I was kind of out of sorts when I went to yoga this morning.
Yesterday, I'd stopped by the girls' school to drop off the tuition check and while I was there, I thought I'd give them a head's up before they labeled everything that Ana was now going by her middle name, Katherine. I ran into that kind of bureaucratic, knee-jerk oppositional reflex that one has come to know and love in places like, say, the DMV. I didn't expect it at my kids' school. The person I spoke with told me, "We'll need court papers to make that happen." I was, frankly, openly incredulous. "She's not CHANGING her name. She's just using a different PART of it."
I don't know. It just stayed with me all day yesterday. I thought of some very witty and cutting things I could have said. But mostly, I was just disappointed at the lack of willingness to even try to do something so simple. Surely, my daughter is not the only kid who is called by something other than her first name. I was profoundly disappointed at the attitude of this woman. I hate that kind of "say no and sort it out later" mentality. Especially, you know, if it leads people to make blatantly errant statements with absolute authority.
Okay, rant over on that subject. (For now, anyway.)
So then, this morning, I'd just found out that Jane had a performance at camp, which meant after yoga, I'd have to really hurry to shower and get to her camp in time, which meant everything else I was planning to do got bumped. I had workers at the house, which meant the dogs didn't get to go outside...I was just a little rattled and out of sorts.
And then, right before class started, I remembered that today is August 17, and that it has been five years since our 17-year-old Austin next door neighbor was tragically killed in a car accident. And there it was, see, a little perspective.
I dedicated my practice to his parents. And all day long, I've had them in my heart, wishing for some kind of comfort to give them for a wound that will never, ever heal.