Meredith Kendall's Blog, page 90
August 23, 2012
mechanic calls
Don't you hate it when the mechanic calls?
Don't you think the worst? "It's going to cost another thousand dollars, and actually your car is hopeless and you might as well drive it over a cliff. Go buy a new car."
I do. So when I saw the email from the mechanic at 10 last night I panicked. See above.
Not so. I called this morning. More rust, another $75, we can fix, is that OK?
Oh yes, of course it is. After what I imagined?
They're fixing my mom van. Rust on passenger side rocker panel. Who ever heard of a rocker panel? I'm driving a loaner. A Trans Am sports car. Low. Tiny, clean, 144,000 miles.
Don't you think the worst? "It's going to cost another thousand dollars, and actually your car is hopeless and you might as well drive it over a cliff. Go buy a new car."
I do. So when I saw the email from the mechanic at 10 last night I panicked. See above.
Not so. I called this morning. More rust, another $75, we can fix, is that OK?
Oh yes, of course it is. After what I imagined?
They're fixing my mom van. Rust on passenger side rocker panel. Who ever heard of a rocker panel? I'm driving a loaner. A Trans Am sports car. Low. Tiny, clean, 144,000 miles.
"What do you think about?
... as you do Reiki?" a woman asked yesterday, as I shared Reiki at Seniors Plus. There were about 10 of us practitioners and perhaps 40 elders.
S Plus is a gathering of local elders. They meet in a sterile modern building in an industrial complex. They walk or roll in: curious and expectant.
"What do you think about?" I heard a woman ask. She asked the Reiki practitioner who was sharing with her. I heard the practitioner respond.
"Oh, I think about my grocery list, or what I'm having for dinner," she said.
Really? Not me. I let my thoughts drift. If I think about anything, I think about the client's greatest good. I think about the Reiki symbols and Reiki history. I think about Mikao Usui, Chujiro Hayashi, and Hawayo Takata. I drift. If I notice a thought, then I direct my thoughts to Reiki. I thank my guides and angel. I strive for the greatest good, I focus on light and love, I tune in to joy.
What do you think about?
S Plus is a gathering of local elders. They meet in a sterile modern building in an industrial complex. They walk or roll in: curious and expectant.
"What do you think about?" I heard a woman ask. She asked the Reiki practitioner who was sharing with her. I heard the practitioner respond.
"Oh, I think about my grocery list, or what I'm having for dinner," she said.
Really? Not me. I let my thoughts drift. If I think about anything, I think about the client's greatest good. I think about the Reiki symbols and Reiki history. I think about Mikao Usui, Chujiro Hayashi, and Hawayo Takata. I drift. If I notice a thought, then I direct my thoughts to Reiki. I thank my guides and angel. I strive for the greatest good, I focus on light and love, I tune in to joy.
What do you think about?
S Plus!
Yesterday I shared Reiki at a local gathering of elders: Seniors Plus.
This was a vibrant and challenging group of energetic elders. Jeffrey Hotchkiss gathered 8? 10? of us Reiki practitioners to assist. There were about 40 in the audience. Jeffrey spoke, and we shared Reiki as he talked and answered questions.
I met a famous dance instructor from a local college. I got very hot as I shared energy. Most recipients dismissed it, expecting something more. Still, good. So good to see and spend time with other Reiki practitioners. Good to spread the message of Reiki.
This was a vibrant and challenging group of energetic elders. Jeffrey Hotchkiss gathered 8? 10? of us Reiki practitioners to assist. There were about 40 in the audience. Jeffrey spoke, and we shared Reiki as he talked and answered questions.
I met a famous dance instructor from a local college. I got very hot as I shared energy. Most recipients dismissed it, expecting something more. Still, good. So good to see and spend time with other Reiki practitioners. Good to spread the message of Reiki.
end of days
I lament the end of summer.
I sleep til 8, 9, or (shocking) 10. I get up, drink a glass of water, and go to yoga. It's downtown.
I park several blocks away from the studio, in a 2-hour spot. I walk past Oak Hill Apts. There are no oaks and no hill. There are usually several residents out front, sitting on benches or in wheelchairs, oxygen tubing and tanks, smoking, laughing, waiting for some excitement like the UPS man.
I walk through a plaza. There's a fountain, flowering plants in cement rectangles, and, across the plaza, interesting architecture. I walk past a wine store, a courthouse, law offices, and an Indian restaurant. I veer towards the street when I walk past the 12 Hour Club, to avoid the reek of old cigarettes and exhaled alcohol. Cross another street and then I see the sign for my yoga class. Up the worn wooden staircase and I'm in. Yoga: anxiety unravels.
We do extreme yoga. Yesterday the teacher knelt on my glutes to pull on my arms. OW! I said.
"That hurts?" she asked. All the other students moaned with pleasure. Of course I'm different.
