Downward Facing Dog is Harder with a Pirahna on your foot

It is a little know fact that I took up yoga several months ago. I did this after a breast reduction surgery I had last summer, which is an entire blog all by itself. Several, in fact, but that can be addressed later. I have found great enjoyment in learning each yoga position and it's unique name. I love the earthy sound of the poses. Horse stance, warrior pose, cat pose, downward facing dog...I find that nothing reduces my stress levels quicker than a nice yoga workout, however, I have recently added a new position to my routine that I'm having a little difficulty with. It's called "ankle gnawing pirahna". This particular pose requires extra equipment in the form of a 3 lb., hyper-active Yorkshire Terrier, in my case, named Chumleigh. In order to accomplish this pose you first move into the appropriate stance for, say, Downward Facing Dog (any pose will work). This particular pose is done by standing bent into a V shape with your feet shoulder length apart with knees bend just slightly, hands also shoulder length apart, tush pointed towards the ceiling. Once you are in position, you should firmly attach the yorkie to your ankle by his teeth and then try, through deep breathing and meditation, to block out the sensation of tiny razor sharp teeth piercing the flesh of your ankle. As you master this pose, and gain control over the pain, the "pirahna" can help you take this pose to new heights by expanding his level of involvement to include chewing on toes, calves, knees, arms, buttocks, and any other part of the body that he can reach. The key to success with this pose is to be able to concentrate completely on your stance, blocking out the intense pain and distraction and to complete your workout without finally just flinging him across the room and into the wall. I have not mastered this step yet.

I drive backwards in time...

I called my in-laws to see about driving out for a visit. I was going to wait until later in the week but I figured what the heck. I felt bad about bailing on Uncle Harold and Aunt Lorraine and Jeannie on the very first day, but dad is 85 so...well...expedience is important!
My Uncle Harold very kindly lent me one of his cars. Sadly, it wasn't the Lexus, but still a beautiful Buick LeSabre that makes me green with envy. I realized as I pulled out of the the driveway, I wasn't even sure I remembered how to get to Wasco, but I had a vague recollection. I knew for sure that it was about 30 miles and it was north. After that it got a little fuzzy.

I found highway 99 with only one wrong turn. As I merged onto the highway my first thought was how ugly it was and my second thought was how familiar it was. I cranked up the music and as I drove past countless big rigs and farm trucks, 30 years slipped away and I was a 19 year old girl again, driving out to Wasco to see my boyfriend (only in a much better car than my powder blue '78 Chevette had been). I still wondered whether I'd remember the way. How far was Kimberlina Road again? As a few miles passed, I realized that what my brain thought it had forgotten, my muscle memory apparently knew as my hands took each turn without error. This is not the first time I have driven to Wasco in all these years, but visits are usually several years apart and Derek is usually driving. I drove past miles of almond orchards and vast fields of roses as each visit back merged together like the cars and trucks merging onto the highway. As I took the turn onto Palm Avenue just outside Wasco's city limits my pulse began to race as though when I arrived on Cypress Street, a 19 year old Derek would be waiting there for me. Then my grown up brain reminded me that Derek was back in Nebraska keeping the home fires burning and I was a little disappointed.

I pulled up in front of Mom and Dad's house. The front yard is as perfect and pristine as always. Derek's cousins, Darrel and carol were in town to drive their 1930 Chevy in the Wasco Rose festival parade. Did I mention that Wasco is one of the largest growers of roses in the world? Every year they hold the Wasco Rose Festival and it is quite a spectacle. It is an unforgettable sight driving through thousands of acres of roses, all blooming at the same time. Much prettier than Bakersfield.

As an added bonus, Derek's brother Kent and his family were also in town for the day. Kent's wife is this terrific woman named Virginia. She is Filipino and even after living in the Philippines ourselves, and Virginia living in the states for 20 years, when she gets excited, I can't understand a word she says. She's like the Mario Andretti of speed talkers. Sorry, I don't know any current Nascar names to use as a comparison, so I'll just have to date myself. Anyway, she's adorable. They have three sweet boys who I'm certain should be just slightly older than preschool, but as it turns out, are actually 17, 14 and 12! This does not seem possible.

I settled in to an almost perfect afternoon. I have sat in mom and dad's living room so many times in the past thirty years. I think there is something about a death in the family that makes us nostalgic and a little more aware of the past because as I sat there I pictured the room over and over again with different furniture, different flooring and the same people, but changed over the years; Chi at six months old the first time we brought him to California. Chi with his wife and his own kids. Christmas's spread out over the years; spouses added; each of us aged a little more from gathering to gathering. There was a reassuring sense of familiarity and belonging. The last time I was here was when my mother died and we came out for the funeral. It had helped to be here with them.

