Cry Baby

Emotional release.

I'm so good at it. Always have been. I was a cry baby as a baby, and I was a cry baby as a girl, and now I am a cry baby woman.

Especially now. 

People don't even notice when I cry anymore because I do it so much. Especially lately. 

Here's the deal: Some people are really emotional, and some are not. So deal with it. I don't understand people who don't cry, and they don't understand me. Yet it is this mix of these two kinds of people that makes the world go 'round.

For an already cry baby, pregnancy hasn't helped. Someone could tell me about a bad haircut they once had, and I would have a tear. A friend could break off a piece of her cookie for me, and the faucet would be running.

Things move me way too much. And you know what? I'm okay with it. At least I can feel. I'm okay with being human. An extremely sensitive human. A human with an alien-like sense of emotion. 

Finally. I am entitled. I don't feel weird about the fact that I cry during sonograms. There's a tissue box there for a reason. When I saw this baby, my cry baby came out. The technician just smiled at me. 

She's seen it before. 

For once, I'm not crying or laughing at very inopportune moments. It makes sense now. 

The perfect excuse.

What a cute face. Looks like Will. Already putting baby pictures up. Lord have mercy.

If you don't feel like letting your emotions fly around like a hurricane in public, 

there are a few great yoga poses for private release. Unless you're in a studio full of people. 

But it's probably going to be as acceptable to cry in the studio as it is in the sonogram room. 

It certainly is in my classes.

Courtesy of myyogaonline.com

Frog. Mandukasana. 

A lot of negative emotion is often stored in the hips. Women especially do this. When you push this energy away, refuse to feel it--it must go somewhere. It is usually pushed down into the container of the hips, usually the widest area of the body. 

The first time I did this pose for over 5 minutes, I cried like a baby. Surprised? Neither am I. I felt like a fairy when I was done with frog. Light as a feather. 

The wisest people in the world say that real strength is letting yourself feel, letting yourself cry. Strength does not look like someone biting their lower lip, remaining calm. I think strength looks like a wild woman, crying her eyes out, howling and moving, having the courage to feel what she's feeling. 

I love being a cry baby. I respect other cry babies too. 

Expressly,

Liza Jane

Keep Your Heart Young

Don't go growin' old,

Before your time has come,

You can't take back,

What you have done,

You've got to keep,

Your heart young.

Man, life is a loaded gun. If you're really really busy, like most everybody, it will almost always happen that you forget to laugh, forget to have fun. Unless you're busy having fun, which I have been there before. That also can be unhealthy, depending on what kind of fun you're having. But for the most part lately, I have not been busy having fun.

So I have been listening to this Brandi Carlisle song between fender-benders, errands and work. Playing it really loud, as if I was trying to get it into my conscious from my sub-conscious. Get it in there, already.

Though I am interested and very glad about all the stuff I am doing. It definitely engages me, teaches me. However. I need something else--things are getting way too serious.

I need to write. I need to dance. Man, I need to dance. But most of all, I need to have fun, to laugh. But where the heck do you find the time for that when you're swamped? You literally live in a swamp, and you are swamped with tons of stuff going on. All caused by you. By me.
I have asked for all of this in one way or another. It's all enriching my life. But dang it, this girl needs some balance.

And I am going to get it. One way or another. Even if I only have time to watch a damn Seinfeld episode. I know there is one out there I haven't seen. And I will find it.

In the meantime, when the going gets tough, the yoga gets going.

USTRASANA. Camel pose. Should have posted this on Wednesday. Oh me.

Anyway, I'm not saying that yoga is always the answer. I honestly think I need more than just yoga at this point. In fact, just writing this is making me feel lighter. I kept away for a little too long, and I apologize to both of us. I need this funky, little spitfire nothing of a blog.

 But back to the pint, this pose makes me feel like I can fly. I have to go deeper every time for this feeling, though. Which is a fabulous challenge.

I almost always teach this pose in my classes, especially in morning classes, because it is such an energy-inducing pose. Or I should say energy-awakening. I smile at the students who look tortured, who keep coming back up, who won't let go of their necks, who hate this pose as much as I did when I start doing Bikram yoga. It takes a lot of courage. A lot of emotions are freed, and sometimes it feels like nausea. Sometimes you get dizzy. But if you take the time to walk through that and let it go afterwards, you will be different every time you do this pose. And we always pause after this one, either to accept and let go of negative energy or to enjoy the freed, positive energy. 

