I let out a little cheer when I read You Walk Wrong in New York Magazine.  I love to go barefoot – I do it as much as possible indoors year round and during the summer go barefoot outside, as well. In my neighbourhood, growing up, we ran around without shoes all summer and it still doesn’t really feel like summer to me until I can go outside with naked feet. (I think one of the reasons I fell in love with yoga was the no shoes aspect of it!)

My husband disputes some of the claims in the article, but I have to say, when I thought about it, I realized my feet hurt most when I come in from a walk/run wearing my very engineered running shoes with custom orthotics inside. Conversely,  I’ve been wearing these mary-janes (mine are red) with the very simple Nike Free sole while on holiday for the last two weeks, doing lots of walking, and my feet feel great.  So I think there is something to this:

“Natural gait is biomechanically impossible for any shoe-wearing person,” wrote Dr. William A. Rossi in a 1999 article in Podiatry Management. “It took 4 million years to develop our unique human foot and our consequent distinctive form of gait, a remarkable feat of bioengineering. Yet, in only a few thousand years, and with one carelessly designed instrument, our shoes, we have warped the pure anatomical form of human gait, obstructing its engineering efficiency, afflicting it with strains and stresses and denying it its natural grace of form and ease of movement head to foot.” In other words: Feet good. Shoes bad.

Bonus: Article on asana for your feet in the latest issue of Yoga and Joyful Living (scroll down for PDF article)

I have been meaning to post some poetry all month to celebrate National Poetry Month – and now here it is, the last day of April. Nothing like leaving it until the last minute.

When I attended Artfest at the beginning of the month I discovered that in addition to hosting Artfest, Fort Warden is the home of Copper Canyon Press, an awesome independent publishing house that focuses on poetry. A few years ago a friend and I went to a Margaret Atwood reading in Seattle. The reading was sponsored by Copper Canyon Press and they were also selling a beautiful, limited edition broadside of an unpublished Atwood poem. I couldn’t resist. I bought it, had it framed, and now it hangs in my kitchen, where I read it often. It reminds me of the west coast landscape in which I live, but it also reminds me of the power of growth, of finding the cracks where the light gets in, to borrow a phrase from Leonard Cohen.  The last stanza in particular reminds me of my yoga practice.  Enjoy the ponderous is.

Lichen and Reindeer Moss on Granite

This is a tiny language,
smaller than Gallic;
when you have your boots on
you scarcely see it.

A scorched brown dialect
or a grey one, brittle
and with many branches
like an old tree’s, bleached and leafless.

In the rain they go leathery,
then sly, like rubber.
They send up their little mouths
on stems, red-lipped and round,

each one pronouncing a syllable,
o, o, o, like the dumbfounded
eyes of minnows.
Thousands of spores, of rumours

infiltrating the fissures,
moving unnoticed into
the ponderous is on the boulder,
breaking down rock.

- Margaret Atwood

Have you heard of Artfest?  Yeah, neither had I until I read about it on Kelly Rae’s blog last summer the day that registration opened. And, as I also read, it pretty much fills up the day it opens. So I got it in my head that my friend Charlotte (the artist and my partner in crime) and I should go.  And go we did. Over 600 people (mostly women) descend on an old military base in Port Townsend (this is where An Officer and a Gentleman was filmed). It’s a phenomenon. It’s an estrogen-fest. It’s all kinds of crazy AND the food is really good.  Charlotte and I had a blast, in spite of the fact that in many ways we were completely out of our element.

We shared an old Officer’s House, full of character and perhaps the ghosts of a few children that had been locked in the attic (oh, c’mon, you read Flowers in the Attic,too!), with some wonderful housemates.  We especially bonded with a group of three friends – Karen, Louise and Patty. Karen and Louise had come all the way from New Zealand for this (what did I say – a phenomenon!) and Patty came from the Napa Valley.  I haven’t laughed as hard in a long, long time as I did hanging out with these women. I came close many times to living up to my Indian nickname, “Pees in Pants.”  And you have to check out Louise’s blog-she makes the most beautifully stitched softies with an unbelievable attention to detail.

Day one I did a mandala workshop with Anahata Katkin (her mother named her after the chakra – there’s some good hippie roots). I am pretty much brand new to all this art/paint/collage stuff and Anahata’s method was perfect for an over thinker like me – she had us working so fast I didn’t have time to analyze every choice – I had to really just get into a flow state and trust my intuition. This was a great experience for me and a great lesson in silencing that inner critic, although he did come out for dinner with me later.

