Grand Plié

When I first sat down to write this post, I had just come home from my first ballet class in over thirty years. It was going to be a funny piece about how I had dressed like Punky Brewster in a class among black-leotarded women. How they wore their hair in neat little buns: I had mine in pigtails. They are cutely athletic: Let’s just say I am not and leave it at that. Once we actually started dancing it didn’t get any better. After losing my balance spinning across the room I remembered why I’d quit ballet as a child. Imagine Hagrid in a tutu in a china shop. In draft format this post was funny.

Now here I am, four weeks into the class. I’ve been working hard, lots of sweating. The teacher is the company principal - Russian accent and all. I was starting to think this wasn’t as funny as it is really really good for me.

And then I went to class tonight. Tonight a huge group of new students joined the class. Most of them are clearly not beginner dancers. All of them are pretty and delicate. They smiled and had fun, even with legs up on the barre. They were wearing makeup. I totally fell apart. I couldn’t remember the combinations. I mixed up my pliés and relevés. I’ll spare all the gory details but the story ends with me quitting the class in tears and a silent vow not to return.

A pint of Ben & Jerry’s later and I’m ready to dig into the meat of what the heck happened tonight. Why did I let myself be shaken so badly? This is not the first time I’ve stood out for being the big klutzy girl. I’m fairly sure I wasn’t upset by the realization that I make for a shitty ballerina. I was only hoping to get stronger toes out of the class, after all. Tonight I found myself sitting in my car bawling my eyes out and wishing I were a better artist, photographer, soccer player, runner, pianist, student, mother, and even dancer. And really, is it so bad to want to be good at something? I don’t think so.

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Rituals, Traditions, and other Bad Habits

"Mommy, I don't like turkey. Or mashed potatos. Can we have something else to eat for Thanksgiving dinner?" There is no reasonable answer to that question. "What do you want, dear? Sushi?"



Actually, Danceman joined a Hawaiian family for Thanksgiving one year and they did serve sushi. But they also had a turkey. Sounds perfect, doesn't it? But ‘tis the season and all that so maybe it warrants some sitting and thinking about.


When one of the little dudes asked me what our family traditions are for a school project, my mind went a little blank. Okay, totally blank. Maybe we don’t really have any? It’s not like we tromp out into the snow to select and hack down a fresh-from-the-woods Christmas tree every year. We don’t go out caroling or have a family casserole recipe that’s been handed down through the generations.


The dictionary defines family traditions as a collective of ideas and attitudes that one inherits from one’s family. Their purpose is to “promote a sense of identity and a feeling of closeness, a sense of security and assurance in today’s fast, hectic, and ever-changing world.” And nothing screams feelings of closeness more than bacon and eggs. And French toast.

And so every Saturday morning, since the day after we first met, Danceman and I have moseyed over to the 19^th Hole for breakfast.

It’s nothing fancy, or healthy for that matter. In the beginning we loved it because it was close by, cheap, and there was never a wait. Plus it has a fabulous view. Now the little dudes love it too but not for those reasons. They probably feel like sitting in the same booth each weekend promotes a feeling of closeness and sense of security. Well, and they like the view too.

My List (continued)

What I am afraid of? Nothing out of the ordinary, that’s for sure: heights, creepy bugs, small spaces, things that go bump in the night, bad things happening to my kids. Since I cannot do anything about the last two, and critters only really bother me when I’m caught by surprise or when I’m trying to sleep (“ack! what’s that THING in my sleeping bag?”), I’m going to explore facing the others.

There is something about looking over a railing down to the teeny tiny world below that makes my stomach twist up in knots. I cannot ride in a glass elevator with my eyes open beyond the 4th floor or so. I’ve been on a very small airplane to a very remote place and I’m thinking once is enough for that kind of experience – for sure.

Of course bungy-jumping or parachuting would be scary things to tackle. For the list, however, I’m going to say that hang-gliding is something I have easy access to and would certainly never forget. You can probably die hang-gliding, right? I promise I’ll take pictures.

