Seattle Yogini

Sensual Geekdom

Long time, no type!  Have no fear - all is well.  I've been busy with in a multitude of ways...not much knitting, blog-reading or - obviously - blog writing.  Rob is out of town for school, and I've had lots of time on my hands to...well...do whatever I want, basically.  Don't get me wrong!  It isn't as if I'm not free to do what I want when he's here, but out of respect for him and our relationship I always consider his preferences before deciding (for example), where to eat, what movie to rent (or go see at the cinema), how long I can go without emptying the dishwasher or vacuuming...you get my drift.  His preferences don't carry more weight than my own, nor do they carry less, I simply consider them - as I believe a life-partner should.  While I highly anticipate his return, I am finding that his absence has offered me the rare opportunity to note how I spend my time when no one else is looking.

Take yesterday, for example.  I spent the afternoon - literally, two whole hours - in a lovely boutique store called Essenza.  This place is a new favorite for me.  They have shelves and shelves of perfume, a whole corner of baby clothing cuteness, a rack of lovely nighties and robes, a different corner of high-quality make-up, and showcases full of fabulous hand-crafted jewelry.  I went strictly for the perfume, which is surprising even to myself seeing as I stopped wearing perfume about four years ago.

Lest I mislead you, when I stopped wearing perfume I didn't stop using scent all together.  It was like this:  the fewer synthetic/harsh things we used around our home, in the shower, and on our bodies, the less we  (for both Rob and myself experienced this) were able to tolerate perfume.  We re-sensitized our sense of smell, and found a wonderful new ability to actually perceive smells we'd never noticed before.  The only down side was that our sniffers became very aware and sensitive to the harshness of some of the poorer quality smells out there.  I switched to essential oils, infused soaps, and lightly scented shampoo.  I knew that I still smelled good, because people commented on it, but I also felt sure that I wasn't accosting anyone with my scent.  After all, I don't really want the world to smell me, just those familiar enough to stand close to me.

I didn't miss perfume at all.  I was quite content to smooth on some essential oils of sandalwood and rose, the occasional drop of patchouli, or perhaps simply a light layer of lavender.  Then I started reading Invisible Magnet, and something changed.  Those two ladies write about scent in a way that captivates me.  Their descriptions, their conversations, their attitudes toward perfume and its application not only to how we smell but to how we intend to live inspired me.  I started to consider that perhaps when I tossed my perfume I was also tossing a chapter of my life along with it.  That's all fine and well, but I don't think I need to toss the baby out with the bathwater.  Getting rid of the not-so-good perfume was the right decision, but I started to wonder if shunning perfume altogether was creating a pale area in my sensory life.  I began to see that I could use scent on me - not just in a room - to enhance a mood or as a reaction to the weather, in much the same way I use my clothing!  I felt like I had found an undecorated room in my home, and wondered why I had been ignoring it all this time.  The sense of smell is powerful indeed, and one of the most potent ways in which we store memories.  I decided to be more conscious about my use of scent, and develop a richer scent palette as I move through my life.

Invisible Magnet talks a lot about L'Artisan Parfumeur, and I decided that I wanted to smell anything by that company that I could get my hands nose on.  A google search led me to Essenza, so I took myself there a couple of weeks ago for a sniffingly good time.  I found the staff immensely knowledgeable, helpful, and patient.  I smelled perfumes until I literally could not smell any more (not even the coffee beans) and went home with a new perfume as well as a handful of samples.

As Now Smell This says, "people who love perfume tend also to love food and art more than the average person. Perfume lovers adore a story, too, and see their lives as movies in which they’re the star. I also think a perfume lover has a hint of the nerd. Perfume lovers want to try all sorts of perfumes, categorize them by nose or note, and love to talk about them. Is there such a thing as a sensualist geek? If so, lots of perfume lovers qualify."  Yes!  Yes!  That's me:  a sensualist geek!  I love all things tactile.  I love to taste things - even if they don't actually taste "good".  I love to describe how a thing smells or tastes through story.  I love to hear things and relate them to other senses.  I love, and I mean love, a good story!