Breathing deeply in Camel causes the oxygenated blood to rush back into the heart when you come out of the pose. This is literally keeping the heart young. Fresh, oxygenated blood rejuvenating your heart, all the organs right there in the backbend. I love this pose. I needed this pose, and that's why I hated it.

Yeah, I know I need more than a camel pose. I need to ride a freaking camel. I need to have fun. I've got some things coming up. I might even have a date tomorrow night.

I know that what brought Will and I together was fun. We are two of the most fun-loving people I know. Though love bonded us, it's true that fun brought us together. We need it. It's important for our relationship. When things start getting all business all the time, it's time to back that truck up.

He's looking at this while I write so I wanted to write something he'd be embarrassed about, but secretly really, really like. Got ya, baby! 

It's time for some fun. It's time to find the time.

So there. I've given you two ways to keep the heart young. Literally and figuratively. 

Heartily,

Liza Jane

Pick a Bale of Cotton

Oh, the life of a farmer. The ups and downs. The hopes and dreams. The weather and climate.

Oh but it's so beautiful, that cotton. I even love the smell of it, which could very well be the defoliating chemicals, but I don't care. It's cotton. The fabric of our lives.

Seriously, it really does make up the fabric of our life, especially right now. My husband's head is spinning. He's jumping down, turning around, and picking those bales of cotton. And I'm waiting here, smiling and being supportive, while doing all the other million things I'm trying to do with my life. 

It's a busy time for us. 

Thank goodness I'm hitting that peak that all the former pregnant ladies keep telling me about. 

Moon over cotton. Looks like a painting.

As happy as a farmer at harvest time...

All that hard work finally paying off--there is no better feeling. 

Meanwhile, I'm walking around, wearing a cotton nightgown, barefoot and pregnant. 

And for some reason, craving pecans. 

Weird craving, but maybe not that weird, since I can go out there to see if any have fallen. 

We're country folks, and I love it! 

(Okay, I'll be honest--it's pralines I crave, okay? Or cinnamon sugar pecans. You happy?) 

If you're getting some hard work done right now, know the feeling of having it done, of the payoff. 

The harvest.

That's all there is to say this Saturday morning. That's all folks. 

Softly,

Liza Jane

Famous in a Small Town

I love these small towns around me. I actually don't live in one. I live outside of about 5, including Jackson, which I also consider a small town. But I'm in the center, like a nucleus with the town electrons out in the perimeter (sorry, nutrition school is getting to me). 

New country (most of it) just makes me sad. I won't get into it, and a few songs out there are really good. But most of it just pop fluff. Except Miranda Lambert.

I went through a huge Miranda Lambert phase that's still going on. It never ended. I knew her before she got big. She sang a song a while back about living in a small town, watching your back and behavior because everyone knows who you are and is noticing what you're doing. That was when the current affair was just heating up. I was belting this song in my boyfriend's truck, and Will looked at me like "you have no idea."

I didn't. Until I got here. Nashville is a big small-town, and you run into people wherever you go, but it's definitely got more privacy.

Especially if you're a movie star. Especially if you're a big one like Morgan Freeman. 

Courtesy of people.com

For instance, I lived in Nashville for a long-ass time. Nicole Kidman lived in my best friend's neighborhood. Faith Hill's kids went to the school down the road from mine. Reese Witherspoon's parents live down the street from my mom's house. I never saw one. Except for Vince Young one time at my apartment building. He left Nashville shortly after. That was it.

In a place like Greenwood, Mississippi, you can bet everyone knows Morgan Freeman ate at Giardina's. Especially if I'm the one who saw it. I'm like the Paul Reviere of movie stars. 

What happened was it was just he and I on Howard Street downtown. It was like a face-off. He was coming out of the restaurant, and I was going in. He looked at me. I realized it was Morgan Freeman and started blushing immediately. We smiled at each other. Then I looked away, made a funny face and burst out laughing. Hard. When I got to the door, he said something like, "Aren't you peculiar?" I actually have no idea what he said because there was some kind of ringing in my ears or I was thinking too loud maybe. Then I said, "I'm a fan, and thasss amina goodyeh" (like Will in his sleep). Anyway, I'm honored to say that Morgan Freeman thinks I'm weird.