I suppose if I were really serious about this Face Your Fears thing, I would try to overcome my fear of small spaces by doing some cave exploring. But I just don’t want to. Isn’t that enough? Bleh. Makes my stomach hurt just looking at pictures of it.


This one is easy. I love road trips with no itinerary. Even better if they are smack in the middle of somewhere I’ve never been before. Extra points if no one speaks English! If you know me, you’ve probably been on such an adventure with me. Wasn’t it fun?! Raise your hand if you were on that hike out in the desert following a wash and then the wash turned into a muddy pit with 20ft tall razor-edged reeds growing on either side and there was no way out and no water and the sun was setting and… Good times, man. Good times.

There are lots of different ways to get lost. Sometimes I think it would be fun to pretend to be someone else for a weekend, check into a swanky hotel and sip martinis by the pool in my designer bathing suit. Ha ha. I’ll keep that option open for sure.

But I still have to put something on my list that fits into this category and think its going to have to be more deeply immersed in a really foreign culture. I would love to go to Africa and live among the Masai.

Hmm. No excuses, right?

But to pick something a little closer to home: It would be interesting to travel to the Sinaloa region of Mexico where my grandmother was raised on an American socialist commune. (I can hear all my friends saying “Ah ha. That’s where she gets it!”) Of course, things went downhill for Americans after the Mexican revolution and I’m not sure its any safer today.

NO EXCUSES!! That’s what Phil would say. I wonder how Phil’s wife feels about being a single mom for weeks or months at a time while he is out “fulfilling his dreams.”

No Opportunity Wasted

There really is nothing sadder than an opportunity not taken. As much as I like to think of myself as a “what the heck” kind of gal, I've probably passed up on all kinds of cool experiences for a variety of very lame sounding reasons. As most of us have. Am I right? So anyway, this post title is actually the title of Phil Keoghan’s latest book that inspired me to think of future opportunities that should not be missed. I might even take the steps to make them happen. I would love it if you joined me.

By the way, if the name sounds familiar, Phil is the host of TV’s The Amazing Race. And speaking of which, if anyone has been looking for a race partner, please consider me. I will try very hard not to complain out loud, I can eat almost anything (ha ha), I am not afraid to knock down people in a foot race, and I’m good with maps.

Back to the book. Once the reader is finished with No Opportunity Wasted, they should have a list of things they want to do in life. I know I did. I was ready to pack a bag and walk out the door! Have I mentioned my constant desire to escape? Well, now I've got a list of experiences not to be missed, lumped into the following categories:

Face Your Fears
Get Lost
Test Your Limits
Leaps of Faith
Rediscover Childhood
Shed Your Inhibitions
Break New Ground
Aim for the Heart

In my next few posts I'm going to brainstorm these goals and explore some of my fears and secret desires. Stay tuned…

Si, Se Puede!

Here in California we celebrate Cesar Chavez Day in March when his birthday rolls around. As a bureaucrat, I get the day off, which really makes me love Cesar even more. So why I am I writing this in June? Because I am a procrastinator. Haven’t you figured that out yet?!? Because inspiration does not always hit me square on the head in a timely manner.

Anyway, Cesar Chavez grew up in the southwest as a child of migrant workers. After eighth grade he became one himself. In 1962 he formed the National Farm Workers Association and began a life-long fight for farm workers’ rights. Please head over to http://www.chavezfoundation.org/ to learn more about his life and achievements.

On the last Cesar Chavez Day I was out enjoying a sunny day to myself, riding the Ciocc from my house all the way to the beach and back. As I pedaled past this mural I immediately thought about how many people are involved in food production/distribution.

Creating the Feast

by John Jay Whalen with Jeanne Whalen and Christina Thurston

Now that summer is upon us and juicy fruits fill the farmer’s markets, it is as good a time as any for me to think of the hands that pick the food and be thankful for their work. Especially the oddly happy ones wielding carving knives!

