Wednesday, December 21, 2011

The Perfect Night

For a few minutes this evening, I had the Perfect Night.  I had just returned from teaching a Yoga class at the Y and my house was empty. Perfection.   It is rare that I am in my home alone.  I crave solitude in the space where I live because most of the time the 3 children, 4 animals, 1 husband and my neurosis make a lot of noise and take up a lot of space.  Not tonight. 

Peace invoked.  Check.  (Om Shanti!)
Wine poured.  Check.  (Om Shanti, Shanti!)
Silly Lifetime Drama on boob tube.  Check.  (Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti!)

Amidst my PMS, frustration over the state of laundry, and my martyrdom (I am the only one who cares about our surroundings, blah, blah, blah) - I found bliss.  Why? I wonder.   I know why.

I AM PREGNANT.  WITH HOPE.  Hope for long lasting peace and contentedness.  Hope for a deeper daily connection with The Divine.  I rubbed my belly and was lit up with the moment.  The only thing we have.  The only thing that's real.  I'm naming her Hope.  Mary must have had The Perfect Night too.  She was truly pregnant with our Hope.  She was not drinking Pinot Grigio, I suspect but having a baby in a barn may have led her to. 

I'm happy because I don't live or birth baby's in a barn.  Thank you!!
I did birth these nuggets and I am so pregnant with hope for them.

I don't even notice the dirty unmatched socks on the kitchen floor.  It was the Perfect Night.  In honor the the Perfect Night of over 2000 years ago, I think I'll do a camel.  (I'm sure there was one nearby.)

My dog loves me!

What are you pregnant with?

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Baby Got Back! Mary #2 Review

Having a hissy fit?  Do the Yoga.
Feeling fat?  Do the Yoga
DePuffing?  Do the Yoga.
Even you bony-ass skinny people, Do the Yoga. 

She sang my song yesterday.  All. Day. Long.  The Mary Jarvis Event did not disappoint.  Though it was not much different than the workshop I attended in Annapolis, I still couldn't get enough.  Even after seconds.  I'm still hungry for the Yoga.  The heat. The community and the love.

Mary sprinkled the class and posture clinic with anecdotes and philosophy and bits from her life - one you felt you'd shared for much longer than 90 minutes.  Or wish you had.  She inspired me to be a kinder more compassionate person and convinced me that backbends would help.  I know it to be so.  There are clinical studies that prove the physiological benefits of backward bending.  I have started and stopped a regimen of backbending a number of times.  Starting 12/5 I am going to do 10 backbends a day for 10 days and document my experience. 

Yoga is for everybody.  It makes you nicer.  It definitely makes you healthier and it might save your marriage or your life.  It is accessible all the time.  Hopefully I'll feel as inspired tomorrow when I need to bend over backwards literally and just because.

Today was a perfect day.  I spent it with her:

Mass.  Lunch.  New Yoga Studio Tour. Running in to a dear friend whom I love (hi, Laura!).  Pottery studio for ornament painting.  Moving renting/watching.  Dinner.  Hanging out at home alone.  The rest of the family was otherwise occupied for the entire day. We took full advantage of our one on one.  I love this little muffin with and without the backbends.  If backbending makes it better, it's much, much more than I deserve!

Thank you for all my many blessings.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Mary-Mary, Damn Ugly and 9

Today I am going to my second once in a life-time opportunity to work with Mary Jarvis of Bikram Yoga fame.  Almost two years ago I attended a MJ (not the crooner whom we know I love) workshop in Annapolis, MD. 

One of my favorite quotes from that day was:

"It smells like a cat box in here (the 107 degree room) because we expect you to leave your shit in it."

I can't wait for today's pearls of wisdom which I will surely share.  Here's my new outfit for the occasion.:
I don't love it.  I am usually very choosy about my yoga threads but this was at Dick's, on sale and I was in a hurry.  I don't know why I care because we will be sandwiched in a room with inches between mats and dodging body parts as we move through poses.  It will be fun and rigorous and entertaining and life-change like Mary #1 in Maryland.  But it won't be pretty. 