Now I don't know if I've told you I work at the bookstore in Greenwood, Turnrow Book Company between my yoga classes. I was telling them about the Morgan incident. Then there proceeded to be a Morgan Freeman accent-off. My Morgan Freeman sounds like a bitter, old woman. Then in walks a movie star. she was talking to everyone, and then I thought "Dang, she looks familiar. And has the most flawless skin." 

Later that day, eating lunch at the bookstore, a man sits next to me and starts talking to me about a moving being filmed in town. Apparently, James Franco is hanging out here now. Making a movie based on one of Faulkner's books. That explains the nice Hollywood actress rolling in and out.

So then I'm standing there, and they ask a woman to sign some books. Apparently, she is the poet laureate of the United States. "The best living poet walking the earth," as Ben put it. As someone who loves the written word and hopes to write one, this blew my mind. 

She actually introduced herself to me.

Then I'm discussing Shannon McNally with Jamie. He says, "Oh yeah she played at your neighbor's house this summer while you were gone in Bali." What? Bacon powder? She's one of my favorites. I mean, I know she's from Holly Springs, but damn. Across the lake. My lake. My neighborhood. At one of my three neighbor's house. Shannon McNally. Filmed something for Showtime. Sang. 

Private concert deal. I really can't complain that I was on the other side of the world, but dang it.

And when I asked someone else about it, they said, "Oh yeah, that Showtime thing at the Thompsons?" Very nonchalantly. Like, don't you know stuff like that happens here all the time? What!

So now I'm thinking the Delta is the hub of the universe. There are famous people all over. Talented people all over. The most talented people in the world right here in my towns, in my Delta. This is the place to be. Forget Nashville with its bright lights. 

I've got real stars (get the play on words?)

Miranda's point was that everyone is famous in small towns. Who needs privacy? Especially when you're rubbing elbows with awesome writers and musicians and actors. Sure, you can't go to the store in your pajamas. It's not exactly down the road from me, anyway. Sure, you can't be in a bad mood and ignore everyone. You just end up talking to people about it, anyway. It's nice. 

This whole place has it figured out. 

I like it that people are starting to know me, figure out who I am. They're famous to me too. Not that I'm Morgan Freeman or anything (I mean, how A-list can we get? He's been in half of all the movies out there, for goodness sakes. Really, think about it. One of your favorite movies has MF in it).

It's a small town thing. 

It's not a nosy thing, no sir. It's a community thing. People care about each other. You'd think it was a gossip situation, but it's a connection situation. Everyone is connected, and the smaller the town, the tighter the bonds. 

And the more relaxed the famous people. 

Famously, 

Liza Jane

Made Up Mind

Last-minute road trips are the best. The first one I remember was when my mom said she wanted to go to her friend's house in Louisiana when I was really young. Last minute.

We went, and I made friends with the friend's child, Sarah. 

Fast forward 15 years, and we become roommates at Ole Miss. And throughout college, we took road trips all of the time. Interstate, back-road, beaches, cities, other colleges, her home, my home, short ones, long ones, red ones, blue ones. She's the first road warrior I met. She loves to drive.

I had so-so feelings about driving. I liked it all right, but I wasn't like "hell yeah, put me behind the wheel! I'll drive all night!" But she was. She is. She is such a driver that she developed a very close relationship to her white Volvo station wagon, whom she named Pearl. 

We all loved Pearl.

Pearl has since passed on, may she rest in peace. But that doesn't mean we stop the road trips. 

I told my mom we were coming to Nashville tomorrow, last minute for my other friend Virginia's engagement party, and she said, "Of course, Sarah. She loves to drive. Becky [her mother] drove a ton too." I've already written about the Vizards and their home. 

They're country folk, but cultured country folk. 

Now I am officially also a road warrior. It's a country folk thing. Shoot, we take road trips every day. Little ones, mind you. But we are not strangers to driving. For the most part, I enjoy it. 

There's just one important ingredient, well two: a fun friend and good music. That's all it takes.

Sarah in Mother of Pearl, her new Volvo SUV, which will take us to our destination tomorrow. Sorry it's weird. I took a picture of a picture. So whatever.

This is last minute. But it ain't the first last-minute trip for us. For all I know, the days of spontaneity are numbered for me, as present conditions seem to be insinuating. (I've been doing this thing where I'm acting like a part of me is dying. I totally look forward to this new chapter, but that doesn't mean I can't be sentimental and dramatic about the old chapter closing--it makes it more fun. And I know the fun isn't over. It's just helpful to act like "this might be the last time." Plus it gives you a good excuse to go ahead and do things, you know? Man, long explanation in parenthesis). 

