Birthdays vs Deathdays

Today is or would have been my dad's birthday. He has been missed for over four years now since he died from cancer. I should rejoice in his birthday since it gave him and thus, me, life. Ironically, I feel more melancholy than reminiscent fondness.

I can't help but remember what I was doing when a call told me he had passed on and the long, arduous day that ensued. I still feel like something integral to me is missing. I had a wonderful dad for most of my life and now there's a space that hurts when I try to fill it with memories instead of real life connections. Rather than dwelling on the empty space, I urge myself to focus on those memories. The way he would size up a problem for hours until he figured it out. The boy-like grin and blue twinkle of his eyes when spinning a yarn (the same expression of amusement my son has when into mischief). I still can't help but shed a few tears (something he never approved of in his old traditional ways) when I think that my son will never know first hand how special he was.

We moved across the country to be closer to family who are now within a day's journey rather than several days. Unfortunately, days like today still makes it seem like they are an eternity away. Hugs to my mom and siblings. We miss you dad.

Buds of Spring

Spring is my favourite time of the year. My languorous body is rejuvenated by the energy springing forth all around me.

I live on an acre lot outside the city and the wooded areas are still completely natural. Every day, my toddler son (munchkin) and I walk up our driveway to the mailbox and back down through the trees. A brisk walker could accomplish it in 4 or 5 minutes but we take 15 to 30 minutes. Munchkin stops to examine and grab a handful of clay here and there dirtying his hands and giggling at my half-hearted disapproval. I take joy in every new petal opened on a patch of bluets and may flowers (above). Munchkin stops to eye a grackle cackling in the trees. I revel in the appearance of a new bud on a willow shrub that I've walked by every day. Munchkin stares agape as a school bus rumbles by on the road. I gauge the progress of the three robins building nests under our garage eaves.

Writing this, I perceive a divergence of focus between munchkin and myself. I am transfixed by all the new life emerging in the aftermath of a long Canadian winter. On the other hand, to munchkin everything is new, including the traffic and the dirt I ignore. A child's curiosity can open your eyes and make even the most mundane pile of dirt fascinating in its own way. Granted, I will still spend most of my time admiring the nodding yellow and blue smiles of bluets (right) rather than the gravel on our driveway.

Dreaming of Mysore

I sometimes dream of going to Mysore. Mysore, India, that is, the home of the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute. I have been an Ashtanga practitioner off and on for the last six years. I feel better when it's an 'on' time and have been trying maintain a daily practice for the last few months.

While in savasana (rest pose) today, I thought again of Mysore and my longing to go there. A realization came: I was hoping that study in India would guarantee a daily practice. This is not the way to do so. Endeavouring to practice daily is my responsibility not someone else's.

Today's practice started out short with 5 surya namaskara As and 3 Bs. A club sandwich followed, something else I've been longing for but totally unrelated to yoga.

SeaStar