We San Franciscans are all too familiar with the term "June Gloom" as June is an extremely unpredictable month. My June was anything but gloomy; I have so much to share and have been waiting to update my blog with too many things versus not enough.
I bought my first MUNI (bus) pass for 09 in June; that's how slow my year has gone. And most of you know that if I'm not riding a bus, I'm not working out of the house. Most of my projects this year have been crafted at my kitchen table other than meetings outside the house regarding my start-up. I worked an agency job all of June which was wonderful... I forgot how much I missed fax machines, gray cubicles, free coffee, and of course, waking up at 7:45am.
More excitedly were the two weddings I was a part of. One of my best friends got married in early June and it was quite a perty affair. Nestled in Los Olivos, it was picturesque, from the bride, to the location, to the groom, to the ceremony and to the dinner in the barrel room at Firestone Winery. The ceremony was wonderfully intimate and you could feel, smell, and see the love from all angles. Simply a divine couple.
This past weekend I officiated my first wedding for my dear friend (and past roommate) and her sweet-as-can-be husband (my financial planner). I have known both of them now for over five years and the experience was by far one of the coolest things I have ever done in my life and the day will go down as one of my best. The adrenaline I felt was similar to the type I experienced as a child athlete when I performed a winning routine. It was a total high and I can see why clergy choose their jobs: weddings are simply incredible. There's an energy up there at center-stage that only the couple share and to be that close to it is... indescribable. This was a complete honor.
Father's Day came and went, always a hard day for those of us whose Dad has past over the Rainbow. But with the support of friends, the day can be beautiful. Mine was. Another best friend of mine made it her mission to make our day just perfect: a dog, a hike (with views of the sea), good food during and after, what more could I ask for? The sun was shining that day and for sure Herbie had something to do with it.
I also received news from three friends (including my same-age-as-me cousin) about wonderful gifts coming by the end of 09: babies! I couldn't be happier for all three of these couples and am excited to spoil these little rugrats like I try my best to all the other offspring of my family and friends. These were three very happy phone calls and I can't wait to get the inevitable phone calls in the months-to-come about arrivals.
So, no June gloom here. Things are on the up and up. June was crazy, hectic and tiring but so far the happiest (and busiest) month of my year. I am looking forward to a lazy July.
A happy and safe 4th to all of you!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Happy New Year
As the new year has finally gotten off to a start (funny how the holidays seem so far away), I want to wish everyone who reads this a happy and healthy 2009. We’re all anticipating an interesting year as far as the economy goes and I wish you all the best. I’ve gotten comfortable knowing that as a contractor, I won’t be working as much in the beginning part of the year and I am a tiny bit envious of those with a secure paycheck. But not enough for me to officially put myself out there ☺ Instead, I am continuing to contract and also write a business plan. More on that later.
I had the unique experience of visiting a psychic-medium recently. For those of you who don’t know what exactly that means, a psychic-medium claims to be able to speak to our loved ones on the other side, i.e. “I see dead people.” Two friends within one week had suggested I go to one back in the fall, as they’d both had positive experiences. It seemed interesting and tempting, so I found one by referral and booked the session for two months out. That way if I got spooked (no pun intended) I’d have plenty of time to cancel.
Felix was warm and immediately put me at ease. He works out of his home in the Western Addition area of San Francisco. He sat me down in his living room on my own for a few minutes; I was expecting love beads, symbolic art and other spiritual knick-knacks. But I was left alone thinking as he went to meditate in another room, “This guy’s living room looks just like mine!” Except for the super modern plasma TV and an old picture on the wall of an elderly woman facing me (looking at me?) from across the room. I gathered she was his guide or perhaps, a grandmother figure. I found myself obsessing over her until he came back to read me.
He began by testing the tape recorder and asking me for my full name and birth date. Because I’m somewhat paranoid, I’d used my anonymous email (and nickname) when I booked, that way he couldn’t possibly know my name and do prior research on me (as if I have something to hide). He explained the significance of this year for me in terms of numerology and gave me an overview of what’s to be expected. As he was going through this little report, he excitedly interrupted with, “Oooh! You have a nice group waiting to speak with you!” And then turned to face to the apparent and invisible group and said, “Now get in line, please,” as though he were speaking to a group of fourth graders.