Anyway, she's driving right now from New Orleans in the night and rain, like a true road warrior. We leave tomorrow at the crack of dawn. We're coming right back on Sunday, and we know it will be worth the trip. We've made up our minds, 

and we'll be singing some Tedeschi Trucks Band:

I've got a made up mind,

It's made up all the time.

Sure as the moon and the stars gonna shine,

I've got a made up mind.

Love this album. Like I said, good music is a very important, inspiring ingredient. Here we go!

Energetically,

Liza Jane

Lay Down Sally

Rest here in my arms,

Don't you think you want someone to talk to.

Thought  I was out of the tired stage. Turns out I was out of the narcoleptic stage. 

Especially after meals, I'm all "I think I'll lie down for a bit" instead of "I feel great, let's keep this train rolling!"

You know what though? This is normal (it's got less to do with pregnancy than with real life). After you eat, you're supposed to lie down. Don't matter if you fall asleep, but if your schedule is jam-packed as is every other American, no doubt you will fall asleep. 

The trick is to have enough willpower and self-discipline and overall greatness, really, to get up after 20-30 minutes. Because after that, you're done, son. Go past 30 minutes and you are swimming with sharks. Grogginess rolls in, and she's just as bad as that fatigue you experienced after your meal. She's an all-consuming bad mood mixed with a little laziness and PMS. Your head is going to be so empty, you'll feel a little piece of sand rolling around in there, like the one in my iPhone. Plus, you'll be talking like my husband talks in his sleep, "Just let me fix it!" "Ayatoddy (?) I'll feed the cats." Not much sense, and a lot of fits and outbursts with leg kicks. 

This is going straight into your gastrointestinal tract. This information. Because it's all about digestion. Digestion is put on hold if you are in sympathetic (fight or flight) mode, which is how we all are about 70% of the time, even though the only danger, really. is how we're treating ourselves, most of the time, except, of course, if you live with a lion. 

I live with one.

You know what else about lions? They sleep. Right after a big meal. Actually, they eat meat so they are forced to sleep through most of the day. Just like big Jackson.

What's needed then is the parasympathetic mode for optimal digestion. And listen buddy, the calmer you are, the better the whole thing goes for you. The more optimal your digestion, the higher your energy. Because the gut takes a big cut of it when it does its thing, which takes a long time, believe me.  So if you can start it off right with a little bitty nap, why not? So I imagine that lying down after lunch and supper (unless you work the night shift, most likely you'll be going to sleep after supper), is the best thing to do. My dad told me to do this a long time ago. Take a nap, not too long, after lunch, and your whole day will go better.

Because people are not home in the middle of the day usually. The modern-day workplace does not condone curling up into a ball for 30 minutes under your desk like George Castanza. 

 I can't imagine just lying down under a shelf in the bookstore like a bum after I eat at work. Or during one of my yoga classes--lying down and not talking. "I just ate. So this is a silent yoga class. Y'all do what you want while I just lie here. I'll teach you for the last 30 minutes if I wake up." Which would easily make me the worst yoga teacher ever.

 Which brings us to our pose of the day:

This is savasana. Pronounced SHavasana. We do this pose in every class. It's very simple--just lie on your back. But you know? It's always at the end of class for the last 5-10 minutes. Why? To soak up the benefits of the poses done before. To meditate on the body. Maybe it's necessary to stop and lie down after every nourishing and helpful thing you do for yourself--eating, yoga, walking, laughing, feeding the dog, taking a shower, talking to friends. Imagine. Productivity wouldn't be high, but we'd be jolly as could be.

So I pronounce to the world (maybe disregarding Spain because it looks like they already do this), to enforce a nap-time. I hereby introduce the Nap Time to Prevent Brain Funk Law. We could definitely call it something better, but I don't have all day. We'll let the House and Senate deal with nomenclature. All companies must give their employees the opp to nap after lunch. It would be best to have a nap/yoga room with cots and bunk beds, and no funny business like Grey's Anatomy. If I ever run a company, you better believe employees will get 30 minutes of R&R after lunch. No more than 30 minutes because I've been to the dark side. I'm actually there right now. Nap gone wrong. 

Nap gone long.

