Closure

My writing group met last night, and I had New Orleans on the brain. Here's what I wrote...

Fallen root beer sign around the corner from our house (Sept 2005)

Same sign--now with pedestal (Jan 2007)

Thinking about New Orleans still makes my heart ache. It can be a weather report reminding me that spring is already there. It was 74 there today (and 47 in Seattle). It can be an interview on NPR with a local still living in a FEMA trailer. The accent wraps around my mind and my heart like a warm blanket. Today it was listening to a podcast on the history of Mardi Gras. I wasn’t even that into Mardi Gras when I lived there. Sure, I would go to a few parades, and a Mardi Gras party or two, but I can easily become over stimulated so I never lasted long. I still feel right now like I’m missing out on something though.

Sometimes I type my old address into Google Maps, select the "street-view" option and cruise (virtually) around my old neighborhood. Many of the houses on State Street Drive (yes, it’s a “street drive”) look like they did before Katrina. A huge improvement over the last time I visited—a year and a half after the storm. I wonder how many of my neighbors still live on the street. There’s a black SUV parked in my old driveway. We didn’t have a car when we lived there, so it looks strange. I feel jealous that the people who live there now get to wake up every morning in that house. They get to sit out on the front porch watching thunderstorms, trying not to get eaten by mosquitoes. They get to listen to the family of squirrels living in the next door neighbor’s tree squawking and chirping at the next door neighbor’s dogs.

I wonder if the windows still stick. I used to yell and curse as I bent a finger the wrong way trying to pry open a window. I don’t think I would mind it so much now. I used to wish the front door were flush with the baseboard so air didn’t seep in under it. Now I think I would lie down in front of the door and breathe in the warm, moist air.

I wonder what ever happened to our community garden plot. Did that neighborhood flood? It was really easy having a garden in New Orleans, though we couldn’t get our tomato plants to produce (too much water?). In our current city we can’t get tomato plants to produce because there isn’t enough sun or heat. That was never a problem in New Orleans. Yeah, I bet it was overwatering—our fault or Mother Nature’s? Who knows. We went away one summer for 6 weeks. When we returned, our lemongrass plant, which had started out in a 4-inch pot, was up to my waist. The rest of the plot was overrun with mint. I liked it that way. The disorder and wildness was very representative of the city in which it was located. I think we would be kicked out of a community garden in Seattle if we let the plot go like that.

There’s a lot wrong with New Orleans. The crime, the corruption of the police and judicial system, the disrepair of the streets, the litter, the crazy, reckless drivers, the lack of selection in vegetarian cuisine—we experienced each and every one of these things firsthand. It is much easier though, being an imperfect person, living in such an imperfect city. There was also a lot right with the city. The warmth. Everything is warm—the wind, the rain, the people, the music, the cuisine. We also experienced each of these things firsthand, and I feel blessed that we did.

I grew up thinking that I hated humidity, but sometime during my first summer there, I fell in love with humidity. Part of it, I’m sure was the fact that everything in New Orleans is so over-air conditioned, that the intense humidity was the only thing that would bring my skin back to life after 30 minutes on the city bus, an hour in a restaurant, or several hours spent in my office at work. I would bike, walk or bus everywhere I went, so I had to resign myself to being sweaty most of the time. I carried a cloth handkerchief with me to wipe my brow from time to time, and that was all I needed.

We often talk about moving back. I’m not sure how romanticized my memory of New Orleans is. I’ve been back twice since Katrina—once right after the storm to gather a few of our belongings that hadn’t been ruined (a small box worth), and once, a year later for a math conference. Both times it was apparent that the city had changed. How could it not have changed? Could we make a life there again? We have made a life in Seattle, and I know I would miss our community here with the same aching and longing. Such different cities. The cultures, the climates, the landscape, and us. I am different now. Would I fit back in?

I do hope (and think) that one day we will live there again. There was never any closure. We were ripped from our lives, and situations forced us to make new lives elsewhere. There was no warning (well, there was a warning that a hurricane was arriving, but no part of me honestly thought anything would come of it), and no proper farewell. I’m aware that it sounds silly to want to move back somewhere in order to find closure, but I have been known to be a silly person.

Me happy to be back in NOLA (Jan 2007)

Our old house with upstairs neighbor (Jan 2007)

Still some clean-up to be done in our yard (Jan 2007)

French Quarter, last morning of my visit (Jan 2007)

Eating beignets by the Mississippi River (Jan 2007)

The Mississippi River in the morning (Jan 2007)

Katrina Ate My Yoga Practice

At the time Katrina was nearing New Orleans, Alex was actually at a yoga workshop in Montreal with Darby. UNO had already started classes, so I was still in town. We didn't own a car, but a colleague of Alex's dropped his second car off at our house before he and his wife evacuated. I wasn't planning on evacuating, since I had done it before and found it to be hassle. To make a long story short, I ended up evacuating at the last minute, thanks to Kiran (she called me in the middle of the night insisting that I leave). This was a good plan, since we had about 7 feet of water in our neighborhood. I drove with our two cats, Zecky and Kaya, to my brother's place in Memphis. After several days of telling me that his flight back to New Orleans was delayed, Alex finally agreed that the flight was probably not going to happen, and he flew to Memphis. We call the next month of our life:

We stayed a little over a week at my brother's house, but needed to find somewhere more permanent to stay, since it looked like we wouldn't be able to go back home any time soon. We decided that we'd head up to Montreal and stay in Alex's grandmother's apartment (she was not there at the time) until we figured out what to do. We also needed to return the car to Alex's colleague, who was heading to Ann Arbor, Michigan, so, we drove north. Our next stop was my uncle's house in Illinois. We stayed there for a week, and while we were there, we received an email from the chair of the math department at UC Davis (where we both went to grad school), offering us (pity) positions for the year. We didn't know if our universities in New Orleans would be re-opening any time soon, so we decided to accept the positions. We still needed to return the car though, so we packed up and continued on to Ann Arbor. There we were lucky enough to be lodged by our good friend's mother (also a math nerd)!

