Did I Mention I'm a Terrible Correspondent?

(please see above)

So, let me catch you up on what has happened since the last time we met. Fair warning: You might want to bring some non-perishables with you before you start reading. This one might go long.

Since 2009, I went through a divorce and moved to Southern Illinois with my youngest son. I lost my grandmother, and got sick myself. Then I got better. My son started public school and I started looking for work. I found a job that provided tuition remission and started commuting to St. Louis, because I promised my boy that we wouldn't do another major move for the school year. And one keeps the promises one makes to one's sons. We moved to Missouri, and I started finishing my degree.

I wound up meeting Mr. Right, who turned out to be Mr. Wrong. But in that process, I also met one of my best friends. We shall call her Ya Ya. Ya Ya and I have been together through laughter, tears and certainly through my very worst times. She promised me that God had better things in store for me. Which was a nice thought, but I was a little scurred of the word better. She told me to make a list of what I wanted...which was pretty easy. No older than 50, sincere, similar values, someone I can really talk to, active, someone who makes me laugh (and more importantly, makes me smile), financially responsible, who would be good to my boys.

My mom told me the same thing. She said, "You need to find a good man....I think someone who has lost his wife.....someone who will commit the way you will." Nice thought, Mom. Know any 44-50 year-old widowers?

A couple of friends told me to try Match.com. After all, the 80s were awhile ago, and this is how it is done now. It was worth a try. After all, I wasn't meeting Mr. Right at the grocery store. (For the record, I tried. I even tried switching up the times I went. He wasn't there, people.) Nor could I see myself walking into a bar and locking eyes with him across a crowded room. Where I live, that little Cinderella story would have an ending that would make Jeff Foxworthy cry. Nope. Match it was.

So, I put up a profile. I went through a lot of emails. Some were cute, some were funny, some would have made Hannibal Lector proud. I went on some first dates, a couple of seconds...and it was okay. Nothing great. But okay. And I was moving forward. I had my feet under me and my head back on. So life was decent.

Then I received an email entitled, "We Have Similar Interests". It got my attention right away. It was well written, sincere.....and I found myself smiling. And boy, did we ever have similar interests. I wound up writing back. He was a 45 year old man who had lost his wife the previous year, with an adorable four year-old. The more we talked, the more we wanted to. We are still looking for differences. There haven't been many.

Mr. Right (who is indeed soooooo Mr. Right) met Ya Ya and passed muster. He met my son and he grew to think the world of him. He met the family and they love him. Needless to say, I love him too. In this day and age, it is a wonderful blessing to find a man who will look you in the eye and speak sincerely, with his heart on his face. Ya Ya told me I had found the guy who had everything on the list, and she is right. I had to move half a continent to find my education, my adopted sister and the man I am making a family with. It was worth every moment. I am blessed indeed.

The Power of the Yoga Voice

It occurred to me that I hadn't yet told you guys about yoga class.

Yoga is at 7:30. This class I really, really look forward to. Is it going to give me Victoria's Secret abs or lift my butt three more inches off the ground? Nope. I have hopes, however, that it will eventually allow me to touch my chin to my knees. Perhaps (maybe) it might give me some balance. And MAYBE, (just maybe?) it will provide the tools necessary to push me through some of the more challenging classes. Nothing ventured, blah, blah, blah.

My teacher shall be known as Gaia. She puts on the mike and has the most soothing voice. It's hypnotic. "Lie down on the mat and relax your body. Let go of the cares of the day." (Okay.....) "Let your body sink into the floor..." (Done. The part of my brain that is still conscious wonders if I'll leave an imprint in the hardwood.) She could tell me to take my bottom lip and pull it over my head in that voice and I would happily comply. Which is a good thing. Because lest you be TOO lulled, Gaia has an agenda in store.

She starts off very slowly, putting us through Sunrise Salutations 101. NIIIIIIICEEEE......I can do this! Yay me! (Pride goeth before the fall, people. No, literally. I mean the FALL. Or the awkwardness I go through trying to prevent the fall, which is probably worse. Those of you who know me in real life will probably already be laughing at the mental picture. Shut up. LOL) Then we get to the part where our hands are in this prayer-like pose at our heart centers. She says, "Raise your right leg" in her Bene Jezerit voice. I have no choice. I must obey. My right leg is raised, bent at the knee, toe pointed. Hands are still in prayer pose.

"Now, turn your upper body to the left," she instructs. Helplessly, I am pulled along. But I'm doing it. Yay me!!!

"Extend your left arm" I'm a little scurred. I'm more like "I Love Lucy" when it comes to the grace thing. But Gaia has commanded it in that voice. It is like the law of the Medes and the Persians, which does not change. It's in the Bible, people. I have to do it. And I DO..... Yay me....

"Extend your right arm, and hold it. BREATHE..." Good thing she included that breathing part, or I might have forgotten it. Because my whole focus is now in maintaining this pose without falling over. Must. not. fall. and. humiliate. myself. Must. keep. leg. UP. BREATHE. Gaia, talk to me again!!! OMG!!! Yay me??

Just in time, she allows me to lower my leg. And we begin again on the other side.

Believe it or not, this is actually relaxing. Fun. I'm hooked. And I really wanna learn the Bene Jezerit voice thing. I'm hoping I can use it on my hubby and sons. There is untapped power and potential here, people. Believe it!