I took this from my friend Caroline's blog. I like it a lot.

So for the sake of productivity, let's keep it with eating and yoga. If at all possible, do an experiment and see how much better you feel if you should be able to lie down for 20 minutes after your next lunch. Close your eyes. See where it takes you. Right out of brain funk, no doubt.

Restfully, 

Liza Jane

Leaving On a Jet Plane

I'm leaving on a jet plane,

Don't know when I'll be back again.

I just kept singing that song, well those two lines (the only ones I know) over and over again--back in July, when I took off for Bali. It was a month-long deal, and I was already missing my husband and dog and home. At least I was taking the unborn fetus with me. 

When Will dropped me off at the airport, everyone was giving him dirty looks like he had beaten me up because I was crying so hard. HARD. It was actually kind of weird. It was such a horrible moment because I have major feelings for the guy. But I had to do what I had to do, 

and yes, it was a good move.

At the retreat center outside of Ubud, Bali.

The first peaceful "yes, you are doing the right thing" feeling came when I heard ole John Denver in a C-store in the airport. Just the song I had been singing all week. For some reason, when things like that happen, I know everything is all right, and I'm walking my path.

The second one came when I saw the scene above. An infinity pool overlooking rice fields that flanked the path that led to our yoga pavilion. And the third came when I met some wonderful people, including my roommate, Samantha from New York who is SO New York. I loved it. She actually never left Bali. She is still there. Although I wish I could talk to her, I'm happy she's being a gypsy.

Sam on her bed. I do not miss my bed, and I don't miss the food.

But I miss Sam, and I miss that room for some reason.

Outdoor shower--pretty awesome.

And so, besides for the ENORMOUS geckos that were mating and reproducing on our wall, this outdoor bathroom was top 7 of my favorite things about this journey. 

Black sand beach.

 No, this thing was a day-in and day-out deal plus homework at night. But we had a day off. A group of us decided to go to some beach somewhere. I had no idea where I was, but I had a fabulous time.

Just in case you wanted to see my feet in the sand. 

Yogis pulling tricks.

I did not get out there and do tricky poses on a pool wall. My pregnant butt was already in mommy mode, taking pictures and being a cheerleader. "Beautiful Jess! Let's see it Ebonie!" 

We got Canada, London, Sydney, New Jersey, California and Mississippi all representing
at this random beach club somewhere in Bali.

Back to the intensive. It was intense. But I signed up for it. We worked hard. We did our best. We praised, we complained, we got confused, we got relieved, we got happy and then we got certified.

Path to the yoga pavilion--silence and meditation each morning.

I had some wonderful yoga classes that will most likely remain top 10 in my life for me. I learned a lot of important things that have already improved my teaching. Still, it was the people who made this experience memorable and wonderful. Wouldn't have been the same without them. 

Ebonie and Kara in Ubud.

Working in our pavilion. 

Ebonie getting attacked by an aggressive monkey.

Monkey transfer. Kara's got him. I was like, "Am I safe down here? Keep it away." 

At that point, I was not used to aggressive monkeys and had been attacked

 and was trying to watch my back.

Little monkey babe.

It was like adult yoga summer camp. A long period of time, spending every waking hour together. Swatting bugs and swapping bug sprays. Enduring through heat, bad food and physical exhaustion. Homesickness and snacks and emotional breakdowns. Friends you make and love and wonder if you'll ever see them again. Crying when you leave them. 

The thing about camp and conditions like these is that your friendships are on fast-forward. It's like friendship turbo mode. It's not that you want it to be like this, but there's a closeness there that naturally happens in these types of circumstances. Far away from home, there are so many emotions and feelings. You've got to lean on someone, and someone's got to lean on you. And immediately I think back to real summer camp at Riverview, where a bunch of pre-puberty girls swayed arm-in-arm, singing "Lean On Me," crying their little eyes out on the last night in front of a bonfire. Tribal victories won, ropes courses conquered, and we were all bawling like we did the first day.

So bittersweetly, we took hold of our passports and went on our gypsy ways (from Bali, not Riverview--I'm back in modern day).

And that's it. That's all I have to say.

Well, except for, if you're ever thinking about something and wondering if it's right, just listen for John Denver or whomever you've been singing that week.

Signs are everywhere. Everywhere a sign. 

Blocking out the scenery, something something my mind.

Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

And if you're not singing, you should definitely start.

Worldly,

Liza Jane