Yoga Etiquette

I have searched far and wide, and I have yet to find a blog, book or magazine article that talks about yoga etiquette. I hate to be a snob because yoga teaches "come just as you are to your mat". It's the same principle that Jesus lived by, but Jesus was more than human and could deal with our deep impurities. I am here to say that I AM human, and I cannot deal with some of the impurities that come out of the bodies that surround me when I come to my mat.

While trying to come to my breath in child's pose, I could not think of sitting on the beach or laying in a bed of flowers in the mountains. All I could think about was the yoga etiquette list that I was going to compile after class. Yoga class is supposed to be a place of peace, a place where your breath is the only thing that floods your thoughts. I go to yoga for quiet. Even though it is class, and I practice with 30 other people looking for calm, yoga class helps to focus my ADD thoughts. It's hard to focus when the real housewives of Birmingham, Michigan are discussing their life shattering issues with ear shattering voices. It's also hard to focus when the person beside you hasn't washed their Yogi Toes in two months and doesn't wear deodorant. This leads me to the etiquette rules that I compiled while gritting my teeth in downward facing dog.

1. Before class begins, please do not have a conversation that you would have on the phone. The yoga room is not Starbucks. I am sure there are two Starbucks within two blocks of each other two doors down. I would like to focus on my breath and calm my mind before I start my practice. I cannot focus when you are loudly talking about buying a 9 million dollar house. There is a sign right on the door that says "Please respect the noble silence."

2. I understand that some people like to be natural. I am all for chemical free perfumes, deodorants etc. Yoga is a practice that frees the toxins from your body. I, myself, do not like the idea of chemicals in deodorant that may cause Alzheimer's disease, but they do make natural deodorants that you can use. Actually, there is a company called Toms of Maine. They are all natural. My step mom actually visited the plant and will only use their products. They also sell natural oils at your nearest Whole Foods that can mask your body odor. You could also grow some Lavender in your back yard and rub it on your arm pits. Whatever you do, please try to be mindful of my nostrils and other's nostrils. It is hard to take deep yoga breaths when the person beside you smells like they ate McDonald's or Chinese the night before.

3. Let me address the Yogi Toes towel. It is probably the best invention of all time. If you have a Yogi Toes, please spray some Fabreeze over your towel if you do not have time to wash it. I cannot tell you how horrible it is to smell a musty towel that is two inches away from you. It's horrible. I feel that I am actually breathing toxins into my body while I am trying to push them out. I can't imagine the mold spores that are imbedded in a towel that hasn't been washed in only God knows when. I will say that I didn't wash my Yogi Toes for two weeks, and it smelled so bad that I left it at home in the wash. I would not subject anyone to the stink.

4. Last but not least. A lot of people, especially men, sweat profusely in yoga. The sweat doesn't always land on the yoga mat. Most of the time the sweat drips on the floor surrounding the towel. I have walked out of the yoga room and stepped in puddles of sweat many times. I am surprised I didn't get athletes foot. Sick. I beg everyone who does yoga to wipe the floor around your mat when you are finished with the practice. I feel that I should just walk around barefoot on a public restroom floor when I step in someone's sweat. I am guilty, too, but my Mama Lise taught me to always wipe the floor around me.

I feel much better now that I have gotten the gripes out of my system. It will be a while before people actually start to have some yoga etiquette. It may never happen, but at least I got the ball rolling.

A Little Preview of my Pokot Beauty story.....

The thick Kenyan dust filled my nostrils, and the African sun scorched my eyes. The 9 hour drive to Chemolingot was anything but glamourous, but the Kenyan terrain was magnificent. Sweat trickled down my brow and my back as we continued to change elevation. Despite the rough roads and the blistering heat, I couldn’t stop thinking about the beauty that surrounded me. My mind kept reverting back to the saying, “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.” I was on a mission to discover beauty from the eyes of Pokot women. My recycled notebook was smudged and bent from the plane ride, but it survived the 15 hour travel in my dirty backpack. The pages were open and ready to endure the ink stains that would unlock the beauty secrets of Pokot women.

The man for whom I bought my gold TOMS.

