Friday, August 27, 2010

yoga of the bone

So there's this really amazing beautiful yogi friend I have. I admit I don't know her all that well, haven't known her for too long, maybe a couple of intermittent years, but from the few times we've shared mat space at the neighborhood yoga studio and talked in the few minutes before practice, about yoga clothes or classes or whatever, she's always been super rocking cool and sweet, one of those people you meet whose inner light glows steady and bright and true.

Her name is Laura and it turns out she has cancer. Laura is twenty-five. At my advanced age of forty-one, twenty-five is but a wee babe even though it feels like anything but to the twenty-five year old. I get that. Still, there's an extra layer of heavy about it, as if an extra layer was necessary. But. Laura is anything but heavy about cancer. In fact, she nearly flies. Her take on living with cancer is gravity-defying, heroic and inspires awe in my heart. If she wore a cape it would make total sense. But instead of a cape she wears an Hermes silk scarf on her recently shaved head. Laura blogs about her leukemia here, in gruesome, hilarious, rebellious detail that seems therapeutic not only for her but for those hanging on her every word in various corners of cyberspace. It's a perilous ride and she's generous enough to share the thrills and the descents.

I'm posting this today because today is Laura's bone-marrow transplant, so love, prayers, strengthy-vibes, good juju, whatever you've got, take a moment and send it her way, send it to Houston. To Laura.

Friday, August 13, 2010

what can I do?

My dear Hamish, my miracle of a human, my child. Is. Such. A. Fucking. Nag. I have no idea where he gets it from. 

His new thing is upon waking, he says, "I hate to bring this to you Mommy, but what can I do?" I tell him to get dressed and brush his teeth. No. That's too boring. He screeches, twists, writhes on the sofa that used to look so stately and clean before two years went by in a flash. I tell him to feed Don Pepe, the blood-clot of a fish we're fish-sitting for our neighbors who are abroad.