Namaste, Jane

Namaste, Jane

Since I still can’t knit very much, I decided to explore creativity in a different way.  So, I designed this handbag from a re-cycled scarf.  This link describes how I made it:

Felted Handbag

It’s so relaxing, fun, therapeutic, and even meditative to let your imagination run wild…

Namaste, Jane

Dates are:  March 27, April 3 & 24, and May 1st.  (No class April 10 & 17.)

Good for relieving pain/tension in lower back plus neck & shoulders.

No previous yoga experience necessary.

Register:  978-263-5771.  Cost is $76 for series.  (No make-ups/cancellations.)

Namaste, Jane

Visit www.westfordyoga.com for registration/details.

Namaste, Jane

Here’s an example I’d like to share.

Recently, I became a grandmother.  This got me back into knitting, and typical of me, I’ve become crazed.  I have been knitting as much as possible during my free time.  As a result, after several months of this repetitive motion, my thumb joints are sore, stiff, and swollen.

When I first noticed the pain, I continued on, pushing through the pain, determined to finish the projects I was working on.  This is the antithesis to what I teach my yoga students.  In class, I stress the importance of students being aware of how they feel in poses and to let me know if they are in pain so I can give them substitute poses or prop them with more support.  I tell them that we aren’t into forcing or proving anything.  We are not into the “no pain/no gain” philosophy.  Yet, here I was, hypocritically ignoring the pain in my own thumb joints.

I often tell students that we hold tension in our bodies that we aren’t even aware of, so I decided to apply this principle to my aching thumb joints.  I noticed when I was knitting, I was pressing too much on the needle with my left thumb.

Well…I have started to pace myself and treat my body with more respect.  Now that I am dealing with my own physical awareness, I have discovered how this awareness applies to my mind.  I am calming down, accepting my physical limitations, becoming patient, and letting go of such obsessive behavior.  Life, like yoga, continues to present me with opportunities to learn and grow.

Namaste, Jane

NEWCOMERS’ SVAROOPA® YOGA SERIES – also open to those who have previously taken Svaroopa® Yoga classes

Tuesdays:  February 28 and March 6, 13, & 20.  9:30 – 11:00 a.m.

Theme is Lower Spinal Release and Neck & Shoulders:  can help to relieve back and neck/shoulder pain.

Taught by Jane Hallowell, CSYT, RYT

($76 for 4-week series)

Call to register:  978-263-5771

Be Well and Beyond; 77 Great Road, Suite 203; Acton, MA  01720

(No cancellations or make-ups.  Classes canceled due to weather will be made up.)

This appeared on my Facebook page today, and although I am not a follower of Walsch, what he says here strikes a chord.  Let me tell you why…

Nine years ago, I moved my Dad in with me and, long-story-short, gave up my well-paying job in NYC.  Consequently, I needed work that was part-time and flexible in order to care for him.  Luckily, I was able to live off my savings for a bit and was able to explore my passion — yoga.  I trained as an instructor, and have been teaching ever since.

Unfortunately, I discovered that I wasn’t able to make a living full-time teaching yoga.  So, I had to find a part-time job.  I became a waitress.

I often found myself justifying my job to the customers and telling them that I was actually a yoga teacher.  (I also told myself that this was only temporary, and I would figure out another means of income down the road.)

Well, here it is, five years later, and I’m still waitressing.  And, believe it or not, I love it.  To stray from the topic somewhat…I’m making more per hour than I did in my cool NYC job.  I don’t have to pay to join a gym; serving is so rigorous, I get my exercise on the job.  Plus, now at 62, it keeps my memory from going to seed as the years pass by.

Funny enough, I read on some blogs that there are people who used to waitress during college and moved on to their careers, who ended up quitting their “professional” jobs…tired of sitting all day at a desk…not making enough money, and actually went back to waitressing.

A family member who waited tables as a college student, told me over Thanksgiving that now, with Master’s Degree in hand, as a Social Worker and therapist, she’s lucky to make $20 an hour after insurance companies’ “reimbursements,” rent, her own professional liability insurance, and other business expenses.  She has considered supplementing her income by waitressing again part-time.  Her mother, who also waitressed years ago, thought this was a bad idea.  After all, what would her clients think seeing her serving tables?  (Was this a veiled insult coming from my very own family member?)