Feeling pretty has evaded my 11-year-old daughter of late and it makes me sad.  Here's Wednesday night:

Kathleen:  Mom, why am I not pretty?

Me:  (sympathetic and so sorry she knows not what I see in her)  Honey, I can't talk you out of this feeling.  It's normal at your age to have your groove on one day and then feel ugly the next.  One day you'll feel more balanced but you always need to feel pretty inside and out.

Kathleen:  But I'm not.

Me:  (trying to convince her otherwise) Oh, honey.  Yes you are.  You have no idea.  It's normal to feel awkward sometimes at your age but don't let this feeling get out of hand.  Let's keep talking about it when it comes over you.  Just have faith in all your gifts inside and out.

Kathleen:  But I'm not pretty.

Me:  (Getting impatient)  Remember that time Bridget's Mom said you had this intense beauty that she couldn't describe?  She's not even related and said that out of the blue.

Kathleen:  Kinda.  But why am I ugly?


Now that's a pearl of wisdom.  What a good mother I am.

And now for 9.  I don't feel pretty either because 9 is the number of pounds I have gained since my last Mary Jarvis workshop.  Not a good thing for someone with a lifelong body image problem.  No matter what people say I feel damn ugly lugging that 9 around.  I know how my daughter feels...

My lesson:  Find your own sweet spot of gratitude and confidence, be patient and only listen to other people with it uplifts you.  Otherwise it belongs in the cat box located in the hot room where I am shortly headed.

Hey maybe I will leave my 9 in there. Look out 9! You. Are. Going. Down.

What's  your pearl of wisom?

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Buck and Bonk: Race Report

The best part of my half marathon yesterday was my hair.  Doesn't it look good?
I'll take the mystery out:  I bonked, my Buck husband kicked ass.  First half in a sub 2.  Go ahead leave my lonely little blog and find something else more exciting to do.  For all the faithfuls here are the deets.

  I was excited at first.
I woke up had a banana and toast and a little coffee.  I followed a comparatively light training plan this time but didn't cheat at all.  Additionally, I had taught a fair amount of Yoga and other Cardio classes during training so I thought I was all that.  I was relaxed and felt strong.  Yesterday morning we couldn't find a parking spot, of course, and I needed the porta potty as soon as we got downtown.  With 6 miles to Empty (in the car) we pulled into a spot (that I was sure was illegal but I wasn't telling my panicking husband) with 12 minutes to start, a full bladder and 4 blocks to walk.  I forewent a potty stop, waved good bye to my newbie halfer husband and found my wave.  Cold (37 degrees, you see my outfit?) and full bladder I am ray-to-go. 

In the beginning I felt amazingly good despite my frozen skin and elimination needs.  It had to be the pigtails.  After leaving lots of people in my dust I saw a port- a-potty at mile 3 and took advantage.  I have never used the facilities during a race - even my 5 hour marathon.  Then I got back on track and it took about 2 miles for me to catch up to and pass the pack I started with.  I AM the badass I liken myself to be.  Around mile 9 I just bonked.  I have never had that all-at-once break down experience.  It was like a fast leak out of a tight raft in rough waters.  I began to panic and felt confused, honestly/really couldn't figure out why it happened.  This was my 5th half marathon so I know a little about how to fuel/etc.  Weird.  So I surrendered to my race and my day and the state of things.  I took a shot of beer at the 9 mile fueling station, also a first.  I didn't stop running but I was running on nearly empty - simply out of gas.  For 4 miles I clawed at the proverbial wall and never got over it.  I did fight however and crossed the finish line at a decent stride to see my long since finished husband who after a slice of pizza and a banana was on his second bagel.  Had I taken much longer, he'd have stayed for lunch.  Oh wait, that was lunch.