Needless to say, all this traveling and stress made it difficult to focus on yoga. We were used to practicing at our shala in New Orleans, and it was hard to motivate ourselves for a home(less) practice. There was an Ashtanga shala in Ann Arbor, and we were very grateful to be able to practice in a group again--if only for a couple days.

From Ann Arbor, we left for California, where we stayed another week or so with my mom and step-dad in Sebastopol, before we could find an apartment in Davis. We were very aware of how fortunate we were--jobs, a home, each other, but it was also a really hard time. On the bright side, it was the easiest moving day we've ever experienced. We walked in the door of our new place with two suitcases and our two cat carriers, set them down and that was that! It had been a little over a month since I left New Orleans.

There was no Ashtanga shala in Davis, so thus began our home practice. We had a small linoleum area where the kitchen table would go (if we had one), and it was there that we would practice. For a good year after Katrina, I was pretty depressed, and this affected my practice greatly. On the other hand, my yoga practice helped with the depression.

After spending a year in Davis, it was time for us to find new jobs, and we did, in Seattle. We packed ourselves and the kitties up once again and made the move up north. There were a couple Ashtanga shalas in Seattle, but with my new job, and the need to commute by bus, I maintained my home practice. It had already been a year, and I had grown accustomed to practicing on my own (Alex often went to a yoga shala). I did try two of the shalas a couple times, but it was overwhelming and distracting with all the other bodies in the room. I also had some negative experiences with teachers, and I didn't feel in a place where I could put trust into someone new. Even though it is more difficult to motivate yourself for a home practice, I really did enjoy the quiet and the stillness.

Up next: The Stick Shows a Plus Sign!

How it all began (yoga-wise)

I started taking yoga classes about 16 years ago, when I was 18 (if you're interested in math, you can do a little to figure out how old I am). I have always had back issues and the classes I took would help with the pain. The style of yoga didn't matter much to me. In fact, I probably wasn't even aware that there were different styles, or traditions. As much as I loved the classes I took, I never really progressed in my practice. I'm not naturally flexible (couldn't even touch my toes!) or strong (aside from my right bicep, from working a year at Baskin-Robbins), and I didn't gain much flexibility or strength from practicing yoga. Enter New Orleans.

My partner, Alex, and I moved to New Orleans in 2003 for Alex's math post-doc at Tulane (yes, he's also a math nerd). I managed to get a lectureship at UNO, and to convince Alex to take a yoga class with me. We took one at the rec. center at Tulane, and it was ok. Sometime in the winter, we went to a math department party, and Alex was talking with a colleague who was practicing Ashtanga Yoga. We weren't familiar with it, and she compared it to Power Yoga, which completely turned me off.  I wasn't interested in an aerobics class trying to pass for a yoga class! Alex was interested though, so he decided to do the introductory class. He went once and enjoyed it, and asked me to join him the next time. His description of the class sounded ok to me, so I agreed. Enter Kiran.

I immediately fell in love with Kiran. Aside from being incredibly knowledgeable about yoga and Ashtanga in particular, she also knew the human body very well and knew when to push and when to back off. Ashtanga teachers tend to be pretty hands-on when it comes to adjustments--physically moving your body, rather than talking to you about where your body should be. Kiran had a really good sense of the energy running through the body as well, and for me, her adjustments were not just moving parts of my body, but moving energy too. I consider myself to be extremely fortunate to have had Kiran as my first Ashtanga teacher. She spoiled me for most other teachers, which made things difficult in the future, but I'm glad to have such standards. I think this has kept my body safe (for the most part) and it has kept my practice from turning into something that I didn't want it to be (competitive, analytical, purely physical, etc.).

So, back to the intro class: Kiran not only introduced us to the physical practice, but also presented the history of Ashtanga, as well as the other limbs (there are 8). The practice was intense, but she started us off gradually and I actually found myself becoming stronger and more limber than I had ever been. We began with the sun salutations (Surya Namaskara A & B), and then each Sunday Kiran would add new postures. Alex and I would also attend the evening mysore class a few times each week. By the end of the first month, we had the standing postures under our belts. At some point we switched to the morning classes (6am!) so that we could practice at the shala 6 days a week.

At this time, there was a little bit of fun competition between Alex and me, though it was never real because he is way stronger and way more flexible than me. My one claim to fame is my long, monkey arms, which allowed me to get into Marichyasana D the first time I tried it. Meanwhile, it took Alex a while for his hands to meet. We progressed through the Primary Series postures over the summer, and began the Intermediate Series in the fall. The furthest I've gone in the Intermediate Series is Supta Urdhva Pada Vajrasana, but Alex does the old Advanced A Series, which is mostly the new Advanced A Series, and some of new B.  So, here we were, happily trucking along with our Ashtanga practice, loving Kiran, the shala, our fellow practitioners and New Orleans. Enter Katrina.

Hurricane Katrina arrived, and threw the first big wrench into my practice--along with mucking up other things for us, the rest of New Orleans and much of the Gulf coast.

Up next: Katrina Ate My Yoga Practice
Also, I promise to get to mommying soon!