I Love My Ride

Today I went to the chiropractor to see what the x-ray's had to say about the state of my bones.

I was not to thrilled with what I saw.

Because while I understand that I am getting...not as young as I once was. I am also not as old as I hope to one day be.

It would sure be nice to get there not being "all stove up".

Because truth be told-I love my ride...

It happened like this.

I noticed a few things changing that I was ready to stock up to the aging process.

Because lets face it, even though my head still tells me I'm 21, my ride is starting to point and laugh with much more regularity than I feel comfortable with.

My neck hurt in the mornings, I was loosing range of motion in turning my head to the left, and my left shoulder was starting to 'pain me' when I would reach for things or not.

Not to mention that old 'work injury' making my hip hurt more and more. Which in turn makes my stride a tiny bit different, which makes my feet work a smidge different...

The ride is starting to loose some of it's super human powers of youth, and I think it should not be so.

There is no fountain of youth to go dive into and wallow around in until my fingers and toes are pruny, so I must look elsewhere for mobility aides.

I started to do Tia Chi a few years back, I didn't stick with it for one reason or another.

Next came a few free classes at yoga jo's.

Yoga to has fallen nearly by the wayside.

Please notice I said, nearly.

Not all the way gone, I practice every once in a blue moon.

The trip to my new chiropractor is helping me see the importance of resurrecting the Tia Chi, while at the same time being more serious about yoga.

Because you see, while my ride is not the mustang of my youth, neither is it a model T of osteoporosis. Right now I am going to try to make it my prius of longevity.

                           Picture from google search

Yes I do love my ride, and want to take care of it so that it in turn will take care of me for the long haul.

Now to go find those DVDs and get started.

NAMASTE,  “I bow to the divine in you”. Namaste is a traditional Indian greeting of respect and thank you, with spiritual and symbol meaning. This is done with your palms pressed together in the middle of your forehead (third eye) or at your heart, and lightly bow your head and shoulders.

ASANAS Also called Yoga Postures, Asanas are gentle stretching movements designed to help balance the mind and body. Learn the different Yoga Postures in our Yoga Exercise - Yoga Postures and Poses section.

What ever happened to real notes, cards and letters?

Don't get me wrong.

I love txting, email's and facebook, because I can stay in touch a lot faster with a lot more people. Often it's the only way we stay in touch.

But I still like getting a note, card or letter by snail mail.

It just makes me smile all over.

When we were in Alaska we were more excited to get mail than food!

We would be scattered about all our various activities around camp, when someplace in the distance you would hear the sound of an airplane's engine.

Everyone would listen but continue with their tasks.

The sound would grow closer, if it was a large plane only those who were to meet it would gather at the top of the packed dirt runway to get ready to unload.

If it was a single engine.

Everyone would pause looking up to see it clear the bald mountain at the end of our little valley.

Then the magic would begin to happen.

It was like you could feel it crackling in the air, feel it's presence enter the valley.

Someone would point and yell "Mail's here!". he call would travel across the cotton grass and fire weed laced tundra like an eagle's cry kissing the earth.

Men would come from their cramped little sleeping quarters, down from the shop, or towel wrapped from the homemade sauna.

Men would look up from the sluice box, heavy equipment, or the bob cat.  If they were lucky enough to be on the other side of the hill fishing, they would cut the trip short, tossing everything in the trucks to race the descending air craft.

(If you were working underground, you didn't know anything until shift change).

Women would emerge from the kitchen wiping their hands on their pant legs or aprons and the children would start to dance the mail jig we all felt like dancing!

Everyone would converge on the dinning hall, finding a place to sit or stand, to wait for the pilot to bring down the mail bag's. Placing them on the head table. The pilot would begin pulling packages and letter's out, calling out the name like a Christmas package from Saint Nick himself.

Every letter or package brought with it a moment of silence until the name was called, the recipient racing forward to gather the treasured item, then would either fade back to their spot to be sure there were no more. Or shuffle off to open them.

I watched as mail ripped open from excitement, with paper flying like a kid on Christmas morning. I watched as it was opened with a reverence of a prayer, and the trembling finger's of anticipation.

The mail brought news of home.

The only way we could get it usually.

Always the mail bag's seemed to miss a few who would either trudge dejectedly back to try to get some sleep before their shift, or they would linger and share in the news that was sent from "home" to the other's.

The mail was our only real connection with the world. It was our only connection to home, our only source of news. It brought to us news of birth's, accomplishments, children's art, clothing, book's, it even brought news of breakup's and divorce. But the hardest news it brought was of death's. The mail took us home in many way's.

So yes. I look forward to txt's, email's, and checking in on everyone on facebook. 

But a single engine "puddle jumper's" sound can elicit those same feelings from our mail bag gatherings, creating an unalterable urge in me to go check the mail box to this day!

Because real mail.

The kind written by hand. 

The kind discovered in the mail.

That is not a bill.

Still makes everyone feel emotions in often indescribable way's.