I won’t go further with details because surely they won’t be as interesting to any of you as they were to me, but feel free to email or call me and I’ll share the experience with you and enlighten you to the perks of hearing nuggets about the future from your loved ones who’ve passed over. They’re quite knowledgeable and insightful! I will sum up the hour’s meeting with this was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done that required a low expectation. I felt I got my money’s worth and I found the experience one of the more peaceful hours I’ve ever spent with a total stranger. A couple people asked me if I got any questions answered. The truth is, I didn’t go in with any questions. Though I did for my Mom and I got her a pretty specific answer, and the following weeks will show the validity of the information given to me.
Really, I went in with an open mind and an open heart and I just let things unfold the way they were supposed to (the way my Dad always told me to). I’m pretty sure if I approach more things like this, my life will be a little less hectic and worrisome. Now let me tack that on to my list of new year’s resolutions.
Moral of the story: sometimes you gotta just let things happen.
I had the unique experience of visiting a psychic-medium recently. For those of you who don’t know what exactly that means, a psychic-medium claims to be able to speak to our loved ones on the other side, i.e. “I see dead people.” Two friends within one week had suggested I go to one back in the fall, as they’d both had positive experiences. It seemed interesting and tempting, so I found one by referral and booked the session for two months out. That way if I got spooked (no pun intended) I’d have plenty of time to cancel.
Felix was warm and immediately put me at ease. He works out of his home in the Western Addition area of San Francisco. He sat me down in his living room on my own for a few minutes; I was expecting love beads, symbolic art and other spiritual knick-knacks. But I was left alone thinking as he went to meditate in another room, “This guy’s living room looks just like mine!” Except for the super modern plasma TV and an old picture on the wall of an elderly woman facing me (looking at me?) from across the room. I gathered she was his guide or perhaps, a grandmother figure. I found myself obsessing over her until he came back to read me.
He began by testing the tape recorder and asking me for my full name and birth date. Because I’m somewhat paranoid, I’d used my anonymous email (and nickname) when I booked, that way he couldn’t possibly know my name and do prior research on me (as if I have something to hide). He explained the significance of this year for me in terms of numerology and gave me an overview of what’s to be expected. As he was going through this little report, he excitedly interrupted with, “Oooh! You have a nice group waiting to speak with you!” And then turned to face to the apparent and invisible group and said, “Now get in line, please,” as though he were speaking to a group of fourth graders.
I won’t go further with details because surely they won’t be as interesting to any of you as they were to me, but feel free to email or call me and I’ll share the experience with you and enlighten you to the perks of hearing nuggets about the future from your loved ones who’ve passed over. They’re quite knowledgeable and insightful! I will sum up the hour’s meeting with this was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done that required a low expectation. I felt I got my money’s worth and I found the experience one of the more peaceful hours I’ve ever spent with a total stranger. A couple people asked me if I got any questions answered. The truth is, I didn’t go in with any questions. Though I did for my Mom and I got her a pretty specific answer, and the following weeks will show the validity of the information given to me.
Really, I went in with an open mind and an open heart and I just let things unfold the way they were supposed to (the way my Dad always told me to). I’m pretty sure if I approach more things like this, my life will be a little less hectic and worrisome. Now let me tack that on to my list of new year’s resolutions.
Moral of the story: sometimes you gotta just let things happen.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
I Do
I've been lagging as of late for updating this thing. A lot has happened since I last blogged and sometimes it's hard to sit and free-write. Well here I am, ladies and gentlemen, inspired today by a lovely Japanese man on BART. I was on my way back from Berkeley when I see a tiny old man about to get on the train along with his seeing eye dog, a precious white Labrador. As usual when I see this beautiful friendship around town, I felt compelled to go up to him and say hello and explain my love for seeing eye dogs (my black Lab growing up, Keesha/Boo, was a class-act reject, and my best friend raised and adopted a reject) and also that I have written pro-bono for the non-profit, Guide Dogs for the Blind, in San Rafael. Of course he was so happy and we engaged in a wonderful conversation on our ride. His story is worth telling. As forward as I am, I asked him if he was seeing-impaired or blind, and he explained so simply, "Almost blind, a result from Hiroshima." Wow, intense. He followed up with that he moved to the U.S. years later and discovered seeing eye dogs, they did not exist in Japan yet. Yuki is his second dog, his first lived to be old and gray and he says he has never felt or experienced such unconditional love and companionship toward any other living thing on earth than he has with his dogs. While my ride with Takashi was short and sweet, I came away with more in eleven minutes than I do with most experiences I have on a daily basis. Life is full of tragedies, as I experienced this year and also quite recently, as two of my friends had their own. But like Takashi, they too will be okay. Through tragedy, there is always a way up and finding your way, while work, is a tough part of life. May it be a friend's shoulder to cry on, a therapist's gentle suggestion, a solo vacation, or adopting a four-legged companion to help you navigate the emotional (and/or physical) challenges of everyday life, there is always a way.
