Do you need an anchor?
but first a story
The 10 am class at Club Pilates Owings Mills was full this morning. A lot of new faces, gorgeous faces. I thought it was Super Model Tuesday, and no one told me. Our teacher, Marissa, was putting us through the moves, which have me feeling stronger and gaining greater stamina every day (Tiger’s Nest, Bhutan, here I come!) We were standing next to our reformers, pushing in and out, with a foot on the shoulder rest, (one red spring) when a little commotion broke out in the otherwise serene and serious atmosphere. One of the instructors who was taking the class slipped into the back office to get the manager. Tina came out and went around to the front door, which we can not see from the studio.
I heard a man’s voice but couldn’t make out the words. Conversation ensued sounding like the wonk wonk of the teacher in the Peanuts cartoon. I had been quietly singing along with Duran Duran’s Rio but stopped and tried to make out what was going on.
Now, what comes next would have never happened to me just a few months ago, but there is a new world order. A man in uniform walked down the center aisle of the class, flashlight in hand, light blue shirt with patches onthe chest, dark blue pants with a holster of some kind. Marissa scooted aside, never missing a beat, “tuck your tail bone, move your abdomon up, shoulders back.”
For one brief, terrifying moment, I thought this man was ICE. Was I going to be taken away for FB posts? Was one of the Tuesday Super Models here on an expired Visa? What would we do? How could we stop him? Was one of us about to be handcuffed and bundled off to a detention center? Lost in the system, never to be seen again. Disappeared? I could not find my breath as he paced the studio, and we tried to ignore him.
As quickly as I saw this playing out in my mind, I realized he was a fire inspector, shining his light into corners, writing a report. He was not here for the supple-bodied beauties, the middle-aged man, or me, the nearly 62-year-old Jew, first-generation American, daughter of a refugee of the Holocaust.
But he could have been here for any of us. My heart is in my throat as I write this. I feel more sweat in my armpits now than I did in class. My stomach is churning. THIS IS OUR REALITY. People are literally being picked up off the streets, placed deep into a system, never to be seen again.
Today it was the fire inspector. Tomorrow it could be ICE.
How much longer can we let this go on? Is this the country I signed up for?
So that anchor I referenced in the subject line. For me, it’s making plans. Knowing I have plans somehow gives me hope that those plans will happen so I’m going about my life, day by day, doing the best I can. The plan includes a lovely woman named Jutta in Germany, who is digging out all of our records in Landshtul so that I can reclaim the German Citizenship we lost in 1937.
I’m planning classes and trips. Planning date nights with Larry. Planning on bringing the stray cat we’ve named Willow into our home. (Any advice for intros to the dogs is welcome and needed!)
Planning on visiting Sherwood Gardens with my friend Linda to see the tulips.
Planning on learning with &
Planning to meet with you all on the second Thursday of the month to write
Planning classes with my Jewish Writer’s Group
Planning to hear Adam Kandel’s new music
Planning on finishing my chapter for Cyndi Dale’s book
Planning for my sister-in-law to get a new kidney
Planning an Ayurveda & Menopause class at The Yoga Center of Columbia
Planning a workshop at Kripalu
Planning Iceland
Planning on attending (maybe presenting?) the Maryland Writer’s Conference
Planning to attend a Kripalu workshop with Dani Shapiro
Planning on finishing the first volume of my memoirs in 2025
Planning on trying to stay sane and protect our democracy, our rights, all people, and our freedom of speech, expression, and movement in any way that I can.
What are you doing to stay sane? I’d love to know. Please post in the comments.
Thanks for staying with me here.
Lots of love to you all,
Susan
me at Pilates, my happy place.