One of my favorite things about the L'Artisan website is the perfume descriptions.  They poetically offer hints of what the scent smells like.  Read the description for L'Ete en Douce.  Compare that description to this one, for Sarah Jessica Parker's "Lovely Liquid Satin".  Seriously.  Do you get any idea of what that smells like?  That description gives me nothing to go by, and celebrity-association is not enough to garner my interest...not by a long shot.

And so it is that I spend hours smelling, learning, and reading stories about good-smelling things.  I have a small "collection" of high-quality perfumes now (three, to be exact), that I purchased as much because of the reaction they garner from other people as for the reaction they create within me.  There is one that I still must smell, and the only place in Seattle that carries it is Barney's.  I think I might actually go there (I've never even been to a Barney's) so that I can smell it.  I am enchanted and enjoying every nose-numbing minute of it.

What's your nose been smelling lately?

New Socks

I finished up a pair of socks a week or so ago, which of course meant that I cast on for a new pair a couple of days ago.

The completed pair are "Go With the Flow Socks" by Evelyn A. Clark (from Favorite Socks).  I used Cherry Tree Hill Supersock Merino in "Mulberry" and size US 1/2.25mm needles.  I liked making these socks a lot, though I found the yarn a teensy bit splitty, which was annoying.  The pattern was easy to memorize, which made them a fun and interesting take-along project.  I have quite a bit of it leftover (I have small feet) so I'll probably be able to make a pair or two of baby socks with the remainder.  The socks fit well, and I'm very pleased with them:

Since I am a member of the Yarn Pirate's "Booty Club", I get new sock yarn every month.  I think I joined almost a year ago, because there are at least eight skeins of fabulous sock yarn lying around here and there (I just discovered more when moving the stash the other day).  I decided to put some of it to use (the last time I used any was for the Snow on Cedars mitts) for a new pair of socks.

I chose the "Jaywalker" pattern by Grumperina and went ahead with the recommended size US 1/2.25mm needles.  Within a couple of pattern repeats I had the zig-zag memorized, so I've been happily knitting away for a couple of days (most recently, while with my husband at REI...snork).

Today I decided I'd knit enough to check the gauge, and make sure that I could get them on.  The results?

Ummmm, the gauge is a bit "off" - hahaha.  My gauge is 32 sts/4", and the pattern calls for 38 sts/4".  Oopsies!  The zig-zag pattern does not create much give, either, and as you can see above I couldn't even manage to get the tube around the angle of my ankle.  Oh, well.  Back to the needle case!  I'm thinking I'll just skip the size US 1/2.5mm and jump ahead up to the comparatively gigantic US 2/2.75mm and just see what happens.  I'm enjoying the knit, and watching how the colors play out (I was excited that the pink was making a diagonal stripe).  It'll be cool to see what a difference in color patterning the bigger gauge makes.  I'll keep you posted!

How bad is Bad? or: Am I a "Vet" or a "Combat Vet"?

Last Friday I had the pleasure of speaking on the radio for the first time.  I was invited as a guest on "The Ron and Don Show" (AM710 in the Seattle area).  They wanted me to talk about my work with yoga for veterans and my upcoming workshop, "Finding Peace in the Chaos".  It was a great opportunity to get the word out in my community, and I had a good time.  If you'd like to hear it (without commercials!) follow this link.  It was the Friday, June 13 show, 4:00 - 5:00 hour.

It was also a very thought-provoking experience.  Right off the bat they asked a question that some can answer with a simple "yes" or "no" but that I feel compelled to explain - or rather, to put in context.  They wanted to know if I am a "combat vet".  I find this a challenging question because it really depends upon the questioner's definition of the term.  There is the official definition of the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, and then there is the general perception of the U.S. population and/or whatever the media is currently saying.

For me, this simple question holds within it many more questions which function as an equation, of sorts:

Was I in a combat zone?                                            yes
Was I shot at?                                                           no
Was I afraid for my life?                                              yes
Was I afraid for the life of "my men"?                           yes
Did I fire my sidearm?                                                no, I wasn't issued one
Did I have to wear my flak vest, helmet, gas mask?     yes, sometimes
Did I see anyone die?                                               not in person (it's complicated)

What do these answers add up to?  A simple yes, or a simple no?  As a vet, and considering the Big Conversations this question provoked for my husband and me (we both served in the air campaign part of the war - not the on-going occupation) I think it really depends upon whom you ask. I've heard stories about young vets almost getting chased out of the VFW by Vietnam vets, if they're true then I've no doubt that there are vets from other conflicts that might argue that I hardly even qualify as a vet.  Others would tell you that anyone who served during a conflict - no matter where they were of if they were actually "in combat" - is a vet, combat or not.  Of course, there are also any number of answers in between.