Mike is a powerfully built weekend warrior kind of athlete who played baseball in college and has remained in shape with recreational running.  He has several 10k's under his belt.  He - no surprise to me - finished his first half marathon in 1:57:23 at age 46.  He is tenacious and focused and it has always served him well in athletics.  He can block everything out and just keep his focus like no one I've ever seen.  He flies under the radar and doesn't even talk about his goals with fitness.  He just does it.  Sound familiar, Nike?  He should be your spokesperson.   Me - after 2:16 on the course I almost threw up walking to the car.  I couldn't feel my legs and had no mental acuity whatsoever.  And I was hungry.  Because I am selfless and thinking about my faithful blog readers (thanks, you 2) I had our waitress at the diner take our photo to mark the moment.

Doesn't my hair look good?

Somebody help me.  How do I not bonk next time?  I'm running a full int he Spring.

Friday, November 11, 2011

The eyes have it

Much to my dismay, my daughter asked me if she could try out for her middle school cheer leading squad.  I mean no offense to anyone who has or does cheer (I did).  Gloria Steinam I am not, but I have a little 'thang' inside about girls going ga-ga over the athletic accomplishment of guys.
In all her glory, here's Gloria:
"A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle."

- Gloria Steinem

My daughter campaigned her cause and wore me down.  She helped me see that my 43-year old view of the world doesn't match an 11-year old trying to find her way.  "It's just fun.", she says.  As long as it's moral, legal, and has some value to the development of her I should consider it.  In the end I let her do it.  She learned cheers and stunts and jumps and moves and today she tries out.  And I want her to make it.  I understand that cheerleaders are athletes and that the stereotype of pretty, popular, and petite and perhaps a bit sassy doesn't have to apply.  I just couldn't ignore my 'issue' with the proliferation of the notion that girls stand behind guys to let THEM shine.  The old SHE's the secretary, HE's the boss gender role play. 

My pal, Gloria also says:
"A movement is only composed of people moving. To feel its warmth and motion around us is the end as well as the means."
And so school spirit, enthusiasm and strategy on my daughter's part won out.  And I'm glad.  I told her to shine from the inside out today and the rest will take care of itself.  Sounds a big Yogic.  Yoga meets cheer leading.  Who knew?

She was exhausted from her tryouts, school responsibilities, dance class and just being 11.  Here's last night:

My diva daughters surrendering to sleep.  Bliss.
Tomorrow my husband and I run the Suntrust Richmond Half Marathon (his first).  Hanging back and letting him shine won't be hard - he's fast!  But I'd do it anyway not because I am weak or pretty or popular or petite (God knows!) It's just fun.  And it's just nice.  Go Kathleen!

Sunday, October 9, 2011

I got in the car with a stranger

I just read Room by Emma Donoghue and should’ve known better.  Your mother, your teacher and your priest warned you:  Never get into the car with a stranger.   Whether they claim to have sick pet, or a trunk load of M &M’s.  There’s never a good enough reason.  I know that but I was beyond reason yesterday.  8.5 miles into a 9 mile run that turned out to be more than 12 – I WAS LOST AND NEEDED HELP – FROM A STRANGER.

I was at a softball tournament and needed to get a 9-mile run in for my half marathon training.  I wanted to do ten because that’s just me.  During a break between games I laced up.  I did not know the area at all but I had my Garmin and my GU and my GPA so I was all set.  I don’t run with my cell phone because I hate the drag across my belly.  I was cruising along through neighborhoods with trails and ended up  running around this lake:

Pretty nice.  I had the feeling:  “This is why I run.”  Total self-sufficiency.  Almost.  At this sailing club I was at 5 miles and decided to turn around and head back to the field.  (Remember the GPA?  5+5=10, brilliant)  Around mile 8.3 nothing looked familiar and I worried I’d get killed on a busy curvy road where drivers have NO RESPECT for runners.  I had little mental acuity left and began traipsing through a stranger’s yard.  I was birthed into a unrecognized cul de sac.  I started to panic but encountered a 70+ lady retrieving her mail.

