whole different kind of work out.  I mean don’t get me wrong;  I still take down the river most mornings, but I needed a supplement, a change of scene.   And that scene looks like the up side of the orange Prana mat that I haven’t unrolled in two years.

I’ve tried my fair share of yoga; Bikram, Baptiste.....and generally after a day or three I’m over it.  Too much pressure to be good at it.  When I think of yoga, i think of really fit humans doing crazy poses with their eyes closed.  I once went on a yoga retreat with my cousins to a place called, Kripalu, in the Berkshires.  Everyone had names that sounded like a long prayer and always ended in a vowel.  I signed up for 5 classes and with the exception of the final class, felt like I was passing the “beginner” test.  I could glide through without being found out.  If the instructor came near me (I watched for feet out of the corner of my eye no matter where my head was supposed to be) and if he was anywhere near me, I’d just hold my breath and gut out whatever pose was supposed to happen, no matter the pain.  See, I was not a real practicer.  I was an ex-athlete with limited range of motion and a real competitive edge; a cocktail for yogic disaster.  The last class at the Kripalu Institute for Bendy People spent a good deal of time honing the dragon breath.  That sounded easy.  But my awesome cousin, Molly,  left after ten minutes, consumed in a fit of giggles due to a classroom full of extremely intense dragon breathing.  She flew out so fast and I was left to fend for myself in a room amongst hardcore yogis with beards and women that looked like they’d taken wheatgrass shots every day of their lives.  I was both jealous, fearful, and on the brink of renaming myself Kayalushana.    This was in 2004.

A week ago, I decided to take up yoga again and on Friday night, found myself in a class called, “Freedom Joy Yoga”. With a name like that, I was a little skeptical.  But I have a two-week pass and was determined to try every class that was offered before my time was up, so that I could decide if it was worth the monthly payments... Vinyasa, Ashtanga, Prana Flow all the other classes had been very awesome and I was actually getting limber and feeling stronger on my runs.  This was one of the only classes I hadn’t tried yet.  But when I read the description, I was even more skeptical: Inspired by Forrest and Vinyasa Yoga, this class will be set to an uplifiting Indie, Dance and House Music playlist. Tap into your potential energy and strength. Ride the waves of breath and rhythm. Let loose and relax your mind. Be prepared to move, sweat, and have fun! All levels are welcome!

Oh man.  This had Kripalu Dragon Breath giggle fit written all over it.  But heck.  Here we go.  People, Peeps, Humans with hearts.  THIS class was awesome.  Awesome.  

So we’re going through flow, only instead of typical chime/gong/waterfall relaxation music, it was all house music...house music was blasting the brick walls and bouncing off 27 pairs of shins as we cobra’d and downward dogged our way to freedom.  I’m sweating my spandexed toosh off.  I’m starting to smile.  This is flippn cool.  Then.  Then Peter Crowley, our inspiring and energetic instructor dims the paper lantern lights until we’re in complete darkness and says, “okay, we have 15 minutes...” 15 minutes of what?  I wonder. He hits a few buttons on his macbook and serious serious house music reverberates off the walls.  “you can move your mats, you can move around the room, but dance, people!  Let it all out.  All your frustrations, your anxiety, your emotions, your work week, your life...dance it all out.  Let it GO....”

I stood there, unsure of what exactly let it go meant.  

My eyes adjusted to the dark and I saw the silhouettes of others in front of me starting to pulse and move to the beat of the music, their arms wailing above their heads, their feet jumping and heads bouncing.  Curvy bodies, stick straight bodies, ponytails, bald men, old people, young people short, tall, you name it.  All of them, dancing to a beat they heard outside, but hearing the release the pulse the hum of their own music inside.   My arms started, then my hips and my legs until everything all of me the underside of my feet to to the top of my head buzzed with complete and utter happiness.  I love to dance and so I danced.  I danced and danced and danced and leapt and, as many made their way around the room dancing their own form of freedom, I stepped once or twice off my mat and laughed out loud at the absurdity, the expanse of it all.  My heart swelled.  This was such a foreign feeling; a breach of what i assumed yoga always meant; a serious silent torture that felt good only at the end when you lay on your back for a few silent minutes.

This. Was. Awesome.

Minutes later we slowed to the sounds of Janet Jackson’s “Love Will Never Do Without You”, stepped back onto our mats and continued to practice.  We were one unit now.  We flowed in silence but I caught the smile of the guy next to me, and found myself keeping to the beat of the music.  Peter encouraged us through Warrior Three and I tried a shoulder stand and thought about the hand stand (in due time, Miller).  45 minutes later, we lay on our mats.  I was exhausted and drenched in sweat.  