Day two was the workshop I was really looking forward to – much more in my comfort zone – Writing Crazy Love Poems with Susan Wooldridge. I had been using her book Poemcrazy for years and was looking forward to a live encounter.  She did not disappoint. Quirky and random abstract and philosophical – my kind of mind. And I left with a copy of her new book, Fool’s Gold.

Day three was really a challenge for me – Creating Collaged Faces with Katie Kendrick. At one point, I had to leave and go for a little walk to quell the frustration. I was not at all in the flow in this class. After lunch I came back with the realization that as a beginner, imitation was a good place to start.  So using my favourite of Katie’s finished projects, I set about attempting to recreate it in my own way. I was able to relax into the process a little more by doing this.

Not sure at this point whether I would go back again next year. I just don’t really have the art gene.  But if I do, I will be trying to get into all of Anahata’s classes.

Also, check out the blog of my new friend, Janine.  She is a jewelry artist and spent all three days in an intensive workshop and came out with a pendant  – the picture on her website does not do it justice – it’s incredible, intricate, with industrial undertones. Fascinating.

I have always felt connected in a way I can’t really explain to my Irish great-grandmother Margaret Carroll – ever since my Aunt Rose showed me a photograph of her when I was 11 or 12.  It was her wedding photo, maybe the only photo that exists of her. She wasn’t smiling, typical for photos of that era, but her eyes seemed completely alive and they spoke to my heart.

I don’t know a lot about her life, but what I do know leads me to believe it was not easy. She lived in Quebec and then crossed the border to work in the textile mills in Lewiston, Maine.

Lewiston’s population boomed in the 19th century. During the Civil War, high demand for textiles provided Lewiston with a strong industrial base. Starting in the 1870s, railroad connections to Canada brought an influx of French-Canadian millworkers, replacing the former “yankee millgirls”, and the city’s population has been largely Franco-American since. The Franco-Americans settled in an area downtown that became known as “Little Canada”.

It was there that she met and married my French-Canadian great-grandfather. They eventually moved back to Quebec and then out to Saskatchewan only to endure The Great Depression, having to abandon their farm during the dust bowl years.

I remember her today and I am deeply grateful to her for all the hardship she endured so that I could live the wonderful life I have today.

I got in!  Martha beck is a life coach who has written books like Finding Your Own North Star, The Joy Diet and Four Day Win (which I reviewed here).  She also writes a regular column in O magazine.  I heart Martha and so when I saw she was offering a life coaching tele-course I was all over it.  But too late. It filled up fast.  Despondent, I whined to the hubster for a few days, I wrote pleading emails to Martha’s minions about why they should let me in.  Then a couple nights ago, I got an email saying they had decided to take 20 more students – but there were 40 on the waiting list.  I hustled my butt and signed up, and have been vibrating with excitement since then.  Especially when I look over the course materials and see some of the great stuff that Martha has incorporated – like The Work of Byron Katie – which I first heard about years ago from yoga teacher extraordinaire, Ramanand Patel, and then finally “read” when my yoga buddy, Kim, gifted me the audiobook of Loving What Is.

Martha’s course is going to supplement my CTI training in a way that suits me perfectly. Yay!

Stillbirth

by Laure-Anne Bosselaar

On a platform, I heard someone call out your name:

No, Laetitia, no.

It wasn’t my train—the doors were closing,

but I rushed in, searching for your face.
But no Laetitia. No.

No one in that car could have been you,

but I rushed in, searching for your face:

no longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two.


No one in that car could have been you.

Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen.

No longer an infant. A woman now, blond, thirty-two:

I sometimes go months without remembering you.


Laetitia-Marie was the name I had chosen:

I was told not to look. Not to get attached—

I sometimes go months without remembering you.

Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.


I was told not to look. Not to get attached.

It wasn’t my train—the doors were closing.

Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.

On a platform, I heard someone calling your name.