This is not her but it’s close.  Difference:  My stranger didn’t have many upper, front teeth.

Me:  “Please excuse me, I don’t mean to startle you, (event though all I am wearing is a sports bra, shorts, and a Garmin) but I don’t live around here and I think I am lost.  Could you tell me how to get back out to Genito Road.”

Stranger:  “Oh Lord child, you are so out of your way I couldn’t begin to tell you.  Where are you trying to get to?”  (Dangling participle, not my GPA)

Me:  (without any acuity and a slight panic attack starting)  “Goodness, I don’t know how I got so turned around, my daughter’s tournament is at Warbro Sports Complex.”

Stranger:  Let me go get my car, I’ll drive you.

This is what oozed out of her three-car garage:

For the missing teeth, she spat as she spoke but offered me ice water and regaled me with stories about her artificial knees.  We found our way to a church parking lot where I knew I could find my way back to the field from.  (Dangling participle, no more GPA left.)

I made it.  12.4 miles – on my legs - later (over achiever).  A little zoned out, I really wanted a beer to calm me down.  This stranger was an angel.  A sweet nice old lady without free candy or ulterior motives.  Just kindness for me.  I’ll take it.  Then I got to see her:


My stranger (angel) in a car was the ticket.  Would you get into a car with a stranger?  This time, thank God I did.

Friday, September 23, 2011

George is my mother and heavy mettle

Last night I woke up after a fitful few hours sleep, got up to check on my son’s bad dream and crawled back in bed to my usual awaiting partner:.  George.


This doggone cat loves me and I hate cats.  We got him 5 years ago when I found a snake in my kitchen because we thought it would ward off skinny slithery things with tongues.  My children fell in love with him (so did I) and their petless selves suddenly had something furry to love.  He wasn’t leaving.  Now he doesn’t leave me.  It’s ironic because I am known to hate pussy’s.  Scared of them, bad dreams about them, run the other way when I see them kind of abhorrence.  Miracles never cease, I now have 2 feline frolickers.  But my husband said something last night that struck me.  As I climbed back into bed he says: 

'”That damn cat loves you.  I think he is your mother.”

I lost my mother almost 15 years ago and life is so hard without her.  Sure the day-to-day is easier and I have a lot wonderful things going on but I miss her to the core and life will never, ever be the same without her.  I have tried to make it so for 15 years but I have not the mettle.  But I do have George and a heartbreakingly loyal and supportive network of people she is certainly influencing to come my way.  Like, Amy (who has the spirits in her) and yoga and God and my children and my faith and yes, my pussy George.   Thank you Lord for my pussy and my mother:


Here, have a tree pose:


I am a dancer (pose):


I have heavy mettle.

I am a big person.  I wondered recently if I should enter races in the Athena division to place better in my age group.  I really am not that competitive.  But I pondered the Athena category because it’s about accepting who you are – perhaps not built like a runner but I run nonetheless.  I am not a pussy (I have one, feline).  I have mettle.  I have bootstrapped myself from a number of things as have all of us.  At the end of the day I am most blessed because I have my mother to cuddle with every night – even if she is white and furry.

  What’s your mettle about?

Friday, September 16, 2011


I started putting together a 'day in the life' post because I love to read them.  I want to know how your day started, what your barista at Starbuck's regaled you with and if you read blogs at work.  I want to know if your run was good, what you created for lunch and if your family showed you the appreciation you deserve.  We are after all one human family even if we've never met. 