At a Loss for Words. Or, Here Have Another Bite...

Can one get writer’s block without actually being a writer? Hmm. So all the websites say that to rid myself of writer’s block (If that is indeed my problem), I need to just sit down and write. Explore new ideas. Get over myself. So here I am. Writing. What is on my mind? Chocolate is always a safe bet. And now that I think about it, I’ve sort of been exposed to a lot of it lately. You see, it’s birthday season. So there is, of course, cake.







But also, chocolate in a box

Chocolate gelahhhhhhto...

And then there is the everyday chocolate stuffed into various hiding places,

And since it is my birthday, a whole afternoon tea centered around chocolate.

Yippee!

Through my work as a bureaucrat, I discovered a chocolate store. (How many people can say that about their jobs?)
Double yippee!

But then I didn’t publish my post because I was thinking things like “but there might be more cake tomorrow” which, somehow, there always is. And the block set in again. But at least I always have chocolate to keep me centered.

Heroes

Seems like everyone is talking about heroes lately. It’s even the project topic of the month in the older dude’s 2nd grade class. So while I’m reading tidbits about astronauts and revolutionary leaders, those who stand up for what they believe in, and those who overcome great physical limitations, I can’t help but think about the heroes in my own life.

When I was a kid, my very favorite place in the world to be was at Girl Scout summer camp. I loved being out in the natural world, I loved the independence from anything but the faintest hints of authority, and I loved the craziness the camp counselors brought to the job. Camp counselors were like the coolest big sisters a girl could ever have, the fiercest mama bear a cub could ever have, and the energizer bunny – all rolled into one. And while I had many fantastic wonderful camp counselors over the many fantastic summers I spent at camp, one was instantly my hero.

Imagine standing in a sun-drenched dry meadow with 200 of your best camp friends, waiting for the evening’s flag-lowering ceremony to begin. On the far side of the meadow, a plume of dust is being kicked up by several small brown masses. As the brown masses approach, the ground begins to thunder with the pounding of 8 sets of horse hooves riding in pairs toward the flag pole. An awed hush falls on the crowd and the riders slow, then stop just outside the circle of campers. They dismount and perform a silent flag ceremony, carefully folding the flag into the prescribed triangle. They climb back upon their horses and ride, literally, off into the sunset.

Except one does not ride off into the sunset right away. One shows off her horsemanship skills by asking her horse to spin on its back heel. Freeze. Turn the other way. Freeze. Rear up on its hind legs. She is a loud confident woman who brought her own horse with her that summer to camp. She is rough. She wears a cowboy hat. And I want to be just like her.


Over the course of the next few summers, every time I saw her, I was in awe. I couldn’t wait to be old enough to join the wrangler unit. When I finally was, I was overwhelmed by my fear of both the largeness of the horses and her personality. I probably cried a few times but still I did what I had to do to join that club. I faked confidence until I felt it. I learned how to speak in the biggest of voices or with the softest of touches. I learned how to encourage success. I learned how to care for those that depended on me.

I don’t know if I would have grown to love horses or if she inspired me to, but I did. I don’t know if I would have grown to become a strong independent woman on my own, but I know she taught me that it was possible. I would love to meet her one more time and thank her for pointing me to the path that became my own.

Wanderlust

Every year or so I get the uncontrollable urge to run away. Once, I went all the way to Europe. It was awesome. Another time I considered leaving my premature newborn at the NICU and disappearing into the dark. That was not so awesome.

So anyway, here I am, feeling the urge again and since running off to foreign places isn’t really in the budget anymore, the little dudes and I went on vacation in our own front yard.


We were like hobos, jumping on and off the trolley.

We ate ice cream and sat in the sun.

We opened our minds to public art.

100 Years, 100 Stones, by Eve Andrée Laramée

It was awesome.

