Tag Archives: family

Dr. Evil Couch Fund yields results!

You may or may not remember this, but last summer a fund was started by Certain Concerned Citizens to raise money (or at least raise awareness) for a new couch for Aunt Jacquie (a.k.a. Dr. Evil). Her house is beautiful, filled with antiques, memorabilia, curios and elegantly upholstered furniture, all arranged to perfection. But her furniture–until now–was not sprawlable. For us long-limbed, slouchy relatives, the scrolly ornate couches left much to be desired in terms of comfort. Draping a knee over the side of a couch was either unthinkable, or an exercise in torture endurance.

During our last visit to her house (during that Regency Ball weekend I yapped about last week), we feasted on the visual and emotional delights of her home, esconced in the quiet of the country. It made Chicago seem like a mad-house that requires unsustainable amounts of energy to tolerate–just being honest.

Ah, the conflicting emotions the countryside produces even in a city-lover such as myself.

The window seats called my name . . .

. . . the library was entrancing (especially to Eric) . . .

. . . delightful sun rooms seemed to crop up all over the house, with the seeming sole purpose of providing a body with an enchanting corner to read a book or chat with a friend . . .

And don’t even get me started on the remote-control fireplace. That is the thing of dreams.

But let’s get to the point: I wanted to highlight the presence of a wonderful, comfortable piece of furniture that wasn’t there last summer.

A comfy couch!

Can someone say “Hallelujah”?

Okay, so it’s still a firm, shapely couch. But I tested it for comfort for . . . a number of hours, shall we say. It’s called being thorough, and I excell at it. At least in matters of couch-testing.

And it didn’t even represent a sacrifice of her taste! Especially because the blue perfectly matches the shade of her other chair (the one in the lower lefthand corner).

The match is so exact, I think we can safely assume supernatural powers were involved.

Aunt Jacquie, your house has always held allure for me. But now, with this couch thrown into the mix . . . wow.

Love like roots

Last Monday was the first day of spring yoga, and as the class began, I settled into a half-lotus position: seated on the yoga mat with my back straight, one foot resting on the opposite knee, hands relaxed across the knees with palms to the ceiling. I fidgeted for a moment, readjusting my spine a little, shaking out my shoulders, shifting an ankle a little forward and then a little back, until I found my sweet spot.

The same music that’s been playing since I first took this class in the fall of 2009 was gently throbbing in the background, lulling in its familiarity. My bones settled into place and the stillness started to take over.

“Close your eyes and focus on your breathing,” our teacher instructed. “In for two counts–hold for two counts–then exhale.”

I breathed in, I breathed out, counting beats at first, and then simply absorbed in the rhythm. I could feel the calm seeping from my lungs into the rest of my body like a thick, warm liquid.

As my brain slowed down and I quieted my thoughts, I was suddenly conscious of my baby, the size of a child’s fist, still invisible to my eyes, but with a little heart that I knew was beating fast and strong. I wasn’t alone in my stillness.

I breathed in. I breathed out. And I started channeling “I love you” to the baby with each exhale. I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you . . .

My eyes filled with tears.

As the message flowed out from my heart and brain, I imagined the love rushing down in a current and enfolding that little being. Descending like a waterfall with inexorable strength, then gently pooling around its body, circling this tiny human, enveloping it in an egg of safety. And it didn’t matter if the baby knew it was surrounded or not–it was the surrounding that was important. The love that I could feel growing in me and extending through my veins towards the baby like roots.