A Moment of Happy

Right in the middle of my Pilates class this morning I burst into tears. Not sniffles, not whimpers: out and out sobbing. The instructor, a pre-natal nurse student who has become somewhat of a cross between a friend and Yoda to me, calmly told the class, "We hold emotions in the different muscles in our bodies; sometimes doing these exercises brings those emotions out. Just let them out, let them pour out. Find a spot on the floor in front of you and create your own circle of privacy."

G-d bless this woman.

I followed her instructions: I let it out. And then I pulled it together and rejoined the flow of exercise. What were the tears about? I'm not sure. I know they started as I was failing to do a stomach exercise I used to do with ease and thought, "Once I was thin. Once I could do this exercise. Once I fit into the clothes in my closet. Once I didn' t have to start every day reminded of all that we've lost". And I think it just went on from there.

But whatever flow of negative thinking that exercise triggered just passed right through me today and got left on the Pilates room floor in my circle of privacy. I walked out of the studio feeling lighter. I drove to the Costco without using the GPS: a first! I meandered through the aisles without my usual sense a train approaching behind me, texting with my sister-in-law about which numbers of plastic were acceptable in a Tupperware set (she convinced me to step away from the plastic and buy glass). I saw a cook-it-yourself corned brisket of beef, and bought it on a whim to simmer away on the stove this afternoon while I tutor, a happy beefy surprise for Bruno. I felt something I haven't felt in a while: relaxed.

On the way home, I stopped at our local market, an "international" market, with a Brazilian bent. I had planned to try to make one of my favorite Mexican dishes from our Gabriella's days in NYC: Pollo Pibil. I needed something called "Achiote Paste". I asked the woman behind the counter, and she led me right to the tiny white box I would never have found. Then she asked what I was making. "Pollo Pibil". "Ah", she says, "That dish is from the Yucatan. I am from the Yucatan. You need banana leaves too!" And she walked me over to the freezer, where she leafed through the giant green packages, picking me out a good one.

As I unloaded my groceries from the car, and felt the warm sun on my face after all these weeks of rain, I felt something else I haven't felt in a long time: lucky. Lucky to enjoy the sensation of the sun. Lucky to have the time and money to cook tasty, complicated things to make the days less hard. Lucky to have a woman from the Yucatan hand pick my banana leaves. Lucky to be able to feel lucky again, even if for just a moment in the sun.