Here is the only direct comment about Yoga (my boyfriend) in this post:
Yoga is bliss. Yoga is everywhere.
Go ahead light a cigarette, move on to the next blog or if you want to get stoned, stay with me a few minutes.
I don’t know Mary Alice but since it’s Mother’s Day weekend and she was one, I thought she deserved a shout out. So does Katherine Hayes whom I met on Tuesday at a grave yard in Fluvanna County near Charlottesville, Virginia. Katherine has been dead since 1980 but I was clearly supposed to meet her. Bear with me for a smidgen as I explain.
Earlier this week I found myself at a farmer’s market by accident. My daughter had a softball game on a lovely field surrounded by rolling hills and with a nice view of the central Virginia mountains. While she practiced her batting before the game, I wandered to an area at the mouth of the plantation-like complex marked ‘Farmer’s Market‘. The salt of the earth was setting up their stands to sell plants and jellies (ewww!) and corn-fed beef. I bought a dozen eggs because you NEVER GO TO A FARMER’S MARKET AND LEAVE WITH NOTHING. Satisfied, I put my eggs in my car and set out to explore the antique house cozily nestled behind the market. To the left of it was a grouping of old dilapidated headstones that once resembled an organized plot of graves. I decided these souls breathed and traversed the earth and deserved a moment of silence from a stranger. These folks lived during the Civil War which in Virginia, that makes them famous. They were also old as dirt when they died – I am sure they didn’t have GNC or Bikram Yoga or supplements galore. It was probably the jelly and the corn-fed beef. I was enjoying this moment of connection with another incarnation when I looked down and saw this:
July 18, 1890 – July 18, 1980
July 18 is my birthday and my daughter’s birthday – the one just up the hill swinging her bat. Katherine died the day I turned 12 and 23 years exactly before my beloved Jane was born. My mother’s name was Kathleen (close, but no cigar) and my sister’s married last name is Hayes. Maybe this is a simple ‘huh, cool’ moment but it gets better.
The next morning, out of reverence for Katherine and my farmer’s market moment, I decided to make my fresh farmer’s eggs for breakfast. Crack – twins! A double yoke. “Yeah” we all say and my children proceed to fight over who of the three of them gets it. Crack – twins again! Okay, thank you Lord for that justice, only one child gets left out. Crack – single yoke. Shoot. 4 people 3 cracks, I go for one more. Crack – twins!!! Double yolks for each of my children.
I think it was Katherine – in gratitude for my moment affirming her existence almost 33 years after she died and 122 years after she was born.
I am one lucky mother clucker! 3 sets of twins out of 4 lays – I think that chicken deserves a cigarette.
What’s your secret to a long life?