I do not want to misrepresent myself.  I answered yes, because I feel that I am, in fact, a combat vet.  We could argue the finer points, though I have no desire to argue.  I felt the burden of keeping my pilots out of harm's way.  I saw the footage of their bombs making contact, I felt the relief each time a jet landed safely back on our airstrip.  We suffered no casualties.  We were not bombed.  We had no idea what to expect, which was very frightening.  We rode to work in a bus with tinted windows...which weren't for sun protection, if you know what I mean.  Men drove by us shaking their machine guns at us.

I feel that questions such as this are covering up a different, more probing question:  "How bad was 'bad'"?  As if being a veteran of war weren't a "bad" enough experience, many inquisitive people want detail.  Over the last five years, I've been asked a number of odd questions surrounding my military experience, and always I am left wondering:

-  Is the question actually a way to titillate one's own imagination (much in the way that some people want the gory details of sensational news stories)?
-  Do people want to differentiate between combat and "simply" vet in order to better understand me and my comrades?
-  Do people want to really know, or do they want a Coppola-esque tale woven for them?

I answered "yes" and proceeded with the interview non-plussed.  I am thankful for the chance to come to terms with this issue, which I didn't even realize I needed to clarify.  As I said, I do not wish to misrepresent myself, and while overall I feel comfortable with my answer I am not sure that I could answer so simply in the future.

Added to Edit:  When I say "bad" here, I am not referring to people being "bad", but rather to a bad situation/experience.  Just wanted to clarify that.

The Best Bad News I've Ever Had

So today, finally, we got to see the "specialist" (OB/GYN).  We were waiting to see the same doctor who treated me last time.  We had many questions from our Memorial Day weekend ER experiences, the biggest one being:  was it an another ectopic or not?  We knew that my body had resolved the pregnancy, but we wanted to know if the blob near my right ovary, which we saw on ultrasound, was embryonic or not.

Ahhhh, the difference between seeing a general practitioner in the ER and someone who specializes in your innards.  He asked us what had happened, how I am today, etc.  He asked if we had any questions, and we started in...I referenced the ultrasound and he looked a bit surprised.  Not surprised that I was asking, but surprised because to him it was a non-issue.  He said, basically, "Oh.  That just looked like what you would expect to see so early in a pregnancy - a corpus luteum."  This is what pumps pregnancy-sustaining hormones into the body until the placenta is mature enough to assume that function.  He manner exuded "Nothing to worry about there" which was so wonderful!  "So," I proceed, "is there reason to believe this was a proper intra-uterine pregnancy"?  I try not to bite my lip as I wait the nanosecond it takes him to reply.

"No, no reason.  It looks like it was intra-uterine and something just went awry very early."  He went on to talk about how common this is, that when the cells multiply and copy their DNA to the next cell, if a teeny bit of it is wrong the body is likely to pick up on that and stop the pregnancy.  In essence, while the loss is a blow, the fact that my body did its job properly is heartening.  Another thing he pointed out, which I believe that those of us trying to conceive would do well to really hear, is that early pregnancy testing can put us in a difficult position.  In the blink of an eye we go from "I tested positive!" to "I'm having a baby!" when, frankly, that might not be the likeliest outcome.  His was an objective perspective of a very subjective moment, but I think that for me, at least, tempering my enthusiasm until the cells really are a baby will be a good practice in the future.  I am an optimist, but also a realist, and while I hope for the best for future pregnancies, I know that there's a lot that needs to happen just right in order to go from two blue lines to ten sweet fingers.