I took advantage of the fact that today was Mardi Gras – it gave me a reason (excuse) to indulge in some of the delicious chocolates I got yesterday as goodbyes were said on my last day of work until September. It was kind of bittersweet (the day, not the chocolates) as I am certainly going to miss my students and my colleagues at the same time as I am looking forward to taking some time for myself. They gave me a little send-off in the staff room and one of my good buddies on staff, knowing I am a huge Letterman fan, drew up a Top Ten List for the occasion. It might give you a glimpse into my day to day at school:

The Top 10 things that will disappear during Lianne’s sabbatical

10. Wiki Wisdom

9. Laptop to LCD projector mastery (what do you mean just jiggle the cord?)

8. Odes to Johnny Depp

7. Random and unusual book recommendations

6. Downward facing dog comments

5. Bunny hugs [see this if you're confused]

4. Goal Keeper soothsaying

3. Equivocations during Chair of Truth sessions [I have a chair in my office that people sit in when they come to chat or unburden - it has become known as "the chair of truth"]

2. Rants on the value [or lack thereof] of final exams

And the number one thing that will disappear during Lianne’s sabbatical……

The P.A. announcement: “Excuse me, the two girls with long brown hair who were just sitting at the middle table in the library – you know who you are – come back and clean up your mess.”

[I didn't make those announcements that often...really, I didn't.]

And then how about this note?

You see what I mean about bittersweet. I get to hang with such great people at my job.

But this is the longest I’ve done any one job in my teaching career and the longest I’ve gone without a break. I think one of the reasons I still love my job is that I have had breaks. I’ve been teacher-librarian at this school now for 6 1/2 years – so I am taking a sabbatical in the original sense of the word – work six years, take the seventh off.  Yep, definitely time for some new adventures.

A week ago at this time (8pm), I was already in bed. I was completely wiped out from one of the most nervous and wonderful days of my life. Last Saturday my friend Charlotte and I took what felt like a very big chance – we put on a workshop we had been dreaming of for years (well, more me than her, but once I got her on board, she was just as dreamy as I was).

The fact that I finally had the courage and confidence to walk out on this tightrope is due in large measure to an invisible net of incredible people who have enCOURAGEd me over the years, who lent me their courage until I found my own: my friend BJ, who was the first person to whom I presented the idea and who insisted we had to do it and was the first to sign-up; my online friends, especially my yogalila cohort, who have watched me grow from a yoga newbie to a yoga teacher; my yoga students who make me feel competent and wonderful with their positive response to my teaching; Christine Kane and her Great Big Dreams e-seminar for giving me the courage to even entertain the idea in the first place; and my husband for always believing in me.

Attendance was better than we had dared hope – we had set a maximum of 15 people, but were prepared for less than that to sign-up, as we completely suck at marketing. But we had 14 people -which was perfect.

There was lots we would change about the day, lots that we learned, but the overall response was very positive, with people asking us when we would be doing our next one. Soon, really soon.

I hope if you’re reading this and you have some dream on hold, that you’ll be encouraged, too.

Totally worth 20 minutes of your time.  Have a listen.

Cause I’m pretty sure they’re reading my blog.

I love you guys. You inspire me. However, it pains me to see you running on those treadmills with your breasts flying all over the place. Boo to the people running that show for not giving you proper support in that very important area.

The whole world of sports bras is by and large a big scam.  They will all say they support, and wick, and breathe and fold themselves for you when you pull them out of the dryer.  Most of them do none of the above.

For example, take a look at this one, which gets 4 barbells from Title Nine (a store which I normally trust). 4 barbells is almost their highest level of support. Sorry, I ‘m going to have to disagree. There is no way this bra can be as supportive as it should be when it has two major flaws:

1) The straps are not adjustable.  When did it happen that we all suddenly have the same distance between our breasts and our shoulders?  Most everyday bras have adjustable straps – why don’t most sports bras? Isn’t proper fit even more important in a sports bra?

2) The bra is made out of a material that stretches. This makes it more comfortable, I guess, but at the sacrifice of support. If the fabric moves and stretches, how is it going to stop the breasts from doing the same?

Here is my solution – this is what I have been doing for years to truly immobilize the girls without spending a fortune on bras named after amphibians. First, give up any idea of “lifting and separating” – compression is where it’s at.  The best way to do this that I’ve found is to find a bra made of a woven fabric with adjustable straps and then – and this is very important – buy it one size too small and tighten up the shoulder straps as high as they will go for you, then sew them into place there. I like the Champion Sportshape Bra for this.

At first it may seem a little uncomfortable compared to the sports bras you may be used to – but you will get used to it quickly and you will really appreciate the bounce control – just jog in front of a mirror to see the difference.

Then I can watch you guys go all out on those intervals without cringing with sympathy pain.