"Yes! Oww. Your knees are digging in and it hurts." She moved slightly. It hurt slightly less.
"Grab on," she instructed, as she grabbed my wrists. "Now relax." How could I grab while I was relaxing? How could I relax while her skinny knees dug into my gluteal nerves? How could I do anything but yelp with pain as she cranked my back up into an unnatural arch?
Today she told us to strap up. I couldn't manage so she helped. She strapped my chest like a strait jacket. Then we did yoga. If the strap dug in, she told us, we weren't doing it properly. The strap did not dig in, so I guess I'm ok. She did pull on it a couple of times, but I was still OK. It's good to learn proper form.
After yoga I dashed home to change, then went to share Reiki at the cancer center. A new practitioner joined me. We did one session. The client fell asleep.
Then off for a chop. Annual pre-school haircut. I usually hack at it myself. Let the pro do it today.
Then the pond. Oh, the pond. I love the sun. I love to sit in a beach chair and read. I love to swim. I swam for an hour. The water is clean and cold. Loons pop up. Men fish. Mothers call, "Time to get out of the water!"
Home to Fluffy, the garden, home chores, and public radio. Catch up on emails. Up til midnight. ahh. summer.
I sleep til 8, 9, or (shocking) 10. I get up, drink a glass of water, and go to yoga. It's downtown.
I park several blocks away from the studio, in a 2-hour spot. I walk past Oak Hill Apts. There are no oaks and no hill. There are usually several residents out front, sitting on benches or in wheelchairs, oxygen tubing and tanks, smoking, laughing, waiting for some excitement like the UPS man.
I walk through a plaza. There's a fountain, flowering plants in cement rectangles, and, across the plaza, interesting architecture. I walk past a wine store, a courthouse, law offices, and an Indian restaurant. I veer towards the street when I walk past the 12 Hour Club, to avoid the reek of old cigarettes and exhaled alcohol. Cross another street and then I see the sign for my yoga class. Up the worn wooden staircase and I'm in. Yoga: anxiety unravels.
We do extreme yoga. Yesterday the teacher knelt on my glutes to pull on my arms. OW! I said.
"That hurts?" she asked. All the other students moaned with pleasure. Of course I'm different.
"Yes! Oww. Your knees are digging in and it hurts." She moved slightly. It hurt slightly less.
"Grab on," she instructed, as she grabbed my wrists. "Now relax." How could I grab while I was relaxing? How could I relax while her skinny knees dug into my gluteal nerves? How could I do anything but yelp with pain as she cranked my back up into an unnatural arch?
Today she told us to strap up. I couldn't manage so she helped. She strapped my chest like a strait jacket. Then we did yoga. If the strap dug in, she told us, we weren't doing it properly. The strap did not dig in, so I guess I'm ok. She did pull on it a couple of times, but I was still OK. It's good to learn proper form.
After yoga I dashed home to change, then went to share Reiki at the cancer center. A new practitioner joined me. We did one session. The client fell asleep.
Then off for a chop. Annual pre-school haircut. I usually hack at it myself. Let the pro do it today.
Then the pond. Oh, the pond. I love the sun. I love to sit in a beach chair and read. I love to swim. I swam for an hour. The water is clean and cold. Loons pop up. Men fish. Mothers call, "Time to get out of the water!"
Home to Fluffy, the garden, home chores, and public radio. Catch up on emails. Up til midnight. ahh. summer.
August 22, 2012
teaching Reiki
When I teach Reiki, I try to help you find your own answers. I light the way for a short while. I try to show you; seems way more effective than telling you. 
solar flares or what?
Mercury retrograde? 2012?
All of my electronic devices bit the dust this summer. What's up?
GPS, laptop, desktop, cell phone, internet access: all of them. Either quit working, major malfunction, or major problem.
All of my electronic devices bit the dust this summer. What's up?
GPS, laptop, desktop, cell phone, internet access: all of them. Either quit working, major malfunction, or major problem.
August 21, 2012
Reiki
Tomorrow is Reiki with Jeffrey Hotchkiss and Laurence Miller. Both are Reiki master/teacher/practitioners. Both are studious, thoughtful, and generous.
We are meeting at a local senior center. Mr Hotchkiss, of EldersBloom, will speak first, and then we will demonstrate Reiki. I hope everyone in the audience will want to try it. Reiki is amazing.
What is it again? It's a gentle, hands-on healing method developed by Mikao Usui around 1920. Practitioner and client come together for a brief session, both relax: energy flows. Everyone feels better.
We are meeting at a local senior center. Mr Hotchkiss, of EldersBloom, will speak first, and then we will demonstrate Reiki. I hope everyone in the audience will want to try it. Reiki is amazing.
What is it again? It's a gentle, hands-on healing method developed by Mikao Usui around 1920. Practitioner and client come together for a brief session, both relax: energy flows. Everyone feels better.