Still, his statement was like the heavens opened up and angels sang to me.  As far as we were concerned this was the best news we could get, under the circumstances.  Nothing can change the fact that the pregnancy was lost...but knowing that it was at least in the right place this time, that we can conceive (even when I ovulate on the "suspect" side), and he topped it off with reassuring us that just because I had one ectopic does not mean I ever will again.  Statistically, I am more susceptible, you could say, but he said that lots of women have an ectopic early in their reproductive years and never have another one again.
So, basically, today we got the best bad news I've ever had, and we were relieved to hear it.

"The Depths of Despair"

This evening I was thinking about whether to post anything or not.  I don't want this to be a "blow-by-blow" account of our ordeal.  The ups and downs are exhausting enough without trying to recapture them for the blog every few nights.  On the other hand, I know that for me connecting with families who have been through this is a continual source of strength...and I recognize that I could offer comparable strength to others through our story.  Also, this is a very human - and a very spiritual - experience.  Of course I am not the only woman to lose babies.  How I handle the loss, whether I hold on to hope, my choice to resist the siren call of despair, are all part of my spiritual journey.  My spirituality both informs my choices and grows from them.

As I was thinking which way a potential post might go this evening - toward hope or toward sadness - I thought of one of my favorite parts from Anne of Green Gables.  When I was in junior high school, I absolutely loved Anne of Green Gables. I read all the books, but the movies were dreams come true for me.  I often think back to that trilogy, and how gloriously it captured my imagination which was - much like Anne's - one of my greatest gifts (and it continues to be).  I'm sure I didn't appreciate this as a child, but as an adult...and at this particular point in my life...Marilla's response to Anne's dramatic sadness seem some of the wisest words I could read:

Anne has just arrived at Green Gables, and is following Marilla up the stairs to what will be her room for the evening.  It does not appear that Marilla and Matthew will keep Anne, and so she is plunged into "the depths of despair".  Anne, an imaginative, melodramatic girl with an abiding love for literature, is all wrapped up in "The Lady of Shalott" and similar Victorian-era sad/romantic poetry.  She tells Marilla about her despair, and asks if she herself has ever been "in the depths of despair".  Marilla's curt response?  "No, I have not.  Anyone who has God cannot fall into the depths of despair."

Nota Bene:  I spent about an hour trying to find the actual quote, but apparently it's specific to the 1985 movie, and not the book itself.  I am seriously considering renting the trilogy tomorrow so that I can cozy up with it, and get the quote right.  It's just that I can't bear the part where Matthew dies...but it wouldn't do to fast forward through it, either.  Sigh.

And so it is that I find myself enjoying the God-given gift of choice.  I could choose to slip into the murky depths of despair, which interestingly feels like the easy thing to do right now.  Just let go, ease into that cool darkness and stay there for as long as it takes (or as long as I last).  Alternatively, I can hold tightly to my faith, to my understanding of God and Its work in and through my life and allow myself to be comforted.  I'm not even thinking of it as "finding" comfort, because, frankly, searching sounds too hard.  No, what I am learning is how very much I must allow myself to be comforted, cared for, loved - by God in all Its guises (husband, family, friends, students, my teachers, etc.).  I cannot fix this, I don't even know what (if anything) needs fixing.  All I can do is choose that to which I will surrender:  despair or Light.

 

I choose Light.

Gasping

So many questions, so few answers.  We have, thanks to the gift of technological ingenuity, much more information than we did when the bleeding began on Thursday morning.  We know that I was pregnant, and that now I am not.  We know that there is a mass near my right ovary (not a good sign since that's the fallopian tube in which my first pregnancy implanted).  We know that I am in less physical pain now than I was three days ago (didn't need technology to figure that one out, though).  We do not know if the mass near my ovary is scar tissue from the first ectopic, embryonic tissue from a second ectopic, or merely an ovarian cyst.  We don't know what caused the loss of this pregnancy.  We don't know if something was wrong with the baby or with me, its environment.  We don't know how to proceed except one breath at a time.

But breathing itself can become difficult.  On "doctor's orders" to rest, I find myself idle.  I'm knitting, I'm reading, I'm watching Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time and, lately, sneaking in a bit of laundry folding.  But the idleness makes me restless, and the restlessness makes me feel even more of a wreck.  I breath in and out and, suddenly, in the blink of an eye I can't breath at all.  Not at all.  I am sobbing, I am gasping for air, grasping for Grace.