A day in my life is like any other.  Unless I have one of the biggies (a death, birth, travel, doctors, PR, awards, or winning the lottery) most days are the same.  As are we.  It's my perspective.  Which right now is for crap because of this:

My daughter's room

And this:

These are triggers that put my perspective in the commode.  I will NOT clean my girls' room any more.  They will do NOTHING when they get home from school until that room is neat and picked up.  I left the towel on the floor because I am sick and tired of picking up other people's crap.  Whereas I can usually find the sacred in the mundane and see light in the dark, today I left the house feeling like this:
Irritated and unappreciated.
Until I had my coffee date with Megan.  She always lifts my spirits.  Megan has a calming effect on everyone she comes in contact with and I am grateful she lets me in her space.  I am continually reminded of how blessed I am even if my perspective is so out of focus.  My health, my opportunity and my Megan triggered the best in me today.  I am ready to work.

How do you dodge your triggers?

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Please let me touch your hand

Life is so sly.  In the past several days I’ve been filled and mesmerized by it. 

On Saturday,

I taught my first class at Healthy Life Yoga.  Loved. Every. Minute.  Here’s the space:


And my mat in it:


And me in the dressing room as I await my students:


Whereas, none of us tied our limbs in a knot or experienced the mad rush of Kundalini up our spine, we shared space and time and intention to be healthier more grounded beings.  Nothing better.

On Sunday

My youngest daughter started her First Communion class and we went to Mass after a latte.  My girls and I (Mike and Nicholas were bonding in the woods somewhere) sat in a pew where I am sure my Mother and Father and I sat many times over the years.  I looked to my left and saw the most regal older couple I knew I knew.  I looked at the lady in a yellow suit and hat and saw a face I was sure I knew.  The face of her son – my first kiss, my first crush, my first memory of a boy who liked me in THAT WAY.  I learned a few weeks ago he died four years ago– a man of only 40 -  from a heart defect.  Track star, basketball star, salt of the earth family.  I was sitting next to his parents and saw him in his mother’s lined face.  I just wanted to touch her yellow sleeve.  I couldn’t wait for the sign of peace so I could touch her hand and look in her son’s eyes and smile.  I came home, held one of my daughters and smiled.


On Monday

Going through my inbox I found this from a cousin I had just reconnected with on Sunday:

hey clair this just came in today and of course i thought of you!!  happy Monday 

----- Forwarded Message -----
From: DailyOM <>
Sent: Monday, September 12, 2011 4:21 AM
Subject: DailyOM: Special Messengers

September 12, 2011
Special Messengers
Reconnecting with Friends

When fate brings old friends back into our lives, there is always a reason.

Every person that passes through our lives makes a contribution to our life stories. There are those who play large roles and make deep impressions, but sometimes a brief special appearance before life takes them in another direction creates a meaningful connection. It is a rare gift when they suddenly reappear in our lives after a long absence.
Though the world may seem full of more people than we could ever know, we are often drawn to people with similar energy, which brings us together time and time again. On first meeting, the characters in our life stories may seem familiar. We may know each other from past lives or perhaps we merely recognize the energy of a kindred spirit. But when fate brings old friends back into our lives, there is always a reason. They may act as messengers, reminding us of a part of ourselves we have forgotten to nurture. They might appear to give us a chance to react in a new way to an old situation. They may even bring up unresolved issues so that we may complete them, giving us the chance to move forward on our life path. Whether old friends, previous romances, or once and future partners, their reappearance is more than mere chance. They may never know what they bring into our lives, but the renewed contact is a gift.
If this hasn’t happened to you, maybe you are meant to initiate contact by seeking out old friends. If old friends come to mind or into your dreams, use their appearance as an excuse to get in touch. If an old song or movie reminds you of them, reach out to share the gift of renewed contact. Wherever you fall in the circle of connection and reconnection, be sure to look beyond the surprise of the moment to enjoy the deeper gift that this revelation brings


Pass it on to a friend.  And if I ever see you in person, please let me touch your hand.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Here, have a stomach

Please tell me some of you are in your 40's.  I recently turned 43 and changed - what seemed like overnight.  For my birthday this summer, I got a stomach.  I've never been a lean mean fighting machine and I've had 3 8lb+ babies, but I haven't had too much of a  pooch until now. 
Happy Birthday, Clair!  Here, have a stomach.
BTW, the line above my navel is the graveyard from my belly ring.  I had to let it close.  Dang!
Gee, 43 - I don't know what to say:
I am listening now when the belly fat commercials come on.  Seriously.  Help.  It's all 43's fault.  It had nothing to do with the raw cookie dough I've ingested or my addiction to carbs.  However this got there - I don't like it.