On another lovely note, Saturday was a beautiful day. An old friend asked me to go along with her to a bridal salon as she's counting the days before all hope is lost and she has to borrow a dress for her wedding in June. It's that close in the bridal gown world, apparently. So, we go to the salon and try on dress number one. Dress number two was a block away, the main contender (insert Rocky theme song here, it felt that intense). She called that salon to see if there was any way we could stop by and see it "one more time" and luckily, they had an opening two hours later. Little did we know that two hours later, this bridal salon would look down upon the Proposition 8 rally-ers that would be stomping down Union Square in protest. Every customer and employee in the salon stood by the window waving down to gleefully-crying lesbians (and gay men) and press waving their hands, taking pictures of us, all so overjoyed that a bridal salon was saluting them. It was truly a site to see. And by the way, so was my friend when she came out of the fitting room soon after with her stunning Anne Barge dress. I teared up. We both knew this was "the one." Her name was written all over it, I think she just needed extra confirmation.
After all that hoopla, she insisted on taking me to lunch. We sat down at a cozy European-style cafe and ate our salads in the sun, marveling about the day. But before she could pick up her fork, she looked at me for a noticeable second more than normal.
"So, I have to ask you something officially," she said nervously and matter-of-factly.
"Yes..." I say, nervous too, but very excited about the potential question.
And then she popped it!
"Will you officiate our wedding? You don't have to. But we'd love for you to!" she sang.
My heart got the butterflies. And guess what I said?
I said, "I do!"
After all, this is a couple I grown to know and love over the past 5+ years. And then we hugged and all of that. I am floored, honored, excited, and nervous as hell but can't wait to sit down and research this amazing opportunity. If any of you have ideas or have been to weddings where you enjoyed the format or the officiant's approach, please e-mail me. This couple is cooky, witty, smart, and truly special to me.
There is nothing like unconditional, mutual love.
PS: Just in case you're so inclined to read about my new friend:
lasvegascitylife.com/articles/2008/08/14/ae/art/iq_23229705.txt
On another lovely note, Saturday was a beautiful day. An old friend asked me to go along with her to a bridal salon as she's counting the days before all hope is lost and she has to borrow a dress for her wedding in June. It's that close in the bridal gown world, apparently. So, we go to the salon and try on dress number one. Dress number two was a block away, the main contender (insert Rocky theme song here, it felt that intense). She called that salon to see if there was any way we could stop by and see it "one more time" and luckily, they had an opening two hours later. Little did we know that two hours later, this bridal salon would look down upon the Proposition 8 rally-ers that would be stomping down Union Square in protest. Every customer and employee in the salon stood by the window waving down to gleefully-crying lesbians (and gay men) and press waving their hands, taking pictures of us, all so overjoyed that a bridal salon was saluting them. It was truly a site to see. And by the way, so was my friend when she came out of the fitting room soon after with her stunning Anne Barge dress. I teared up. We both knew this was "the one." Her name was written all over it, I think she just needed extra confirmation.
After all that hoopla, she insisted on taking me to lunch. We sat down at a cozy European-style cafe and ate our salads in the sun, marveling about the day. But before she could pick up her fork, she looked at me for a noticeable second more than normal.
"So, I have to ask you something officially," she said nervously and matter-of-factly.
"Yes..." I say, nervous too, but very excited about the potential question.
And then she popped it!
