B O U N D L E S S

You could see the panic ripple across her face when the swim instructor tried to let go of her hand. She had arrived at the pool in her pink polka-dotted bikini with ruffles on her bottom. Her corkscrew curls stuck out around the edges of the rubbery bathing cap her mother had wrestled onto her head. She looked to be about 4 or 5 years old, but she had walked the pool deck before her swim lesson as if it were the catwalk at the NYC Fashion Week. Everything about her exuded confidence. Until now.  Just lay back. Let go. Let go. Just lay back and float. I'm going to take my hand away. "Nooooooooo!" echoed throughout the pool room. Ear-splitting shrieks followed. Eventually, she floated. Tear-stained and still shuddering from the experience, she called to her mom, "I did it mom. I let go." I've been working on my boundless list this first month. If you remember, my challenge was to practice yoga for 30 days straight (you can read about the list HERE

Just Outside of Kansas She wanted to wear the ruby red slippers with the kitten heels because their tapping echoes could slice through the silence of the dimly lit room littered with yoga mats. She wanted to click her heels together to announce her self as she waded through sweating contortionists balancing and breathing in lycra-clad symbiotic communion. Root tendrils crept then burrowed into the floor through the wood and concrete to the compacted earth below - they perched on single tree trunk legs and stretched their fingerling branches toward realization. She could only think of her scarlet slippers and the way they cupped her sore feet while she step-ball-changed down the yellow road looking for home. Golden eagles exploded across the cold sky like arrows to the clouds piercing the arctic blue of enlightenment, only to fall short of the sun. But those blood-red sequined slippers repelled witches and other terrors of the dark wood

I stood in the early morning dark, gloved and cuddle-dudded. My numb fingers managed to work the safety pin on my race number. My running buddy and I bounced up and down in sync to keep warm. We had left the January cold in Michigan to run a marathon in the Phoenix sun. But Mother Nature had different plans, and it was colder in Phoenix than in our home state. Each of us was running for a different reason. This was her first marathon, and when she had asked to train with me five months prior, I was thrilled. I was running for charity and in memory of my friend, Liz. Both of us agreed to run our own races, not wanting to hold each other back, but we had big plans for bowls of margaritas and Mexican food afterward. The race was a hard one. We stayed together until mile 13. My emotions got the best of me as I thought about the friend I’d just lost who had supported my marathon and charitable running endeavors even though she would’ve given anything to be able to join me. I hit the wa

If I close my eyes, I can still see her leaning over the kitchen counter. Her mom jeans are rolled at the ankle because she couldn't find a petite size at JC Penneys. Painted chickadees dance across her Christmas sweatshirt.  Her blue pen hovers over the notepad. In teacher-perfect swooping cursive she writes: Pork loin Potatoes Pie crust Frozen squash Rhodes rolls Pistachio pudding (sugar free) Maraschino cherries Walnuts Mini marshmallows 1 can of crushed pineapple Then, she reaches for her purse that weighs as much as most people's carry-on luggage. She makes sure she has her checkbook and pops half a stick of Doublemint gum into her mouth. "Are you ready?" she asks.  Mom.  My mom taught me to make lists. She made shopping lists, Christmas lists, to-do lists, classroom supply lists, and reminder lists.    When you feel overwhelmed, make a list.                                                                               -Mom  So

I heard her before I saw her. Everyone in the airport heard her, but once they saw her, I'm sure the image was burned in their brains for all eternity.  "Tracyyyyyyyyyy!" she sang out in her ear-splitting soprano. "I seeeeeeee youuuuuuu!" She was wearing a blue chiffon vintage bridesmaid dress that had seen better days. She often shopped the goodwill racks just so that she could wow me when she met my flight in the Phoenix airport. It was her idea of a practical joke. Every head turned to watch her as she floated through the baggage area like a blue cotton candy cloud.  "Traccccyyyyyyyy! I missed youuuuuu!" Meet my friend Anne.  In my last post, I talked about an aging equation, and I imagined my crazy math teacher self asking my students to solve it with a model. Well, Anne is one of my mathematical models.  If you asked me to describe Anne, there are many, many words that come to mind: Loud, boisterous, eccentric, neon, stubborn, nak

"You have such beautiful skin," she said as she reached out to stroke my cheek. It took every ounce of my 14-year-old restraint not to jerk away. "Like peaches and cream," she purred, "so smooth."  Gulp. "Thank you." I muttered. What does one say to the fawning 60-something friend of your favorite aunt? I remember looking at her chin as she spoke. I couldn't help myself. She had whiskers. And while she admired my youthful hide and contemplated sewing herself a Silence of the Lambs coat out of it, I wondered why she didn't pluck those whiskers...or shave...or splurge on electrolysis.  The memory of that encounter has stayed with me through the years.  I can chuckle about it now, but recently, it has taken on more significance. There are things that no one tells you about aging. Or maybe they tried to tell me, but I didn't believe them until now. Now. Now they seem significant because they make me feel limited.  Those whi