lasagne nirvana

I had such a productive weekend. On Saturday, I lazed and had a nap, while the boys played with Lego and watched a DVD. Apart from the cooking and a tiny but of laundry folding, I did wonderful nothing. (yes, that is too productive! Is too! Is too! Shaddap!)

On Sunday, I went through a year's supply of crumpled bits of paper that have been shoved into my writing desk willy-nilly. I have not opened my desk, except to shove something in, for a year. The reasons for this lack of responsibility and neatness are complicated and involve threats to the stability of my marriage and sanity, so I will not go there. Suffice it to say that on Sunday, Sean took the boys out on the sea, and I had a day of peace to spread the contents of my desk out on my bed.

Meanwhile, a different (or similar?) peace was resonating through our garden. A yoga school, complete with orange-robed swami, held a weekend-long retreat on the property. Mum and Dad's house, a couple hundred yards from ours, was positively bubbling with good vibes and excellent vegetarian food. At lunchtime on Sunday, I joined them for lasagne and salad. It was GOOD! And fun too.

I did not join them in their yoga and meditations, because there was just something.... I don't know. I like to do yoga by myself. When I learned at an ashram years ago, I was alone staying there, and maybe I got used to practicing alone, in silence. It was in a forested place, like where we live now. Once I started having babies, I stopped my yoga practice for years. I forgot the moves, but I think I kept the mind, at least some of the time. When I wanted to begin again, I went to this very yogi, Karen, who held the retreat here, and did her classes in town with a big group of other women. It was very nice, and Karen is an excellent teacher. My form is way improved, and I am so glad I did her classes.

But. I couldn't keep going, once I had re-learned the moves. There is something about doing yoga inside an airconditioned building, surrounded by steel and concrete and people, that makes it not happen for me. Does that make me a yoga snob? Okay, yes it does.

And then a funny thing happened.... After the excellent lunch of lasagne, I went back to my desk to find peace in order and neatness. And suddenly, at about three o'clock, I heard it... a voice, in my head, deep and mellow... It said ... "OOOoommm namaaah lasagneeaaah..."

I crept back to the house of meditation, where I intended to see if there was any lasagne left, and there was! But at that moment, there was a sigh and a rustle, and the whole yoga school finished their meditation and came into the kitchen.

I admitted my wicked and greedy thoughts, and was rewarded with a slice of the choclateyest cake ever. See? Nirvana!