Potluck

I responded to a notice on the bulletin board at Lubbock Yoga for a vegetarian co-op. The ringleader emailed me and invited me to their potluck, which was perfect in all ways. I brought a potato-kale dish that gets rave reviews at the Green Door restaurant in Ottawa, and it was well received. The host is, naturally, getting his PhD in wind-generated power, and gave us a tour of his backyard, complete with composting system, rain collection barrels full of fish (to control the mosquitos), and an organic garden that contained, among other things, one quinoa plant. It will probably yield about 11 grains, but it's still exciting to see.

The way the co-op works is that each week a different member cooks a meal, and we all show up at their house and take away a portion. Then, once a month, we have a potluck. The rest of the membership was, not unlike the staff at Lubbock Yoga, delightfully stereotypical. There's the nutritionist from Washington state who has taken a contract with the City of Lubbock to make its residents healthier. She's the organizer for the local farmer's market, as well as initiatives to get people to bike to work, establish walking school buses, and encourage local restaurants to serve salads that don't contain beef. Several people commiserated with her about the lack of bike lanes in town. Her husband volunteers at the local hospital as a baby-cuddler for premature infants, and he spent the evening playing with another couple's baby. The baby's mother explained that he's a vegetarian too, although her six year old daughter is going through a rebellion stage and is eating chicken.

The food was terrific - mmm, walnut and soy bean loaf! One of the participants brought a load of potatoes with her - leftovers from some collective farming thing she's involved with, and we all got to take a bag home. A potluck with party favours!

Yoga Toes

When I made the decision to move to Lubbock, I started to envision my new life with a series of Google searches: “Lubbock vegetarian”, “Lubbock Episcopalian”, “Lubbock aviation”, “Lubbock cinema”, "Lubbock dog therapy" and “Lubbock yoga”.

The yoga search brought me to an institution called, of all things, Lubbock Yoga. The first thing I noticed is what a bargain it is – a flat rate for unlimited classes, and if you come three times a week and get your “frequent poser” card stamped, you get a discount. There are several teachers there, and they are all straight from central casting:

First, there’s the self-described “Yoga Nazi” who jokes (often) that “Yoga is about pleasing your teacher!” She teaches the more intense classes, with the ten-minute poses and the improbable balancing positions. I was chatting with a classmate who said “I’ve noticed you at a lot of her classes – you are brave!” She has a keen interest in the Sanskrit etymology of yoga terminology, and is happy to tell you all about it. After a month, she has started smiling at me when I come into the studio. Perhaps I am pleasing my teacher.

Second, there’s Bed Head. She’s an excellent instructor who amazes me with her knowledge of physiology, but she always looks and speaks like someone who just woke up. At first I attributed her perpetual bed head to the early morning class time, but then I discovered that she’s exactly the same at 5pm. One day she mentioned that she had just come from getting her hair cut. And yet, she still looked like she had been sleeping in a strange position all day. Come to think of it, her classes are extremely relaxing, to the point that you have to scrape yourself off the floor at the end, so maybe she’s just trying to look the part.

Then there’s the World’s Most Encouraging Person, who is an endless fount of compliments. For example, I learned from her that I have great yoga toes. My teaching schedule this summer interferes with her class, but I hope I can go back during the fall so I can hear more about how awesome I am.

Finally, there’s the professor of Environmental Toxicology who teaches the class that is heavy on breathing exercises and meditation. In lieu of a yoga mat, she uses a sheepskin. She has crocheted caps to match all her yoga outfits, and she refers to her baby daughter as her “little yogini”. I have come to realize that all the students in her class are university professors. When I combine this demographic analysis with the persona of the teacher, I conclude that this style of yoga is obviously for people who have chosen a life path that cultivates eccentricities. Works for me.

Neighbours

I have moved into my new place, and it's quite terrific. My office has great windows that look onto trees and a rosebush, and people have been kindly offering me free furniture.

My neighbours are terribly interesting. Across the street is Ginger, who is cheerful and keeps an eye on everyone. She welcomed me to the neighbourhood with this pecan pie. Pecans are big around here. I have a tree in my backyard, and I occasionally go out to collect them for a snack.

My other neighbours are four undergraduate men of the fraternity persuasion. I met them when I was out in my back yard one evening taking in my laundry. I heard a voice in the darkness: "Hey! Come party with us!" I looked around for the source of the voice, not sure if I was the one being addressed. After a few seconds they added "We have beer!" I realized the sound was coming from above. It seems they have put their intellectual and physical resources into placing some couches on the roof of the house (see photo). I declined the invitation to visit the observation deck. Instead, I wished them a nice evening and went inside, thinking to myself "I foresee a trip to the hospital."

P.S. I haven't posted much lately because I still don't have internet at home, and it's a bit of a procedure to get online. For example, I am now trying to tolerate the amateur guitarists at an outdoor cafe in order to take advantage of the wireless signal. Mollie almost had an altercation with the wandering minstrels' three-legged dog.

Heard in the Elevator

Yesterday I was in the elevator at work, and I was holding my straw hat. A older gentleman got on the elevator, gestured toward the hat, and offered some good Texas advice:

"Don't wear that around cows. They'll eat it."

I assured him that the straw hat was only for the city.