August 18, 2012
the pond
Reminds me of skiing: end of season the skiers departed, tho conditions were still great.
I go to the pond at the end of the day, at the end of the season. I have the beach to myself. Way down there, a big family. They laugh and splash. He steals a towel, she runs after him: laughing and slapping. He could be 14, her prob 10. They all take turns with several kayaks. Over on the other side of me a couple of teen girls in bikinis, and way over a grandfather and small boy, in front of the lifeguard stand.
Seagulls on either side of me. Lots of them. White ones, spotted browns. They preen, drink, and swim; but mostly they stand and look around. Sometimes they squawk and flap.
I see loons, black heads and graceful necks. They float, dive, bob, and pop.
I like the arc of the beach, the line of dark pines, the blue sky and clean water. I like to look at shapes in the clouds. I read a Hawaiian murder mystery. I get hot and wade into the water. I dive in, like a loon. The water is cold and clear.
Conditions are great.
I go to the pond at the end of the day, at the end of the season. I have the beach to myself. Way down there, a big family. They laugh and splash. He steals a towel, she runs after him: laughing and slapping. He could be 14, her prob 10. They all take turns with several kayaks. Over on the other side of me a couple of teen girls in bikinis, and way over a grandfather and small boy, in front of the lifeguard stand.
Seagulls on either side of me. Lots of them. White ones, spotted browns. They preen, drink, and swim; but mostly they stand and look around. Sometimes they squawk and flap.
I see loons, black heads and graceful necks. They float, dive, bob, and pop.
I like the arc of the beach, the line of dark pines, the blue sky and clean water. I like to look at shapes in the clouds. I read a Hawaiian murder mystery. I get hot and wade into the water. I dive in, like a loon. The water is cold and clear.
Conditions are great.
August 17, 2012
car
Already feel unsettled.
In some ways, I live out of my car. Monday I drop it off at the body shop for extensive and expensive repairs. Must rethink my life. What do I need from my car?
Well, obviously the GPS, extra flip flops, dog leash, books (Reiki Nurse & Reiki Stories- I keep copies in my car for stray fans); what else... work name badge, swimsuit and beach chair.
The loaner. Will it have AC? Will it be an embarrassing and offensive maroon rust bucket or a white Lexus SUV?
Ok, just for today: don't worry. Working on that.
In some ways, I live out of my car. Monday I drop it off at the body shop for extensive and expensive repairs. Must rethink my life. What do I need from my car?
Well, obviously the GPS, extra flip flops, dog leash, books (Reiki Nurse & Reiki Stories- I keep copies in my car for stray fans); what else... work name badge, swimsuit and beach chair.
The loaner. Will it have AC? Will it be an embarrassing and offensive maroon rust bucket or a white Lexus SUV?
Ok, just for today: don't worry. Working on that.
loons
Swam in the local pond today.
Beach nearly deserted, hardly anyone there. On South Beach, just a dozen people. Just the way I like it.
I finished The Alchemist, found it insipid and uninspiring. Read Oprah magazine, I'm up to February 2012. The magazines pile up during the school year and I read them at the beach.
So I swam. The water was cold and smooth, the bottom sandy. Loons popped up to my left, about 20 feet away. I could see the white dots on the black feathers. Wished I had my glasses on. They looked at me, three of them. They dove, and I noted the splay of black tail feathers. I hung out in the water.
They popped up in front of me. We looked at each other. They dove, then popped up to my right. For about 20 minutes I swam with the loons. I swam gently. They popped up beside me. I looked at the people on the beach. They were all busy loading kayaks, adjusting suit straps, or changing position on their towels. No one was looking at the loons. There they were again, to my left. Three of them. Loons.
Finally they popped up far away, back in the deep, headed to the far side of the pond. Goodbye, loons. I packed up. Goodbye pond, goodbye summer.
Beach nearly deserted, hardly anyone there. On South Beach, just a dozen people. Just the way I like it.
I finished The Alchemist, found it insipid and uninspiring. Read Oprah magazine, I'm up to February 2012. The magazines pile up during the school year and I read them at the beach.
So I swam. The water was cold and smooth, the bottom sandy. Loons popped up to my left, about 20 feet away. I could see the white dots on the black feathers. Wished I had my glasses on. They looked at me, three of them. They dove, and I noted the splay of black tail feathers. I hung out in the water.
They popped up in front of me. We looked at each other. They dove, then popped up to my right. For about 20 minutes I swam with the loons. I swam gently. They popped up beside me. I looked at the people on the beach. They were all busy loading kayaks, adjusting suit straps, or changing position on their towels. No one was looking at the loons. There they were again, to my left. Three of them. Loons.
Finally they popped up far away, back in the deep, headed to the far side of the pond. Goodbye, loons. I packed up. Goodbye pond, goodbye summer.