Makes me want to do this:
I usually take the cork out first.  But I realized how silly I was being over my new kangaroo holder.  I heart marsupials.  But for goodness sake, I am healthy and sound in mind (sort of) so my pooch shouldn't make me hooch.  In fact, my new boss at Healthy Life Yoga said I should embrace my stomach.  It means I'm aging and still here.

I am teaching a class tomorrow at this new wonderful studio and I can't wait.  I'll bring my heart in my pooch and leave a little of my soul.  And I'm leaving the carbs out.

Today I had cereal for breakfast.
I ran 3 miles and took a Yoga class.
Went to work.
Had a clementine.
Worked some.
Had a spinach and tomato salad for lunch.
Came home from work.
Had graham crackers and peanut butter (SINNER!)
About to have fish, salad and potato for dinner.
Drinking some wine because it's Friday after 5 and not because of my 43rd birthday present. 

I'll get it right.  Belly fat, self esteem and all.  I'm just glad I'm here.  What did you get for your 43rd birthday?  If you haven't reached it yet, i pray and hope and expect you will.  i love life.  Mine is just without as many carbs and hopefully as much belly.  Running the Suntrust Richmond Half in November and the Shamrock full in March.  That ought to help.


Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Jimmy Buffett, Van Morrison, Larry Smith and me

I fancy my self a poet.  It's the nuns at St. Paul's fault.  I won a Poetry contest in the 4th Grade.  $100.00 and a little attention.  It was sponsored by the Catholic Daughters of the Confederacy (WHAT?!).  There were probably only 2 of us but money is money.  I love words and imagery and the power of the prose.  I am often moved by what I read but I have to be able to understand it at first blush - or it's nerdy.  Move over Robert Frost, bring on Jimmy Buffett.  Not a great vocalist.  A great story-teller and a ...umm poet of sorts.

He links tomatuh and potatuh/beer and steer like nobody's business.
Then there's Van the Man.  God do I love him.
He wants to rock your gypsy soul, into the mystic.
I'm not going to lie to you.  That line in that song makes me want to wear red pumps and dance on tables.  The imagery, moving me to action.  Poetry at its best.

And then there's Larry Smith.  A beautiful piece on contemplation from Yoga International Magazine
Walking a Field into Evening

For learned books, I read grasses.
For reputation, a bird calls my name.
I cross a stone bridge with the pace of dusk. 
At the meadow gate, six cows meditate.

For decades I ran with my mind up hill and down;
now idleness lets me see what is near.
An arrow of wild geese crosses the sky,
my body still, my feet firm, on the ground.

We age like trees now, watch our seedlings
take wind or grow around us.
I'm going to mark my books lightly
with a pencil.  When someone wants
to take my picture, I'll walk towards them
and embrace.  No more arguments
just heart sense, or talk about nothing.
Take walks in the woods at dawn and dusk,
breathe in the damp musty air,
learn to listen before I die

Really.  Darn.  Good.  As for me, one of my Yoga students told me I should be a poet or a writer because she loved the imagery in class.  I love the Yoga and the words used to describe it.  The funny thing, in Yoga there are no words.  Our bodies are the poetry - our own personal genre.

What's your genre?

Friday, September 2, 2011

The Irene Scene

I feel so bad for all the folks (who talks like that?) who are without electricity because of Hurricane Irene.  I admit I was a B-A-B-Y while our power was out.  For us it was only 2 days and there are always those worse off but dang it I didn't sleep much.  During Isabelle (2003) I had a 6-week-old, 2 toddlers and no way to flush.  So when Mother Nature called she really called me to her (my) backyard.  Sucked.  At least this time we keep our toilet (and our dignity) and our Pinot Grigio cold.  I heart generators. 

