Rooted, I used to think.

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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Day Fifteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Fourteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Thirteen - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019
Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

Wednesday, Oct. 21, 2015 @ 10:55 am

They days flow past like the waters of a persistent creek.


New York happened in a blur of bicycle rides, pastrami sandwiches, and whiskey sours. From the top of the Rockefeller Centre; to a meal of tapenade, nova lox, and cannoli in glorious autumnal sunshine on Sheep's Meadow; to cellar jazz clubs in Greenwich Village. Standing in the middle of Times Square at 1 am. Speeding uptown in the back of a taxi, dizzy as all hell, at 4:30 am. Endless morning cappuccinos and pastries, walking though every neighborhood on Manhattan, from Saks Fifth Ave to fried chicken shops in Harlem.

Somehow amidst all of the eating and drinking, my weight falls slightly. I pull on one of my new pairs of size 4 pants and they sag at the hips. So much for that.

On the airplane I watch Julie and Julia and am immediately mad that I didn't think of doing that first. I pick up Mastering the Art of French Cooking later in the week and learn how to poach an egg.

One night we went to a Broadway show. Last minute decision, whatever was half price at the booth an hour before showtime. After the show we found the Birdman theatre and traced Micheal Keaton's half-naked walk through Times Square.

Back in Vancouver, back at yoga. The teacher is talking us through a bound flow. My hands are clasped around my thigh in some sort of a lunge, and we progress to standing on one leg with the bound leg in the air. Slowly we sit down on one leg, the bound leg jutting out front. And then we're meant to stand up. Others laugh a little. I steel myself, take a deep breath, and push up. It works. And I'm up. And the look on the teacher's face is a mix of astonished joy.

After class she comes up to me to tell me that in 5 years of teaching only one other student has completed that maneuver: a Russian man. I tell her that I'm half Russian and we're practically crying with laughter. I tell her I envy everyone else's flexibility, and she says it's nearly impossible to be both strong and flexible. I think about that for a moment and realize that what she's saying pretty much sums up my life at the moment: the struggle to be strong and flexible. Independent yet loving. Hard yet soft.

All of the autumn colours. Leaves of all shapes, piled in drifts along the street corridors. The air cool and fresh, fragrant with katsura, cedar, and wood smoke.

I've traveled a lot this year - more than fourty nights away from home - and I'm ready to settle into home for the winter.

Roots | Shoots