Sometimes the Oddest Things Make Me Happy (and Curious)

The other day I thought about working out at the gym before yoga class started. But then, I thought, I'll have to bring a lock and lock up my street clothes, purse, etc., since I can't cart them all over the gym (when I go to yoga class I just stash them in the corner of the room). I remembered that I used to have a combination lock, but that it had gone missing some time in the last few months. I was dismayed over this obstacle to my plans. How was I going to work out without a lock? Then it occurred to me that one could buy a combination lock for, oh, probably about $6.99 at the drugstore across the street from the gym. I stopped at the drugstore, asked the woman behind the counter, "Do you have combination locks?" "Yes," she said briskly. "Would you like one?" I said that I would, and as soon as she was finished with the customer ahead of me, she asked, "Is there any particular color that you wanted? Blue, red, black?" I hadn't thought about this yet, so for a moment I was panicked. Then an answer came to me.

"Red," I said, decisively.

"Six ninety-nine," she said.

I trotted off to the gym, delighted with my new purchase. I worried, briefly, as I was locking up my things, how I would remember the new combination, so I tucked the tiny slip of paper with the numbers into my sneaker laces. (I thought about leaving it pasted to the back of the lock but then realized that would kind of defeat the purpose.) Now, several days later, I can recall the combination with no problem. I find that phenomenon rather interesting. How is it that our minds are able to do that? Is there some kind of scientific research that has gone into the devising of these locks with three numbers, a rule about how likely people are to remember a certain number of numbers? And how do combination locks work anyway?

Safe

Towards the beginning of my yoga class Saturday afternoon, we were all on our stomachs, looking at the floor. I forget what we were doing--probably baby cobra. Somehow whenever we do those flowing up-and-down movements, going from downward dog to plank to knees-chest-chin and sliding forward to baby cobra, I end up sliding so far forward that I'm actually off the mat in the front. So, I found myself staring at the wooden planks of the floor in front of me, not at my mat, as the teacher encouraged us to keep our gaze down somewhat so that our spines would be straight even as we lifted our chests in baby cobra. I was wearing my contacts, which is still a novelty for me. As I was looking down at the floor (while straining my upper body upward and forward), I was thinking to myself, "Wow, the floor is really close, and these contacts are for distance, but look, I guess I can see things when they're really close too." Then all of a sudden the floor sort of reared up at me and the room started spinning. My vision was so blurry that I actually thought one of the contacts had slipped off. I jumped up, which only made things worse. Since there were only four students in the room, my teacher noticed my strange behavior. "Everything okay,?" she asked. "Yes," I said, "I think it's a contact thing." I backed up, toward the wall behind me, where I had left my bag and my shoes, and started fumbling for my eye drops. The room was still spinning violently. I waved vaguely at the teacher, and said, "Just go on without me."

I thought I would go to the locker room and see if I could figure out what was happening with the contacts. Then I decided to sit down for a minute, since I felt so unsteady. I sat down, my back against the cool mirrored wall, and immediately felt more anchored. To see which one of my contacts it was that had slipped, I closed first one eye and then the other. Each eye, it turned out, could see fine on its own. Then I opened both eyes--voila, the room was back to normal.

I put down the bag, the shoes, the eye drops, and went back to my mat. "That was weird," I commented to the teacher as I joined the rest of the class in a downward-dog split.

Later, after yoga, I called my friend Music Guy, who lives in my neighborhood and is often just about ready to come out and have coffee or something to eat when I am done with yoga. We met at our usual place, a bakery that serves breakfast and lunch, but we were too late, the kitchen was closed. Music Guy wanted to sit outside, so we decided as a fallback plan to wander over to a nearby deli, get sandwiches and sit on the steps of the big church up the street. The deli was crowded and chaotic and frenzied, and we were happy to get our sandwiches and coffee and get out. It was a warm day, although gray and humid, and the streets were crowded too. There was no room to sit on the steps of the main entrance of the church, right on the avenue, so Music Guy said, "Here, we can go around to the side." We found a spot on the steps, there, and, after a woman talking on her cellphone left, it was just us.

We settled into our food and our conversation, which went, inevitably, to the vagaries of dating. Music Guy is in a relationship now, and is very happy in it, but over the years, we have shared our war stories. I was still feeling bruised over a recent encounter on the street with an ex, and we talked about that (although not too much because I know it is better not to keep talking about these things over and over, reliving the bad feelings), and Music Guy said loyal, understanding, supportive things.

As I sat there with him, I felt aware of--and slightly intoxicated by--all the street life passing in front of us and slightly below us: people doing errands, moms with kids in strollers, oh, look, isn't that your cousin walking by. Across the street, the flower stand outside the big supermarket was filled with bright colors, especially bright against the gray day (and with my contacts on). Everything seemed close and real. I leaned back against the purple wooden plank doors that cover up the real church doors when the building is closed. The wooden doors were warm against my back, as was the stone of the archway wall against my side. The steps were filthy and smelled slightly of urine, but somehow even that evidence of other human beings was comforting. In that malodorous nook, sitting next to my guy friend whom I love and trust, I felt safe and happy.

Second Most Boring Dream Ever

Glancing through the newspaper today at work (this is real life, not the dream), I noticed that the Yankee game tonight, was, unusually, being shown on a network TV station I can actually get. I thought, hmm, maybe I'll go home and watch baseball on TV, that will be relaxing.

But I was so tired when I got home I opted for a nap instead. I know you can guess now what I dreamt about--watching baseball on TV! In the dream, I was in a hotel room somewhere, and there was a TV, and I thought, oh, the Yankee game, channel 9, let me turn it on.

Then the dream took me elsewhere, and I never did get to watch the game.

Notes on Weekend Notes

So, I have been meaning to add the promised further thoughts on my last post. It's funny how these unwritten blog posts stay with you.

Anyway, here it is. That day I spent with my brother, over a week ago, came in the midst of a sort of meltdown I sometimes go through when it's the beginning of the summer and I start longing for things I don't have: air conditioning, to begin with (a long story, but my apartment is unairconditionable), a boyfriend, a beach house, a car, some way to escape the city on weekends, to get to the ocean, not just the crowded city beaches but some place cleaner, calmer, more beautiful. The discontent becomes almost feverish, rageful, as I castigate myself (and the universe) because I don't have this other life that I think I should have.

Then I spent that day with my brother, and I thought, no, it's okay, what I have is enough, it's more than enough. To enjoy a day outside with him, see how much he is enjoying it, that's enough. And not just when I'm with him but at other moments, too, when I calm down and stop thinking about what I don't have I can see how much more than sufficient what I do have is.

I suppose all of this was implicit in that last post, but I wanted to spell it out. I have had some ups and downs in the last few days, but I have been trying to hold onto that sense of gratitude, and also to be in the present as much as possible. I think, often, of something one of my yoga teachers said recently--she was telling us to be aware of our breath (well, of course, it was yoga!) and then she told us to focus on the particular breath that was happening right at that moment, the air coming in and going out. She said, "It's only going to happen once." And somehow that seemed very profound to me, and a good thing to remember.