When I got up, my neck wasn't hurting too much. I should have known. When I got out of the car to go into the yoga studio, there went my back. I did my crab walk into the studio. Pete, another yoga student, carried in my mat and yoga towel and set it up. Crista, the studio owner, carried in my purse, water, and tennis ball. I crab-walked to the bathroom. When it was time to lie down on my mat, Peter helped me.
Needless to say, I did the whole class lying down. I was looking forward to standing again. I guess it will take some more time. I spent most of the class working on loosening those muscles, using my tennis ball. I was able to do something for each one of the postures. I even got more stretch than usual on the front of my thighs. Go figure. At the end of class, Crista carried my stuff out. I was able to get up and walk out without pain. How long was this going to last?
When I got home, the kitchen was abuzz with the kids who are staying here cooking. They are going to friends for Thanksgiving. They both are fantastic cooks. The guy actually went to cooking school. He made two pear pies. He left a third of one for Shivani and me. He also made this incredible potato dish. The potatoes are a local variety I never heard of, a local sweet potato. I know he boiled them because there was a large pot sitting on the stove. Then he sliced them, put them on a large platter coated with vegan sour cream, and place a slice of shitake mushroom on top of each piece. I asked for a taste. Wow! The young woman was preparing something that sounded like chocolate-avocado mousse. I didn't get to taste that.
Judy and Paulette arrived in the middle of all that activity. The plan was to turn the oven on at 9:45 for the turkey. Shivani said that while the oven was still in use, it shouldn't be a problem. The oven was already being heated, and the pie would be finished in time to get the turkey in.
Judy had a call from her son, Adam. Could two more people come? They had a friend, a single mom with a 4-year-old, who had no one to spend Thanksgiving with. Sure. We hauled out the extra table, and Judy and Paulette brought two more chairs. Once it was set up, Adam called back to say that the young woman wasn't coming. Whatever!.
In the middle of all this, Judy announced that the brakes on the Ford Escort, Mike's old car, were bad. What? Why didn't anyone tell me? This is dangerous. Adam had been using the car for Uber. One night he noticed that one of the tires started vibrating when he applied the brakes going down a steep hill. Shivani was just heading to the beach with Sidney in that car. Oh, boy. I told her to drive down Kaimanani in low and avoid using the brakes altogether. As she was leaving, B pulled up. He had been invited to our celebration, but the mother of his grandson asked him to join their family at the last minute. This is great. While Elijah is his only biological grandson, all the kids in the family consider him their papa.
I asked him about the brakes. Had he noticed a problem? He said yes. The front left brake shook when it got overheated. He said it could be hazardous, but Shivani should be okay for a short trip to town. B had driven it to Hilo, which is close to 100 miles away. Quite a difference. When Adam used it, it would be to drive it most of the night for Uber. Another big difference.
Nonetheless, the plan is to call Edwin in the morning and make an appointment for the car. Shivani found a good deal through Avis. She can get a car for $15 a day. We planned to pick it up tomorrow after dropping off the Prius at Toyota and checking with Edwin about when he can get to the Ford. B mentioned that Edwin had a three-week waiting period for service. Adam recommended Kwik Lube. He said the service was good and reasonably priced.
Suddenly the house was quiet. Shivani and Sidney had gone to the beach; the kids had left for their Thanksgiving celebration with friends; Judy and Paulette had gone home. The only sound was the washing machine doing its thing in the background.
I read and napped. Around 4 pm, the house was full of people again: Judy, Paulette, who set up the table and decorations yesterday, Judy's husband, Howard, Judy's son, Adam, his wife Jazzy, their two children, and Brian and Amanda, who rent from Adam. Shortly before dinner, Jazzy's parents stopped by to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving. Dinner was dinner. The food was good to excellent, and the company was a delight. No drama.
This was a perfect arrangement for me. Mike and I had been included in family celebrations of the Glicksteins' while he was alive. Judy had started having those celebrations over here after he died. Our house has more room. That's why this arrangement is perfect for them. It's ideal for me because I don't feel like an included outsider. This is my home; I am the hostess. Here's where I belong. It's not quite as good as belonging to Mike wherever I go, but it is way better than nothing. If we had done this celebration at their house, I would have felt more like an outsider. I didn't feel that way in my own home. It was a win-win situation.
In the middle of dinner, Scott and Yvette stopped by to collect dinners for themselves and Josh. They had spent the day at the beach. They would have been welcome to join. Josh prefers alone time over anything else, and Yvette accepts that she is not comfortable with groups larger than 3. Everyone is welcome to make themselves comfortable.
Judy and Paulette helped clean up, mostly distributing food to one and all for leftovers and packing up the rest to take home. I went to work on the dishes. They had brought disposable hard plastic plates. They were in good shape, and I won't throw out anything that I don't have to. I washed them all, along with the aluminum roasting pans and serving dishes. If it can be reused, it should be. I washed everything that they would be taking home before I went to bed. That way, if they came in the morning before I got back from Bikram, it would all be there for them to grab.
As everyone was leaving, B and Elijah arrived. They had just come over from Hilo. Elijah was going to stay until Sunday night.
I went to bed. I had finished the first book of 10,000 hours in Hawaii by Andrew Crusoe. I found the first book interesting because I learned more about the Puna area. There are intentional communities out there. However, I find his writing style somewhat flat. I don't know if it because he overindulges details or because his sentence structure doesn't appeal to me.
I started the second book. In this one, the author describes a 10-day meditation retreat at a vipassana center under SN Goenka. Now I've done about 20 10-day sits with this organization. I enjoyed Crusoe's description of the retreat. Some of his experience was familiar, and some were different. The retreat centers under SN Goenka are as routinized as the Catholic mass. This structured approach is both a blessing and a curse. For me, almost exclusively a blessing. A 10-day silent retreat with intense mediation is a challenging situation. I feel safe in that environment. I know what to expect. There will be no variation. I also knew that I could think about whatever I want to think. I also know how much I have benefitted by attending these retreats and learning this form of mediation.
After completing 13 retreats at a retreat center, I did another 7 at home. I started doing them at home after my mom had her stroke. I never went back, even after she died. I still practiced on my own – until Mike injured my leg and sitting became impossible. Not only couldn't I manage to get into a posture suitable for meditation, but I was in so much pain that sitting in any single position for more than 10 minutes was impossible – even lying down. When my leg was first injured, 15 minutes was the maximum I could sleep before being so overcome with pain, I had to move.
I was immediately attracted to the Vipassana form of mediation the moment I read about it. A woman I worked with said, "Betty, you'll never make it. You can't shut up for 10 days." I said, "Just watch me. I have been waiting for something like this all my life." After I read The Seven Story Mountain and learned about monasteries where people lived in silence, my longing for a place like that started. I sat my first retreat at 49. Believe me, I aced it. Now that's not to say that I silenced my mind. It means that I had no problem not talking to others. Quieting one's mind is a long-term goal of mediation, not something achieved after a few retreats.
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