Not Very Bossy

Like most Americans, I have been thinking very hard about saving money and paying down debt. I thought about it so hard that I even pledged my undying allegiance to Bossy’s Poverty Party – where its all about growing up and getting a handle on one’s finances. On that note, I had the most decadent and delicious girls night out last weekend with a very good friend and fellow working mom. And of course, it wasn’t good enough to just go out for a quick drink and chit chat about the kids, the job, the spouse. No, we decided to go all out and enjoy dessert prepared by a real chef paired with a nice wine and a fabulous view.



We spent several hours just taking it all in and forgetting about the real world and it was such a treat. And sometimes, you just have to treat yourself. If you ever have the inclination and extra cash, check out Mr. A’s on a cool autumn night just as the fog begins to roll in.

... And Money

Do you ever think back to when you were in college, oh, so long ago, and wonder how you survived on $9/hour jobs? I do. All the time. How is it possible that I had money for fancy sushi dinners, horseback riding lessons, and dance cruises then when I make more than three times that amount now and can't seem to scrape together $85 for a gorgeous pair of shoes?



Okay, maybe shoes aren't the best example. But you know what I mean, right?

So I’ve decided to follow IAmBossy’s journey into debt realization & management and hopefully have a more happily frugal outlook on life and finances – soon.

Lately I’ve eliminated the daily trip to the coffee shop ($2/day) and made an effort to make a lunch for work rather than order out ($5/day). There’s upwards of $150/month right there! That’s a pair of really awesome shoes! I mean, Gymnastics classes for both the little dudes! Actually what I mean is: Pay off my student loan once and for all. Debt realization man, it’s a buzz-kill.

And then there are the things I know I shouldn’t spend money on but still do. Like my weekly diet coke and rum with coworkers on Friday afternoons ($20/month) or my crazy Weight Watchers membership ($16.95/month). Wait, I think there is a connection between those two… I could stop shopping at Amazon.com except for that would mean I would have to go to the library and that would mean paying all my over-due fines, which are a bit substantial. Just being honest here.

I’m sure I’ll come up with more ways to save more and spend less. Feel free to share your best and worst tips with me - I would love to hear them.

Time

I’m at the point now where if one more person tells me how fulfilled my life would be if I just spent five minutes to better myself – I might explode.

A quick search online or flip through a women’s magazine reveals five minute whole body exercise routines or I could focus on lifting my butt, Brazilian style. Carmindy, from What Not To Wear, advocates for the five minute face. In theory, five minutes of meditation will quiet my soul. The smarty-pants in me wonders if it quiets kids too. Without getting up from my office chair I could simply relax, write a poem, become a better learner, or even tone and tighten my nether regions !

With very little effort I really should try harder to save money, eat a better breakfast, log my meals, log my migraines, read to my kids, whiten my teeth, pet a cat (there is always one handy around here!), send a postcard to a friend, and once in a while look out the window…

As if I am somehow not whole because I don’t spend a measly FIVE MINUTES on myself. How do I expect others to love me if I don’t love myself?!?
Okay Stop! I’m going to throw up.

The trouble with these little tidbits is that they appear harmless. How can I argue with taking such a small portion of my day to make a small change? Sure, they all sound like steps on the path of enlightenment. But when you add up all the steps they total over an hour every day and that, I do not have. So for now I’m going to stay flabby, poorly nourished, uninformed and out of touch. I will, however, pet the cats a little more often.

Well, I’ve got about five minutes to get to the polls and vote so I’m outta here!

My Favorite Hobby

Way back in the day, before I met Danceman and made the little dudes, my girlfriend and I had this crazy impulse to learn how to ballroom dance. If you know me, you know how odd that choice really was. I preferred lifting weights for exercise, or hopping into the ocean for a short half-mile around the cove, or riding my bike up to the top of a mountain and back, or saddling up a big old horse and jumping over fences.

I certainly did not put on strappy heals, or fringy dresses, or make-up. Not even for boys did I do that. Why on earth would I do that for sport? It makes no sense. No sense at all.