"Will you officiate our wedding? You don't have to. But we'd love for you to!" she sang.
My heart got the butterflies. And guess what I said?
I said, "I do!"
After all, this is a couple I grown to know and love over the past 5+ years. And then we hugged and all of that. I am floored, honored, excited, and nervous as hell but can't wait to sit down and research this amazing opportunity. If any of you have ideas or have been to weddings where you enjoyed the format or the officiant's approach, please e-mail me. This couple is cooky, witty, smart, and truly special to me.
There is nothing like unconditional, mutual love.
PS: Just in case you're so inclined to read about my new friend:
lasvegascitylife.com/articles/2008/08/14/ae/art/iq_23229705.txt
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Lost & Found Suitcase
In a world where the economy is slumping, people are holding on to their cubicles for dear pay-stub and staying far, far away from gas stations, I my friends, am gainfully unemployed and slightly petrified for the first time of my cozy career as a freelance writer. I've been here before, I've been in a rut where my phone isn't ringing much and I'm hounding Craigslist, but at least there were Craigslist postings for ad writers! My friends, it's dry, dry, dry out there. Craig, what gives?
Speaking of phone. Many of my local friends praised me for giving up my 3-year old Nokia last month when its charger was in my suitcase, which was sitting in some international airport somewhere. Your guess is as good of mine. Shanghai? Vienna? Copenhagen? I'd like to think it saw a place I haven't been yet. But back to my phone. So, when I went in to AT&T, the charger for my old phone would have cost more than a new (free) phone so I suckered up and took the new phone. It was perty. Real shiny and black. Nice interface. Rubber backed, not that it needs it because Nokias. Just. Don't. Die. Ever. Especially when they fall. Anyhow, three weeks go by and because I have time on my hands, I have been using it to text quite a bit. Ouch. Three weeks of texting equaled a very unpleasant and carpal-tunnelly feeling thumb pain. So, yup, you guessed. I walked right back in to AT&T and turned my old phone back on. Oh, I missed you little guy! (Insert Nokia theme sound music here).
About my suitcase (and charger). For those of you whom were actually interested, it arrived about two weeks after I did back at SFO. Surprisingly, everything was neatly folded and present, except for my jewelry case (which I hid in between layers). Of course, the one thing (of seven) that you can't expense to the airline (read the fine text when you book your tickets, people). I was bummed but these days you have to blame yourself when you leave valuables in your suitcase. Stealing is not a crime any longer, it's just something people do. Heck, I already admitted here in a post (I think) that I've stolen the occasional paper clip and Post-It block from freelance jobs. Who's to say those are less valuable than the beautiful rose gold jewelry I bought in Israel this past December?
Some of you know about my "letters" to corporations. I'm one of those people who write letters and more often than not, get replies. Sometimes I even score a gift card or discount. Well, boy did I write a lovely letter to US Airways. They have three pages written by yours truly detailing everything that occurred during my vacation and about $600 worth of receipts I am expecting to be reimbursed. And if they don't abide, I may make a stop to their headquarters office in Phoenix when I am there next month for a wedding. I'll go in my bordeaux colored bridesmaid dress if I am forced to!
Imagine that.
Speaking of phone. Many of my local friends praised me for giving up my 3-year old Nokia last month when its charger was in my suitcase, which was sitting in some international airport somewhere. Your guess is as good of mine. Shanghai? Vienna? Copenhagen? I'd like to think it saw a place I haven't been yet. But back to my phone. So, when I went in to AT&T, the charger for my old phone would have cost more than a new (free) phone so I suckered up and took the new phone. It was perty. Real shiny and black. Nice interface. Rubber backed, not that it needs it because Nokias. Just. Don't. Die. Ever. Especially when they fall. Anyhow, three weeks go by and because I have time on my hands, I have been using it to text quite a bit. Ouch. Three weeks of texting equaled a very unpleasant and carpal-tunnelly feeling thumb pain. So, yup, you guessed. I walked right back in to AT&T and turned my old phone back on. Oh, I missed you little guy! (Insert Nokia theme sound music here).