I guess what I found was that things aren’t always the way they are supposed to be.  And that what they’re “supposed” to be is very often the story we make up in our heads. Maybe because of experience, or because someone told us this was how it was.  And so we live right there in our borders.  But maybe we take a risk.  We use house music instead of waterfalls to stretch to the sky and open our chests....We step off our mat and dance....in the dark, with strangers.  And yoga, with all it’s silences and ohms and namastes, becomes more.  Becomes bigger.  This class brought me a little closer to the me.  And I think that’s the goal, after all.

xohmmmmmmmm,

kay 

oh! rapid eye movement + running

i’m having a terrible time getting up for my morning runs recently.  first of all, it’s very COLD.  The last four days have been hitting 33ºF at least.  And it’s DARK.  And by dark I mean as dark as the inside of my eyelid dark which i would prefer to experience under my pillowy comforter rather than stepping out into the freezing pre-dawn skylids of 6:15am.  And you know what?  running in the cold dark is LONELY.  Sure, there are runners out on the river.  but during this time of year, much less this time of day, we’re all doing the shoulders-up-shuffle, mouths and hands covered up by dark poly/cotton blends.  we don’t talk.  we squint.  we blow wet into our jackets and get our breath beat up by frosty New England winds.  we watch our lung mist pulse out behind us in helpless trails.  Our cheeks get stung by gusts.  our exposed ankles get bitten by Jack Frost’s nasty Uncle.  You want to know what makes New Englanders tough?  Ask a runner in winter.

I do everything I can to make the transition from R.E.M to RUN that much easier for my morning war.  I set my clothes out: sports bra, shirt, longsleeve, vest, 3/4 pants (i’m a warrior), socks, shoes, gloves, glasses, headband, done.  I set my alarm 15 minutes before I’ll actually get up since I’m very aware that I hit the snooze button at least three times before I swing my legs over the side and plod to the teeth-brushing station.  During these three snooze button hits, my brain tries to wrap my head around why.  And then does some serious recon work.   Why are you going out there now, Kay?  you could just wait until after work.  It will be warmer, and maybe you can leave early or just go do some yoga.  Go take that class.  Don’t work out.  Why run?  

At that point, it’s do or die.  For the sake of this blog, let’s say it’s a day I get up:)  And then it becomes Too Quickly and after about a mile of chugging along my blood starts to warm up and course and thin and pulse and move and my ankles aren’t cold and my skin stings but it’s the good kind and tears bead up in the outer corners of my eyes and I feel my chin getting numb even with the jacket over it.  But I’m good.  I’m fine.  I’m 3 miles out and I can turn around now.  By this time, the sun is cresting the cityscape and I am in full throttle.  keys toggling in my right hand, shoulders down, breath come easy.  I pass a runner.  we smile the same acknowledgement and i realize his morning probably felt a lot like mine did...does...do.  

I come home, throw the coffee on, thank my psoas for healing, thank my heart for beating thank my shoes for holding, thank my heater for working, thank my God for making cold days and warm days and hard days and joy days.  Everything shakes out.  Even under an eyelid sky.

xo

Kay

my mizzys in lighter skies.  

Oh, Change if you can't be bound.

Hi Dear Friends + Perfect Strangers,

I wanted to share with you a monologue/quote that I'd heard tonight.  Okay, it's got a bit of sadness to it, but look at it for what it means.  Consider that maybe it's not grief for you, but fear, or self-esteem, or un-joy or whatever the texture is of the goop we get stuck in in life.  I think it's beautiful and true and cuts right to the quick of what defines moving forward.  I'm on this "moving forward" kick I think since I've now lived a solid amount of life and continue to refine how I live it.  For how I choose to clean up and prioritize my intentions.  For myself, for who I am becoming, and very importantly, for who I give myself to daily.  That and a quatrilion other reasons that I've known, never known and/or one day I'm sure I will know in very heart-achingly real and exacting ways.  This started off as an email to my closest, dearest friends.  Those who know me.  Aside from family, friends and faith, there are three things in life I fall back on: Quotes, Coffee and Running.  When I was in high school, I collected my favorite Reader's Digest quotes, and others I picked up randomly from conversations or literature.  I once filled an entire journal with quotes.  I started love letters with them.  I recited them to our soccer team before games.  While many people lift their noses at using "other people's words" to help define or articulate meaning, i think it's a beautiful way of recycling emotion or communication we cannot ourselves define at a given moment.  So yes, a quote for you tonight.  

"You're grieving not only for what you lost, but for the life you had envisioned.  You're grieving the future; for all of the plans and dreams you had in your head.  Now that's all gone.  There is this wonderful saying, "You have to give up the life you've planned to find the life that's waiting for you."  All our lives we grow by giving up things.  By loss, by moving on.  Big Things, little ones.  How we handle those losses really defines who we are.

All you need is a place where you can talk out loud; where you can hear what you really think.  What YOU think.  What you want to do and what you don't want to do.  And you'll know when it's time to move on.

If you don't acknowledge and feel it, it will never get out of your way.  Unacknowledged feelings are like a drunken cousin at a family reunion; they never shut up so you can hear anyone else and you have to be able to hear what's next in your life, what path you might want to travel down.  You have to be able to see what's there, what's right there, right in front of your eyes."

xo,

kay

if this were a song I would make it taste like what grace is. and it would be as long as the hill is home. there would be a bridge that sounds like dreams and three chords that sound like what it feels like when we try something beautiful and it stays in our chest forever.