I got the call on a Sunday. The sky was crystal clear, and Michigan had not yet turned down its thermostat. I of course was jamming to my new Taylor Swift CD as I struggled to put on my headphones. Michigan is a hands free state. I answered the phone and my mom's tone of voice was the tone that I hoped I wouldn't hear for at least another 10 years. "Taylor, pawpaw isn't doing well, and the doctors aren't sure if he will make it past Tuesday. They are putting him on a breathing tube on Monday, and he only wants to be on it for 3 days," she said with her somber tone. Michelle and I decided to take our road trip to North Carolina a few days early, so I could be with pawpaw. I immediately downloaded Carl Perkins' "Blue Suede Shoes." Pawpaw and I used to jam out to this tune when I would take him to Wal-Mart, or "Wal-Marts" as he called it. I know most of you do not know who Carl Perkins is. To be honest, I still do not really know. I just know he was a popular singer during pawpaw's day. He owned it way before Elvis. 9 hours, 1 happy meal, 1 mcflurry, and 1 krispi kreme later, Michelle and I arrived at the hospital. When I walked into his room, I was taken back. He was lying there, helpless, something he never wanted. He needed his little motor scooter by his bed. He needed is cane so he could point at the nurses and the doctors. He had none of the above. He could barely open his eyes. He did, though. He opened them wide when I walked in. I walked to his side and sang the song to him that I promised to memorize, "Get Rhythm" by Johnny Cash. I of course forgot the words after the first sentence of the song. how embarrassing. He rolled his eyes as a tear ran down his cheek. I knew then that I had to get my gold TOMS. I didn't necessarily want them for myself; I wanted to get them because A. I knew he would love them and B. Another child gets a pair of shoes. Michelle and I scooted over to the nearest retail store to find the shoes. They were there. They were shining. They were on my feet, and I was out of the door. Ok, yes, I paid for them. I knew he would love these shoes. I turned on "Blue Suede" shoes as loud as I could on the way back. I imagined dancing around the ICU, song blaring, gold shoes twinkling, pawpaw smiling. He didn't see the shoes, but I know he could feel my energy from me wearing them and singing his song. The next day the skies opened up, and the rain fell hard. oh man. I dug through the pantry and found exactly what I needed, Wal-Mart bags. I needed those Wal-Mart bags to wrap around my shoes, so I could walk in the rain. I didn't want to mess up our "Blue Suede shoes". Pawpaw would have shook his head and ran over my feet with his scooter cart to play with me. He would have smiled and danced with me. We would have sang together:

Well, you can knock me down,
Step in my face,
Slander my name
All over the place.

Do anything that you wanna do, but uh-uh,
Honey, lay off my shoes
Don't you step on my "Gold TOMs" shoes.
You can do anything but lay off of my "Gold TOMs" shoes.

He would have been wearing a pair, too. While I wear my gold shoes and dance around, he is dancing on a golden street, laughing and singing.

One whole year in Michigan and the snow blew out my candles!!!

There is only 10 more minutes left before my one year anniversary ends. No, I'm not talking about a one year anniversary of me having a weiner dog; I'm talking about my one year anniversary of living in Michigan. Did anyone know that I told myself I would live here for MAX 3 months. I have come full circle. My car also did a full circle tonight while I was on my way to Mike's. To bring in the year, the Michigan skies decided to spew cold, white vomit all over the ground. JOY. I have learned a lot about life during my stay in Michigan. I feel a lot of my hometownies didn't think I was very smart to move to Michigan. As a matter of fact, people in Michigan didn't think I was very smart in moving here. Well, I have to tell everyone that I have enjoyed every single moment here in Michigan. I thought I was wishing on a shooting star before I moved here, hoping it would come true; however, the star turned out to be an airplane. I didn't get exactly what I came to get here in 'ol Michigan. I got something better. I got an education on what I actually want. I served in Africa and left my heart with a little orphan girl named Chepotipun. I became a big fan of yoga. I learned to ask for what you want. I learned that things are temporary. "This too shall pass." I learned to find the beauty in a city like Detroit that has stood in it's own ashes for years. I met and fell in love with new people. I may not have earned $150,000 or gained a gold star on the Hollywood walk of fame, but I etched myself onto the the hearts of people, and they etched themselves onto mine. Yes, I know this post is one of my more serious posts, but there must be balance. Oh yea, I learned that too. Balance.

