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A moose

October 11, 2010

On Friday, I set up a special (very expensive) private yoga session so I could learn how to do yoga without re-injuring my already bad back. Maybe this yoga teacher would help me learn to take better care of myself. When I got to her house — blue, on the ocean, a perfect garden — I had to root around in the back of my car for my yoga mat which had slowly unrolled during the last two years of non-use and was now smothered by stuff: my son’s lacrosse stick and scary looking helmet — he hates lacrosse; I have no idea where one stores lacrosse equipment during non-lacrosse season — a beach chair, some old clothes I keep meaning to give away, a snow shovel in case it suddenly turns into winter, dirt that had spilled from plants I bought in the spring, and a bag of my son’s art work from 4th grade that I had meant to frame, but which had now gotten ruined by the dirt from the plants. I yanked on the mat –why had I not gotten it out beforehand — and then I saw mysterious dark splotches –coffee? mud? dirt? Yoga mats can be unmanageable and when I tried to roll it up, it fell out onto the pavement. Then, my yoga clothes which I had clutched under my arm fell, along with my bag and my car keys. I wondered if the yoga teacher was watching. This was not how I imagine her other students arriving. They probably have yoga mat bags and their yoga clothes on already. Also, they are early. Not late. I was a metaphor, an emblem, for disorder. When I stumbled into her studio, she whisked me into a changing room and when I emerged, I noticed she had rolled my mat up and stored it in a corner. “You can use one of my mats,” she said. And I wished I was different. That my yoga mat had been stored in my yoga mat storage place. And that my son’s sports equipment was stored in his sports equipment place and that I had cleaned up the dirt that had spilled out of the plants’ pots, that I was the sort of person who took the time to clean up the dirt that had spilled in the trunk of the car. I resolved to change. And, on Saturday, I did throw some things out. But then I got overwhelmed thinking about the glove compartment that had some papers sticking out of it; you have to slam it very hard so it will stay shut. Then there were all of our closets. And, worst of all, my unfinished manuscript. I always feel its disorder. Wherever I go. Except, I guess this morning. I was in Maine, close to Canada, far away from the mess of the book, and I went for an early morning walk and saw a moose. It crossed the street right in front of me. It could have cared less that I was there. I stood still and for one split second, I forgot about everything except that enormous moose. Isn’t there an Elizabeth Bishop poem about a moose? I don’t see mooses very often in my life.

6 Comments leave one →
  1. October 11, 2010 8:10 pm

    You were in Maine without telling me?

  2. Katja M. Edgar permalink
    October 11, 2010 9:57 pm

    There was some minor inconvenience to me when I bought my 2006 Corolla, new, in … well, 2006. As recompense, I was given a nifty grocery bag holder for the trunk, sort of a rectangular thing that holds two paper grocery bags upright. I thought it might go a long way toward that year’s resolution (and not for the first time, either) of decluttering and becoming an Organized Person. It didn’t work. I’ve never once used the grocery bag holder for its intended purpose.

    In it, instead, are a case of the smallest Mason jars (the kind jelly is often “put up” in), a pair of purple work boots I wanted so badly that I ordered them from London, towels in various sizes, and some Odwalla bars that I’m sure have softened & then congealed again a few times too many to really be palatable. Sigh.

    At least you know what to do with your yoga mat! I had one for a few months, maybe as long as a year, without ever once using it. A friend borrowed it, and I got so twitchy about being without it that I immediately bought a new, better one. Still unused. Definitely a year later. Hopeless.

    Thank you for the introduction to a lovely poem.

    “Curious creatures,”
    says our quiet driver,
    rolling his r’s.

  3. Ruth permalink
    October 12, 2010 6:14 am

    Dear me, that is the state of my trunk too. I often joke that one could live in my car for quite some time, but that there is no room for passenagers. the cartoon posted on my glove compartment says, “So that’s where the blender went!”

  4. October 12, 2010 10:40 am

    Katya, Thank you for the link to Bishop!

  5. Gail permalink
    October 13, 2010 4:36 pm

    Thinking of you while at the Ghost Ranch in New Mexico…have you ever done a writing course there?
    This was our second visit…the first a year ago so John could check out his new knee on a climb to Cathedral Rock. This time we stayed on the Ranch itself. Austere, incredibly Waring-like buildings with open walls, trodden paths, an old horse instead of goats, and threats about biting burros.
    Nevertheless it was amazing to wake up having slept well in a modest room with modest bed and most un-Feng shui-y colors. But a glance outside and up showed the sun bouncing off the sandstone and making it translucent. A breakfast of stale bagels and fresh fruit was washed away with a stroll passed the hogans, “Campodesanto” and up Box Canyon. Jays abounded as well as alder, oak, pinon and pine, and tall golden cottonwoods dwelt along the streams. Is there any wonder why the Muslims and Presbyterians gather here and the Catholics camp alongside the Chama River in their own monastery?

    Am sure I could finish my dissertation if you gave me a week and no distractions on the Ghost Ranch. No wonder Georgia was so prolific!

    Leave the mess in the trunk, who cares?

  6. October 14, 2010 10:16 am

    I have never been there. It sounds fabulous!

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