We who mourn go through stages, as any psych 101 college student can tell you.  To actually go through it, though, especially under similar circumstances as the first major-mourning experience, is not like in the books.  It isn't a smooth transition from one phase to the next.  I fall back, and fall apart, just when I thought things were getting a bit better.

Some say that that which does not kill us makes us stronger.  The idea, I suppose, is that life offers us breaking down moments so that we may be re-built stronger than before.  I am waiting with baited breath for my re-building, Lord.  I am broken, I am in pieces.  I want so much to be re-built in Your image, to feel Your strength and presence, Your Light coarsing through me.  I am keenly aware that I cannot make this re-building happen.  I trust that You are my architect, foreman, and construction crew.  I believe (but would certainly love a little clarity on this matter) that my job in this is to get out of Your way...please help me do that.

Blog Break

No, the blog isn't broken, but part of me is.  The blog is on break while I recuperate from another miscarriage/possible ectopic.

Smells of a Wool House

Last night Rob came into the kitchen via the dining room and proclaimed that the dining room smells really good.  I found that interesting, because there aren't any scented candles, bowls of potpourri, incense sticks or anything of that nature in the room.  I walked in, sniffed, and detected nothing.  You know, in the same way that you can't smell your own home unless you've been gone for a few days.  I asked him what it smelled like and he said, "Well, it kind of smells like Hilltop.  I guess it's all the yarn in there."  :-)  It's official:  we live in a wool house.

It has sort of been stacking up on the sideboard....Note that this is not, officially, "the stash".  It lives upstairs.

In web-related news, I have started a flickr account.  This was in order to be able to post pictures in my Ravelry account.  For all of our England photos, as well as knitting projects 2008, you can look up Seattle Yogini in Ravelry or Flickr and find me.  Please click over and take a look, maybe that will make the neither-happy-nor-sad emoticon smile.

I won't tease you, though.  Here's the latest round-up:

"Go With the Flow Socks", pattern by Evelyn A. Clark, from Favorite Socks.  Sock one took me about two weeks of travel knitting time, and sock two is about two or three inches underway.  Yarn is Cherry Tree Hill Supersock Merino.

These are "Ruffle and Rib" from the Knitting Daily "Better Than Baby Booties" free download.  Yarn is Lorna's Laces Superwash Merino.  The pattern says I should get three pairs of booties out of one skein.  Yay!  This pair almost matches...

Last but not least, is effort number two at a Husband Sweater.  The first one was dismissed after numerous, increasingly painful, sleeve attempts.  This time, I'm using an actual pattern.  It is "The Fog Sweater" from tiennie knits.  I'm using the suggested Ecological Wool, already a favorite from the Hemlock Ring Blanket.

As you can see, I'm only an inch or so past the armpits, but plugging along with it.  I want to get the body done before it gets too hot to work on it, at which point I can happily switch to sleeves.  That is, unless the sleeves are picked up from the body....hmmmmm.....should probably read the whole pattern........

Anyway, that's what I've been up to in knitting lately.  I'm planning a summer cardigan using Rowan Calmer (my first time!).  Just starting a swatch now, though, so won't have anything to show for a bit.  I'm contemplating joining Sockapalooza again this year (which looks like it'll run for a fifth year!).  It was more fun than I thought, and particularly enjoyable to receive a pair of handknit socks from halfway around the world!  I was thinking yesterday, though, how disappointing it must be for those whose sock partner didn't finish by the send-off date.  I'm sure we all understand that things come up, but still....it would be disappointing, don't you think?

One final bit of fun:

This is my avatar.  I know that there's one reader (Hi Sam!  Miss you!) who actually knows what this is from.  Anybody else?

Whadda Man

It's Wednesday, 3:55 in the afternoon.  I meant to leave the house ten minutes ago in order to get across the 520 bridge before traffic to Bellevue gets too thick.  I'm standing in the doorway, waiting for Rob to fix a rough spot on one of my new boots.  The other boot is already on my foot.  I've already put my bags in the car (I spend almost seven hours in B'vue on Wednesday afternoon/evenings, so there's my teaching clothes, my dinner, my knitting, a drink, my meditation journal, and sometimes other things, as well).