Hmmm….waitressing has such a stigma.  I was just as prejudiced myself, until I really got into this line of work.  The job can be fun, interacting with all sorts of interesting clientele.  In order to be a great waitress, you have to be smart, quick-thinking and quick-moving, agile, strong, flexible, nurturing, caring, and a psychologist (in order to be able to deal with certain challenging situations).

BTW, one of my yoga colleagues with a PhD gave up a prestigious job and has been teaching yoga for years.  She told me recently that her family members still ask her “when are you going to go back to work?”

Oh well…this brings me back to the quotation at the top of the page.  What is our essence?  Are we teachers, servers, therapists, and professionals?  Is our essence defined by what we do?  Or is it more important that while we hold an honorable job, what we are being during that time is what really counts?

Namaste, Jane

We were playing with his train set.  When the tracks came apart, Max got mad.  I said to him, “wait a minute…what can we do as an alternative when we get upset?…”  Then, I came up with this.

I told him to take a deep breath and showed him how to do it.  Then, I told him to “simmer down.”  And last, I said, “now, fix it.”

This became our mantra for the week whenever he started to go berserk.  I would say to him, “What do we do when we get frustrated?”  Instantly, he would stop carrying on and took a deep breath.  Then, I said, “simmer down,” and then, I said, “what next?”

Max learning patiently how to make the pinwheel work.

He responded, “fix it!”

Namaste, Jane

It has taken all of my 62 years for me to understand how much my grandmother loved me.  I always knew I was her “favorite” because she looked at me with an expression of adoration, was always excited to see me, always told me I was beautiful and talented, and was warm and tender when she sang me to sleep and rubbed my back at night.

When I was in elementary school, we’d go off to do errands downtown, holding hands, singing songs, walking and swinging our arms back and forth to the rhythm of the melodies.

At her house, I watched her bustle around the kitchen.  This was how she taught me to cook home-made style — improvising, rarely using recipes.  Every Sunday we had a formal luncheon — a roast with potatoes and gravy, vegetables, and dessert — served on her finest china, with linen and silverware, including finger bowls, no less.

We lived in the same town until I turned 12, when my mother re-married, and moved us four hours away.  I knew my grandmother was heart-broken, even though we visited her every summer.

During those summer visits, my grandmother continued to reach for my hand whenever we took a walk.  I was becoming a teenager and was too embarrassed to display any public affection.  It also annoyed me.

As the years went by, she moved even farther away, to Florida and I, to Japan.  Visits were rare and infrequent.  She was getting old and suffered several small strokes.  The few times we did get together, she repeated herself all the time.  I had become a mother myself and was coping with raising my precious babies in a foreign country.  I was tired and self-centered and irritated every time she repeated the same question over and over.

Grandmummy died at age 82 of a stroke.  I remember going to her memorial service and burial — sad, but rather numb without much emotion.  I was too wrapped up in myself and my own life.

So…now, here I am…the cycle of life is moving along.  I recently became a grandmother.  I thought being a grandma would be a nice thing, but it took me by surprise.  It was more amazing than I ever could have imagined…it was a breath of fresh air…it was a miracle.  The first time I saw my grandson, Max, I couldn’t stop staring at him. I was enraptured.

Now he lives four hours from me, and so I understand how sad my grandmother must have felt when I moved that far away from her.  I try and visit Max every chance I get.  Zoe, grandchild #2, was born a week ago, and I’m going to see her next week for the first time.  I imagine I’ll feel the same way about her as I did about Max just two years ago.  There’s so much love to go around.

Max

It took Max’s arrival to make me realize how much my grandmother loved me.  I felt bad for not visiting her more often, for not holding her hand when I was a teenager, for getting impatient with her when she was old and senile.

I have since moved back to the town where I grew up.  I had never visited my grandmother’s grave until recently.  Now I check in with her once every couple of months.  I sit quietly by her graveside and tell her how much I love her and that it took my becoming a grandma to understand how much she loved me.  It’s very peaceful sitting there.  I sense that she understands, too.

Namaste, Jane

Zoe (2 weeks old) and me