Back to yoga class last night. K.'s teaching so it's all chanting, pranayama and kriyas. He started class by blowing into a conch shell three times. No one fainted. And class ended on time.
I'm half-way through the Jesmyn Ward memoir, The Men We Reaped. It's all drugs, drunkenness, death and despair. Her writing is still vibrant in places but it's not like Salvage The Bones.
Maybe telling the real story doesn't lend itself to poetic phrases as often. Perhaps she's a bit broken down from all the death in her life. The pit-bull attack chapter left me feeling sick.
I've been listening to Thoreau's Walden over and over at night. (I also listen to The Bhagavad-Gita at least once a week.) I just ordered a copy of Thoreau's journals. Once I'm done with this Jesmyn Ward book I'm going to settle in with Thoreau for a good, long time. I'm still planning the walk from Eastham to Provincetown, but now I'm thinking of making a collection of reading and activities for the kids and then taking a trip with the five of us ... to Concord and then to the cape.
That might serve as the antidote to over-use of iPhones. Maybe?
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