He brings the boot, gives me a hug and a kiss and says:

"Do you have everything?"

me:  "Yes, it's already in the car."
R:  "You have your dinner?"
M:  "Yes."
R:  "Your planner?"
M:  "Nope, I shouldn't need it tonight."
R:  "Your drink?"
M:  "Uh huh, got it!"

I turn to walk out the door, and he asks:

"Do you have your knitting, honey?"

Oh, how I love this man!

Back to the Story....

Sorry about the rather large delay in my story-telling.  What can I say?  Actually living my life must take priority over talking about my life.  :-)

Anyhoo, I was telling you about our trip to England, or as my friend/student/commenter called it:  "Britland"  After our chocolate-enhanced slumber on Sunday evening, we got up Monday morning and headed down to the hotel's restaurant.  We got the general impression that when one secures accomodations in England, breakfast is included in the price.  So, down to the main floor for a "Full English Breakfast" (click for a photo of the real thing!).  This consisted of a buffet of what we later learned are standard English breakfast items:  two or three different kinds of meat ("bacon", which was less Oscar-Meyer and more Canadian in nature), black pudding (which does not resemble pudding at all, and is essentially a blood sausage patty), and eggs.  Then there were the usual assortments of cereal, pastries (croissant, pain au chocolat, etc.) and yogurt.  The best was that every breakfast we had during the week included two or three little grilled mushrooms (like mini-portobellos, they might have been cremini) and oven-roasted tomatoes (cooked just until sweetened and the skin starts to break), and baked beans.  Yes, that's right!  Baked beans just like we have at summer picnics here in the States.  So fun!

That day was a bank holiday, but seeing as we were in London, plenty of businesses were open.  We were staying in an area called Russell Square, and decided to walk until we couldn't stand it anymore or we'd seen lots of stuff - whichever happened first.  We headed off past the British Museum and toward the shopping street that would eventually lead us to Buckingham Palace.

Neither Rob nor I are much for shopping, so we mostly people-watched and enjoyed the walk.  As pedestrians in a big, strange-to-us city, we were glad that every curbside had a "Look Right" or "Look Left" written on the pavement so that we could make sure to look for oncoming traffic.  We walked and walked with no real plan in mind.  It was cold and drizzly, but we were dressed appropriately for that so we happily walked off the 8-hour plane ride from the day before.

Eventually we came upon a park, so we veered off into it.  Well, lucky us, we had found Hyde Park!  It was lovely, the daffodils were in full bloom and definitely cheering up the otherwise cold and gloomy day.  We walked through Hyde Park until we came to St. James Park and Buckingham Palace. 

We decided against a Palace tour, as the place was crushed with people and we were quite happy just walking around.  After all, we weren't interested in seeing the sights - we wanted to get a feel for the town and its people, and that requires being amongst them.  So we decided to start looking for a not-too-touristy pub for lunch.

That close to the Palace, it was hard to find anything that wasn't touristy.  We perservered, however, and after a few twists and turns off the main drag we came upon a place that was warm, still serving lunch, and had an open table.  We got inside just before the hail began, and were very glad for the warmth of the pub.  The food was fine, surprisingly good for pub fare, and we took our time (waiting out the storm) before heading back out onto the streets of London.

Fed and warmed, we headed back toward our hotel and realized just how far we'd walked!  I think that in the end it was a four-hour walking tour of that part of London.  It felt so good to walk, and was so fun to hear all the accents (few English speakers, when all was said and done, but I suppose that's how it is in Europe), and let our senses experience this new place.

Back at the hotel, we freshened up and laid down for a much-needed nap.  Later we walked down the street to a little cafe for some tea and pastry for "dinner" and then came back and settled in for bed.  We watched some fun English TV...which somehow didn't seem as horrible as American broadcasting is.  There weren't continuous commercials for drugs, nor obnoxious local ads for car sales (or, really, name your annoyance).  We were hoping for a better night sleep that Sunday, since Tuesday was to be another big travel day.  We slept well enough, and on Tuesday we went down for our second "Full British", checked out, and made our way to Euston Station to catch a train...

(to be continued)