India

I have piles of work to do (and a half-dozen children to pay attention to) but I’ve been writing this in my head all day and need to type it out. I’m sure my fellow obsessive writers understand completely!

In August we had this wild idea to create blouses to match the pettiskirts I sell in my store(truly the only item I sell at a profit). Soon I had samples being made up in China, Florida, Hilldale, UT(by a bunch of polygamists) and finally India. The Indians sold me with their persistent calls, emails and gorgeous samples. So before I knew it, I’d ordered ONE THOUSAND blouses and received a quick education in wire transfers, custom agents and shipping duties.

Our shipment finally cleared customs yesterday to the tune of an extra $3000 ACK! Sweet Erik hauled them home while I proceeded to have a heart attack over how I would possibly sell them all. I made a solemn vow to myself last night to stop and think a little longer before trying new things.

A recklessly fast speed workout landed me in the doctor’s office yesterday for a pulled hamstring and I am now banned from running for two weeks and I’ve got some very nice pain pills. So yet again I turned to India and bought myself a month long pass to our local yoga studio. Everyone has told me to try yoga– my sister swears by it, my friends love it, every health magazine in the allergist office recommends it. But it was my friend Chelle’s inspiring blog that made me take the plunge.

So I pulled up to the 5:45 class this morning and who is there but Chelle and her husband?! I jump in the back seat and what comes out of my mouth? “Wow, Chelle your husband is so cute!”

I’ve never even met him before! What was I thinking? Between that and the Elder Uchtdorf comment I’m going to get a reputation here(but notice I was a good girl didn’t talk about Dr. Toronto— as my running friends know, he is simply legendary for his charm. One friend used to say, “If Dr. Toronto were a policeman I’d rob banks; if he were a grocer I’d shop all the time; I’m just glad he’s a running doc so I can see him a lot.”). Truly, I consider Erik the most beautiful person on the planet so I guess I’m comfortable throwing compliments around.

In the class the instructor asked FIRST THING “Does anyone have an injury I should be aware of?” I was too shy to answer(Um, maybe I could have been shy when meeting Chelle’s husband instead?). Everything was smooth and wonderful until we came to the “dancer’s pose” and riiiiiiiiip, I yanked that hamstring harder than I ever have. Even my deluxe pain pills aren’t doing the job.

Why do I do these things? Why do I get harebrained ideas and decide to become an importer? Why do I try the “dancer’s pose” with a bum leg? Or decide to open a store or write a novel or head up the reunion committee or become a photographer or have scripture group at my house every week and make REALLY dumb comments?

Erik assures me that I learn from my failures and I know this is true. I like trying new things, I like taking risks and I really don’t mind(too much) making a mess of things once in a while.

I plan on heading back to yoga class( I will confess my injury to the teacher); I’m looking forward to becoming stronger, wiser, more serene. Also, I took the little girls out today and took pictures of the blouses– I need to sell them so that I can buy some of the gorgeous yoga gear in the Athleta catalog.