The Spin on Spin Class

Not to be undone by Ratchett the Wretched, I signed up and paid my dollar to reserve last Wednesday night's spin class. I was going to do it with my sister, but she had a last-minute corporate damage control meeting in LA and couldn't make it. So I put on my big girl panties, donned my workout gear and ventured boldly forth where even Ratchett would fear to tread.

Everyone had bottles of water with them. (DUH. Water would have probably been a good idea!) Fortunately, my sister had already shown me how to properly fit a bike and as people were already cycling, I followed suit.

Let me preface this by saying I am not out of shape. I walk or hike five miles a day, five times a week. I do weights. I thought I was doing okay fitness-wise. I was WRONG, people...this is me eating a heaping helping of a second slice of humble pie. A la mode.

In walked "Lee". Let me introduce you guys to "Lee". Lee has forgotten more about the infliction of pain than I have learned in all my years as a wife and mother. Think of "X-Men: Origins" to set the scene. The part where Logan is in the tank, getting ready to have adamantium fused to his skeleton. The doctor says, "If you have a good memory, try to take it with you when the pain starts. It might help."

"I've known pain," Logan says.
"No, you haven't," she replies.

Obviously, the doctor had been to spin class.

We started off at a decent pace, be-bopping to Jay-Z, and I'm thinking this isn't going to be so bad...then he says, "UP!" Everyone stands up while they are pedaling. I'm still trying to figure out how you do that without falling off the bike (while still strapped to the pedals. That would have topped the falling into a cactus while talking on my cell phone as a personal best for me.) This of course means I need to slow down. And then pedal faster to catch up. Hmmm...I used to be able to do this. So much for never forgetting.

So I stand up. And my left knee starts saying sitSitSItSITSITYOUBLOCKHEA

D!!! I ignore it. I center myself. No. I try meditation. Surely "ham-saa"ing it will work. No. Finally I just grip the handlebars, grit my teeth, and THAT is when Lee says, "Sit down!". THANKS, Lee....next time, feel free to say that about five seconds earlier.

I'll spare you the rest of the gory details, which largely consist of me trying to keep up while my very annoyed knee wonders (loudly) what the hell it did to piss me off so much. I finally give up on standing up. Sure, I'm the only one who does. But I console myself with the thought that I am still pedaling faster than quite a few of them. That as long as I don't stand up, I might just make it. I hold that thought for another 15 minutes. Then my knee asks if I would be interested in walking sometime soon. Ever. UGH. I hate being threatened. The irony of the whole thing is that I am PAYING for this. Because I OWE this to myself. WOW....remind me again what I was thinking when I signed up for this one?

So I guess the good news is I made it for about half of the hour-long class. I walked out on legs that felt like marble columns. Only the left one had water and jello in the middle. (Who put that there?).

Damn. Ratchett the Wretched wins AGAIN. Pilates class tomorrow. Pray for me.

Surviving Ratchett the Wretched: My Story of Pain, Loss and Survival

I went to my first Pilates class in a long time last week. Swimsuit season is coming, people, and I don't need that kind of rejection. What I do need is some muscle tone. So off I went to the gym, to pay for my many, many sins.

I decided to be very virtuous and do an hour of weights before class. I actually love weights. Not that I'm any sort of a power-lifter (nor do I want to be), but it does feel good to work muscles that can get overlooked by walking and hiking. So I was feeling pretty good as I went upstairs to class.

There was already a crowd waiting for the Zumba class to be done. This is good, I thought. Popular class! I noticed one girl near me waiting. She had a tattoo down the entire length of her right calf which fascinated me. I wanted to get a good look at it to see what it was, but I didn't want to be rude and stare. So I got my mat and got situated as I watched her go to the front of the room.

With a bright smile, she announced that she was a last-minute sub for the regular Pilates teacher. She told us she preferred to run a more advanced class, but we could modify it to our particular level of fitness. Fair enough...

THEN SHE DONNED THE MICROPHONE. And turned from Tattooed-Calf Lady to she who will henceforth and evermore be known to me as Ratchett the Wretched.

O.M.G. This woman made us do things that no human being should have to do. Or hold for 30 seconds. Or then pulse for 50 reps. And then do at a more intense level. For an HOUR. My butt and stomach were screaming at me to stop. And Ratchett is smiling. Vee have vays of making you talk....(scream, groan, beg for mercy - depending on your level of fitness, remember). I swear she was trying to kill us all. My butt was laying odds that she would succeed. She would periodically ask us how we were doing. Half the class (including the men) would groan. The other half were incapable of conversation. I settled on throwing invisible hate bombs in her direction. It required less effort on my part.

People started getting up and leaving. Ratchett smiled a puzzled smile and actually commented, "Well, look at that! I'm losing some people!" Um, yeah, YA THINK?!? I'm only here out of sheer stubborness and a nagging uncertainty that I could outrun you at this point!

That was a long hour, people. The survivors straggled out the door and down to the locker room. I walked past a mirror and saw my hair had EXPLODED into a mass of curls that stood out a good six inches from my face. Damn her. Sigh. I'm gonna do some yoga and kick back tonight. Because I've got a killer spin class on Wednesday night. All I can say is that swimsuit had better look damn good this summer.