Slows BBQ in Detroit. BBQ in Detroit? What?

During my time in Michigan, Royal Oak and surrounding cities like Detroit have had some big shoes to fill in order to tickle my fancy. When you come from Charlotte, NC, everywhere else seems subpar. During the past week, I have had some sweet Detroit experiences. Detroit was meant to be like a new Paris when it was first settled. We all know how that panned out. I have seen little glimpses of the first settlers' efforts. Ok, I digress. Mike and I went to an urban craft show at the Filmore Theater in downtown Detroit. The theater was fabulous, and one of the prettiest I have seen in a long time. You can feel the history in the building. It's such a shame that Detroit has earned such a bad name. After the art fair, we went to a little place called Slows BBQ. In the words of Mike, "People have gotten their cars stolen here." OH, that's just great. "Come enjoy the best BBQ in Detroit and get your car stolen. It's an experience you can find no where else." I told Mike that they should have mock car robberies to complete the experience. Slows BBQ was actually a very sweet place. It is the first original restaurant in Michigan-besides the Polish Cafe-that I have seen and enjoyed. I was a little apprehensive because NC obviously has the best BBQ. Let's just say I dominated some Carolina pulled pork and sweet potato mash. I added some green beans in there to add a little color to my plate. I also ordered some diet cokes to cancel out the calories. Not bad Detroit. Not bad. You still have to fill size 18 shoes. That is men's 18.

Dear Turtle

Dearest little (giant) Turtle,

I watched you as you tried your hardest to climb onto the rock with your two friends. I found it amusing, watching you strain your neck to get on that rock only to fall backward into the water. I watched you swim around to a different spot on the rock and try again, only to fail. I saw your desperation. I wanted to step in the water and help you up. Unfortunately, you would have snipped my finger off, and I really need two opposing thumbs. Yes, I laughed because you were so dern cute. I felt sorry for you though. You were not supposed to be on that rock. It wasn't meant for you. You were bigger than that rock. The rock was full. You made me look at my life and my time in LA. Did you know, Turtle, that I have been trying for a year and a half to move out to LA. Every time I try, it is struggle, a battle. I strain my neck to get there and nothing works out. When I first wanted to visit LA, I broke my knee, working out to a Paula Abdul workout video. When I wanted to move out there in October, it was made clear to me that I wasn't supposed to. Doors were slammed shut at Evolution's convention. The third time I wanted to go, I finally made it, but nothing was opened up when I was out there. I had a hole in my heart while I was there and nothing was at peace. I could feel the desperation in the air, Turtle. It was like your desperation to get on that rock, to get to the top. I realized that I was desperate, too. Do I want to be a part of the desperate crowd? Do I want to teeter around in my high heels and tight little dresses just to be noticed? Do I want to get drinks with someone just because they want something from me or me from them? Absolutely NOT! Turtle, I saw that you gave up. Wait, no, you didn't give up; you realized that you were meant for something more. Thank you for the picture you gave to me. You had no idea that I was watching you, and although I had sweat running down my crack and I hadn't taken a shower all day, I had the best time with you.

Te tas

I'M BACK...Evacuate...Evacuate.....

Once again, I find myself sitting in Starbucks. I'm looking around, wondering who people are, what they are doing and why they are wearing those hideous shoes....OMG....STOP. I am also watching as this man looks at me out of the corner of his eye while he is obviously having a business conversation. Typical male, right? Oh, I forgot to mention that I am in LA. I have literally seen death about 3 times while driving in the city, and the whole time I was looking for a Starbucks. Did I mention I am In LA and I couldn't find a freakin Starbucks to save my life. On the plus side of almost dying for Starbucks, I did get lost in the Hollywood Hills and got to look at some fabulous houses. well, I've actually seen more fabulous houses in my life, but the fact that Efron could have walked out with his shirt off made all of them seem breath taking.

I am trying to figure out my crazy life. Where do I want to be? Where do I want to go? If I get honked at one more time in LA then I will not share my wonderful talents with this city. I need to start putting myself first, but how do you do that? All I know is that I am going to contact Miley when I get back to Michigan and beg to be her personal assistant. kgreatthanks.