My children had a ball.  I watched them play with Irene just as she was getting going:
I could've been arrested for child endangerment since at any given moment a tree limb could've met one of their craniums.  Here's my struggle:  when do you corral your children from their frivolity when they are loving/living life in a risky situation (that wasn't all that bad - yet), getting along, and making memories?  I waited about as long as I could stand it and told them to come inside.  The still argued with me.  I felt glorious.  They need have wild abandon sometimes.  I was lucky they were safe and whole. Some folks weren't.  Why/how were we spared so much trouble and trauma?  Don't know but  I'm thanking my lucky stars.

I managed to kick out 6 soggy miles before Irene pounced and that was good.  This week I have run 15 miles so far, taught 2 Yoga classes and 1 Cardio Jam class.  Today I 'cross trained' by walking my dogs because I am sore as a mother.  Can hardly move but it feels good.  Tomorrow I run 7.  I am taking my training plan for the Richmond Half Marathon very seriously this time.  No substituting classes for miles.  There is nothing like being on your legs.  My children agree, it's even more fun in a hurricane.

It's Friday and 5 o'clock somewhere.  No hurricane to deal with this weekend.  Still getting aftershocks from the earthquake.  Still wearing good bras. 

Would you let your children play with Irene?

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Prelude to Irene

I am sitting here in my cottage listening to the rain and watching the trees bend.  Irene is coming.  A few minutes ago my house looked like this:
Before Irene: Own Your Backbone Abode
(Tomorrow morning I'll take anotner photo and share it.)
A few hours ago I looked like this:
6 in the rain.  Bring it.
Felt good to be out in the elements.  Wind was whipping a little, rain came down sharply against my straining quads.  All the while, I was baptizing my attitude to look a life in a more positive way.  I was thinking about something my brother in law said last night at dinner:  Dream Big, Clair.  He asked me about how my Yoga was going - he knew I was recently certified to teach and added a new studio to places I am currently teaching.  I told him...
I love it.  Don't know where it's all heading but I would love to become so good at teaching that I can travel to offer classes and workshops at executive retreats.  Maybe I can Oom my way to the Four Seasons in Fiji to teach.
He says...
Go for it Clair.  Keep dreaming big.  I think Yoga is out there as a great exercise regimen and a wonderful lifestyle balancing tool but people are missing the mark that it can improve productivity.  You might have something there. 
He's a guy that dreams big and makes life  happen.  Husband to my beloved sister, fabulous father to 5 of my 17 nieces and nephews - he started a very successful business in a spare bedroom of my parents tri-level.  Now he's movin' and shakin' with the leaders of our city.  He's in numerous locations across the country and taking on more.  He's daggone smart, with a personality bigger than Irene, and dreams larger than life.  And he's not even 40.
So, in my wallet, I have tucked away some of my favorite items.  They mean so much to me that if I died in a car wreck whoever found me would find Me.  Here it is:
 My Dad's funeral prayer card, picture of my Mom (I miss her so!), notes, cards, etc.
Including this:
It is from my big-dreaming brother in law in response to a note I sent to him and my sister just before they ran the Suntrust Richmond Marathon in November.  It says:
Thanks Clair!  You should be proud as well, you've done it.  More than anything, YOU and Grace have really challenged yourselves recently to achieve new milestones in life.  Few people in life move themselves forward an get stuck in a life of complacency.  Both of you have shed that tendency and pushed yourselves further and further.  Way to go.  You both are an inspiration to me daily.  Thanks.
I keep these words with me at all times.  When I feel sluggish an unmotivated, I open my wallet and I remember to keep dreaming, keep moving.  That's what my husband and I did in the Irene rain today.  This note, the pile of treasures from my wallet inspired me.

So maybe on the other side of this Irene, I'll find myself in Fiji someday.  Where would you like to go after the storm of a lifetime?