I'm currently sitting barefoot propped up on my couch, thankful for my last minute decision to forgo an early morning run in exchange for a mug of coffee, the latest New Yorker and the beginnings of writing a much-needed post about all the hearts.


“All the hearts?” you ask. Let me explain.  Two weeks ago, I journeyed to Tuftonboro, NH to volunteer at Camp Meridian, a free three-day camp for kids with heart disease.  Last year, while in the throes of figuring out where my Life was headed next, an old friend asked if I could pinch hit as a bunk counselor.  I had no idea what i was in for but I packed a sleeping back, warm clothes, a head lamp and headed out to shake hands with one of the best weekends of my life.

This year was just as amazing as the first.  Some new faces, another adventure, great weather and a very special three days.  Our theme was the Midnight Train to Mombassa.  We were the Leopards, one of three groups who were working to bring the spirit of the drum back to the Chief so the animals, upon hearing the song of the drum, could once again return to their sacred land. I actually get really excited about this stuff - like right there with the kids in the woods in the dark examining the feather wondering, "what could this BE?!"  I'm still a child.  All good fun.  

I could write about how the kids were the most amazing, inspirational humans I’d ever encountered.  How the staff at Merrowvista (the 600-acre property run through AYF that hosts Camp Meridian) draw straws/throw their names in a hat/arm wrestle in the hopes that they get pulled to work the camp.  And every single one of them are flippn kickarse and have no problem jumping on a table or breaking out into song just because they feel like it. I could tell you about the property, the rolling hills and cabins tucked away in slumbering forests, and how when you wake up in the middle of the night the sound of silence is so loud that you’re not sure if you’re actually awake or asleep.  And all of these things would be true and viable and absolutely part of the reason this camp is awesome. 

But the real reason i love this camp, the real real real reason I love this camp is because the people who bring this camp to life believe in it.  I mean really BELIEVE in the good that it is.  With all of their heart they believe it.  And the day that one year ends is the day the planning begins for the following year. 


There are very few times in my life that I’ve seen passion.  I mean, sure, I’ve seen desire and love and dedication - all in parts.  I’ve been loyal to my work, my job, my friends.  But I don’t know that I’ve experienced a dedication to a dream that is seeing the fruits of its labor.  I hope one day I will see or come to know what that fierce passion and dedication feels like.   When you see someone who is completely and entirely determined to push through any barrier because of what they believe in; they are driven by a strength, an energy, a grace, a power, a love that stems from a source that runs far deeper than surface or practice or habit.  That kind of passion is so fully part of who they are that you can’t break them off from it to see what they look like without it.  They just, well, they’ve given who they are to it.  And it is beautiful to bear witness.

 I’m excited for next year.  The kids are growing up and that’s cool (and sad).  Mark won’t be there (he’s in high school now!), Tiffany and her yellow crocs better make an appearance, Sydney will be in the teen group (woot!) and I, well, I hope I have the blessed chance to walk into Danforth with a sleeping bag under my arms, a headlamp on my head, an appetite the size of a black bear (camp food; addictive. so is the coffee), looking for the markers to draw bunk posters, high-fiving super amazing humans that I’ll have the supreme honor of working alongside, and of course, the kids who...are just really cool kids.  Really awesome kids with futures as big as their smiles.  As big as their hearts.

xo

kay

ps. I know this may sound dorky, but almost every night since camp, I've worn the cloth strip the kids were given the final night (wearing it on my wrist in the pix of me and Syd doing our best Charlie's Angel pose).  The three different fabrics represent the three teams from the weekend; the Zebras, Leopards and Cheetahs.  And signifies the characteristics kids learned throughout the various activities; putting others before self, believing in yourself, stretching the boundaries of what you know to be true, hope, possibility, encouragement, hard work and a lot a lot a LOT of fun.   Wearing it reminds me of what matters most. 

it's too easy to forget those things! 

the road home, nh

old friends

i love looking through iPhoto and remembering.  I remember when all of these happened.  I mostly remember not breathing when I took these shots.  all of them -  probably 20 bad ones for every good - that's a long time not breathing.  once, i drooled because i forgot to swallow.  i love getting up close to flowers.  i think they are a universe.  

which reminds me that i need to hold my camera in my hands again.  it's been too long and i miss the way it feels.  i miss the slobber and the goodness that came from the frame.

get into my eye, world.  get into it.
xokay

fragile beauty in the petal lines and edges.  that's what drew me to this flower that was coming to its end.

"i wish to be outside. oh, that i weren't dried." - i think that's what it's thinking.

these were sitting out for days before i landed in them with my camera.  and then i couldn't stop!  i have a million lily shots....and had pollen all over my face to prove it:)

gatorade for flowers.  not invented yet.