After the snow, everyone was curious but also a bit trepidatious.
As usual, Clio -- the youngest -- was the most intrepid.
But she wasn't as exuberant as many of the dogs who were dominating the online snow coverage.
"Do I look like a dog?" -- Elektra, when I first asked her if she wanted to go out in the snow.
She was happy, though, to join me in a Feldenkrais exercise. This week I wrote and recorded a new song, which you can hear below. One thing I've noticed about songwriting -- and which is similar to Feldenkrais -- is that when you try something new (or break a habit), it often feels very radical or outlandish when in reality it's actually a pretty minor shift. For example, I realized this week that I have a tendency while walking and sitting to needlessly and rigidly point my feet directly in front of me, instead of letting my feet angle off to the side, as you learn to do when you're lying on your back and letting your body relax, a home position for most Feldenkrais exercises. This habit, I believe, has led me to put undue pressure on the tendons in my groin, which must be held rigid to keep my feet in this straightforward alignment, and is the reason why -- in addition to running 2000 miles last year -- I've been dealing with some minor but ongoing pain in my groin. When I made this discovery and modified my posture, I felt completely duck-footed and was sure that I must look like Charlie Chaplin, but when I examined my feet, they were only slightly angled, a difference that I'm sure would not have been remarkable even to a careful observer. Yet after a few days of paying attention to this shift, I noticed that my groin was feeling a little better. It made me wonder about other habits in my life, and the radical-seeming but actually-slight changes I might make in order to be more comfortable. I also made some similar discoveries in the process of recording this song, mostly related to different effects and synthesizers, and perhaps just the overall tempo, which seemed kind of radical at the time but on subsequent listening didn't seem like too much of a break from other songs I've written. Still, I like to think it's an improvement, although songwriting is obviously a lot more subjective than body work. (OR IS IT.)
Later, I went down to the river, where the mountains of snow reminded me of the skating-rink parking lots I used to see as a kid, where along with the actual snow they dumped the Zamboni snow.
Everything was very bright, except for the trash can.
When I listened carefully, I could hear the drips of melting snow.
The trees, with no bad habits to break, stretched effortlessly into the blue sky.
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