But that’s exactly what we did, us crazy girls. As if we weren’t already tall enough, we put on our dance shoes

and learned to cha-cha, waltz, west coast swing. I fell in love with dance, and boy, did we have fun.


If you haven’t put 2 + 2 yet, I should say that I met Danceman soon after. Then the fun really began. We danced everywhere: tiny bars, piano bars, giant ballrooms, cruise ships, we traveled to Las Vegas to dance in front of judges. If I’d had my way, we would have boogied down in grocery store isles and in the lobby of Nordstrom where the guy plays the piano. Life was good.

Don’t get me wrong, life is still good. I love our kids… blah blah blah. But I do miss dancing. To feel better about my long-lost love, I’ve been taking a basic class at one of our old friend’s new studio.

Ahhh. Feels better already.

Silly Mommy, Skates Are For Kids!

I had this brilliant idea that instead of trying to run and keep up with the kids while they ride their bikes to and around the park, I would buy roller skates. Seems obvious, right? Oh sure, I could ride my bike but then I couldn't really help them cross the street and it would be a pain to get off everytime they need a little push. No no, roller skates would be perfect!

At least I had the sense to do two very important things: 1) buy them used for only $15 and 2) wear a helmet. See, not as dumb as you think!

So I didn't actually fall on my ass like you are probably thinking I did. I also did not break an arm or bang a knee. I am actually unscathed by my roller skating adventure. But oh, what an adventure I had! People on the sidewalk gave me a wide berth. A very wide berth. I had to grab on to my poor little dude a few times to keep from falling over. Thank goodness he still uses training wheels!! And were there always so many damn sticks all over the sidewalks and potholes in the streets when we were kids?!? Yikes!

Where are the photos, you ask? Because photos of this adventure probably would have been hilarious, I'm sure. Well, the camera stayed in my pocket because, even standing on my neighbors' lawns, I was fairly confident I would fall and squish it.

Gone Fishin'

So I've been on a little vacay with the family for some fresh air and fresh corn. Translate that to "watching Olympics 24/7." I'm starting to think that pool is about 3" shorter than 50m. Who's with me?

Feeling Eeyore-y

Or maybe a better word for it is desultory (I learned that one studying for the SATs over 20 years ago. Awesome, yes?).
Rather than rant like a crazy person, which I can very easily do, I’m just going to list a bunch of “why-bothers.”

1. Why bother to vote? Or recycle? Seriously, neither seem to be making a difference.

2. Why strive for brilliance? Coworkers, take this as a sign that I may give up soon.

3. Why bother to wear make-up? Its gonna take a lot more than cover-up and a nice color of lipgloss to make me look 25 years old and 25 pounds lighter, which is what I'm shooting for.

4. Why bother to create stuff? Hmm, that’s a biggy. Its like I have to put those shapes and colors together or I won’t fall asleep at night. Or speak in complete sentences. Or coherent ones. It makes me sympathize with the tortured artist (although I an not an artist, see below). I can understand why one might cut off an ear.

And then, to wrap it up on a lighter note:
5. Why bother to buy bananas? They always turn brown too fast and then I have to apologize to them as I throw them in the compost pile. That is one expensive compost pile.

Better Things To Do

What does one do with a day off? Oh, the options are endless.

Yeah, right.

I actually went on a field trip to the pet store with the little one, trekked to the landfill for free compost (!) then took the little one to swim lessons. But doesn't it sound nice to imagine just hangin' with the earthworms all day?

Such a Newbie

Greetings!


So, um...


Well anyways...


Maybe this is why I was such a shy kid. Nothing really ground breaking to say. At least, not yet. Maybe later.

So here's the deal. I promise you won't see pictures of my messy house, my adorable children, or our latest vacation on this blog. Except maybe around the holidays. Obviously, I can't promise 100%. Let's shoot for 95% brag-free here.

Instead, I'm going to think of this as my secret hideaway. My own place to say whatever I want and make a mess and not have to clean up before dinner. I'm going to invite my creative side and see where it takes me.

Won't you join me on my journey?