I lingered longer than I had planned to. Kent and Virginia packed up their crew and left for Canyon Country, about an hour and a half away. By 8:30 my internal; clock was reminding me that in Nebraska it was 10:30. I dragged myself off the couch, hugged mom and dad and headed for the Buick. As I headed out of town, I opted to roll down the windows instead of turning on the air conditioning. As the evening air rushed in and swirled around the interior, so did a blast of olfactory triggered memories. These weren't really memories of events; more of just living in this place. The air smelled like dust and almond trees and roses and oil refineries and occasionally cattle. I was overwhelmed by how intense my feelings were. Snippets of memories floated around the car on the evening breeze. This was the scent of late night drives with Derek and visits to grandparents with the kids. It also smelled like elementary school and my teenage years. It smelled like old boyfriends and visits to relatives and everything else about my life prior to my marriage. It surrounded me like a warm embrace.

When Derek and I married, we split to the four winds. Leaving Bakersfield behind in the dust and never looking back. I don't like Bakersfield; I never really have. It does have it's moments though. For about two weeks in the spring it's actually kind of pretty, but it's not a place that I love. However, as I drove, I realized that no matter how far across the globe I travel, no matter how many times I do or don't come back, I will always be from Bakersfield and it will always be home.

Goodbye Uncle Art

I won't be having Nana day with Julia this next week after all. My dear Uncle Art passed away Thursday afternoon after a long and arduous battle with Parkinson's disease. He was my fathers youngest brother. He was the Uncle who was the most like my dad. I'm not sure that it was necessary for me to fly out to California for the funeral. I've barely been here over the years and haven't stay in touch with family that closely, but then that is not something I'm particularly proud of, so when I told Derek that Uncle Art had died and he told me that I needed to go, I went. I trust Derek. He's a pretty smart guy. So here I am in Bakersfield yet again, wanting so much to reconnect with my extended family and share this time of grief with them. It's a place I try hard to avoid. I have lived in some breathtakingly beautiful places and this is not one of them. But all the matters is that family is here and so Jeannie and I hopped a westbound plane and headed for California. As we began our descent and drew close enough to see the city, it was clear that Bakersfield would not disappoint me and my determination never to live here again remains staunch. It is as dry, dusty and unappealing as it has always been. I scanned the landscape below for some sign of green but found it only in the paint jobs of the ancient low riders driving around like matchbox cars. Many cities across America spend exorbitant sums of money on beautification projects to make their cities more appealing. I think it's safe to say that Bakersfield could never be accused of such frivolous spending. I admit that there are areas that would be interesting to photograph. For instance, the vast oilfields could be graphically interesting, but Bakersfield will NEVER win any beauty contests.

speaking of photography, I have done the unspeakable. I, Leni Hester, a professional photographer, forgot my camera! I did mention in a recent blog that I was not designed to fly at 6:00 am. Well, this was yet another 6:00 am flight and once again we had to be at the airport at 4:30. Rest assured, I made absolutely certain that there were NO bomb ingredients (toiletries) in my carry-on bag this time, but sadly, there was also no camera. Derek informs me that when he got home after dropping Jeannie and I at the airport, he found it sitting forlorn and abandoned at the bottom of the stairs. I feel particularly stupid because it's not exactly an inconspicuous camera. It is a Nikon D700 with an extended batter back. It is a veritable behemoth of a camera and I might as well have forgotten my left arm. I feel naked without it.

There WAS one glorious reprieve. I had expected the temperature to be a hellish 110 degrees, because after all, it's only September. We were pleasantly surprised to find that it was a balmy 79 when we landed. Uncle Harold and aunt Lorraine picked us up at the airport. Thought I know that they are getting older (I certainly am, so it stands to reason everyone else is too), but to me they looked the same as they always have. They are simply...themselves, sweet as ever.

Have I mentioned that in the past several months I have lost 50 lbs? I have converted to a life of Weight Watchers and have met with great success. When Aunt Lorraine produced lunch yesterday, I knew that this week was not going to be a weight watchers week. I suspect that this will be a weight gainers week, but I will try to be valiant. The only problem is that Bakersfield is like so many of the 'Pasta Mama's' of Italy. Not much to look at, but a great cook! There is a bakery here called, simply, Smith's Bakery. I have a framed pastry box top with there logo on it in my home. Do I really need to say any more? In addition, Bakersfield was originally settled by Basque sheep Herders. Have you ever had Basque food? It's practically a religious experience. Go to the Wool Growers some time. You'll see. Then after sheep herding took a downturn in popularity, Mexico took over. Bakersfield is over 80 percent Hispanic. You won't find better Mexican food in Mexico than you'll find here. So, I have decided that I can stay here and visit family, but I will, unfortunately, not be able to leave the house. Of course, this won't be much help either because Aunt Lorraine is a really great cook and being in her 80's, has never even heard of health food. This is a home of comfort food, so my goal for this week is simple. Try not to gain back the entire 50 lbs in 7 days. Pray for me....