About my suitcase (and charger). For those of you whom were actually interested, it arrived about two weeks after I did back at SFO. Surprisingly, everything was neatly folded and present, except for my jewelry case (which I hid in between layers). Of course, the one thing (of seven) that you can't expense to the airline (read the fine text when you book your tickets, people). I was bummed but these days you have to blame yourself when you leave valuables in your suitcase. Stealing is not a crime any longer, it's just something people do. Heck, I already admitted here in a post (I think) that I've stolen the occasional paper clip and Post-It block from freelance jobs. Who's to say those are less valuable than the beautiful rose gold jewelry I bought in Israel this past December?
Some of you know about my "letters" to corporations. I'm one of those people who write letters and more often than not, get replies. Sometimes I even score a gift card or discount. Well, boy did I write a lovely letter to US Airways. They have three pages written by yours truly detailing everything that occurred during my vacation and about $600 worth of receipts I am expecting to be reimbursed. And if they don't abide, I may make a stop to their headquarters office in Phoenix when I am there next month for a wedding. I'll go in my bordeaux colored bridesmaid dress if I am forced to!
Imagine that.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
How Benetton & Campers Saved the Day
Greetings! I'm just back from a whirlwind (and romantic) trip to the Greek Islands, hosted by the best Greek guide ever. Though, as my year would have it, the trip started off with quite a dramatic bang. The flight over to Athens was nice and smooth and we arrived just after 9am Sunday morning. Passing through customs was a breeze and we waited patiently for our bags to arrive. First came his. And then, all of a sudden, it felt like so did everyone else's, that is, except for mine. We looked at each other, a bit too tired to go over the potentially annoying scenario, so just smiled in silence, hungry, tired. We waited. And waited. Then we realized, we were the last ones waiting. OK... we arrived at the desk that is non-existent unless you're the one who has to use it. It's at every baggage claim station and some dimwit is hired to sit there and deal with you. We filed a claim and were told, "Call us or we'll call you. We're open 24/7."
Not to mention, I'd "contracted" some kind of bug along the way. My instinct says it was the turkey wrap I peeled apart to eat (freak diet still in effect at this point) at the Philly airport on our layover, but whatever it was, it had me feeling like a load of ... a piece of ... ok, too much pun intended, I just didn't feel healthy. I took a nap from 1pm to 5pm and tried to eat dinner that night in Athens but couldn't stomach it and was also stirring about my luggage. Shops are closed on Sundays in Greece (which is ironic because even though the reputation is that it's an orthodox observant country, most Greeks are non-observant) so we planned to postpone our flight to Rhodes on Monday (planned for 2pm) so we could shop. A girl's dream, right? Not really. Don't mess with a girl's "stuff" as you don't mess with a guy's car. Ya just don't. Did I mention Greeks take siesta too? Yeah, we had limited time to get me the basics.
Walking down the streets of Athens, I found it very hard to find the staples I'm used to when looking for summer wear; khaki and denim shorts, cotton flowy pants, a couple plain colored tee's, sundresses, etc. I was overwhelmed with low cut shirts, mini skirts, mini dresses ... everything vavoom to the nines! Thank goodness for United Colors of Benetton. It was our last stop (and please have clothes for me!) and the closest thing I knew to a GAP or Banana. I had 20 minutes to shop before they closed up for the afternoon and they did me well. I was also fortunate enough to score one pair of Campers sandals, which while they were not too fashionable, they were the most comfortable summer shoes I've ever worn and got me up and down the hills of Santorini, up and down the Valley of the Butterflies on Rhodes and in and out of all the amazing stores on Mykonos with its cobblestone streets (read: not flip-flop friendly). No one told me walking shoes were essential while touring the Greek Islands! If you go, you must invest. Must must must.
We made it to Rhodes safely and enjoyed two days of beautiful beach, a visit to the Old City and its castle, hiked down a valley full of butterflies and experienced the charming restaurants Rhodes had to offer. Then we headed to Santorini, which literally... took my breath away. Our hotel was in Oia, a cliffside town. We arrived via plane, and then took a taxi to the top of Oia. A man arrived soon after and took our suitcase as we followed him up and down the cobblestone path to our hotel (a solid 10-minute walk, not for the faint of heart). It was built in to the rock overlooking the sea; divine. Our room was more like a tiny 2-story casita, so charming and quaint. The sunsets were incredible. We spent the next day at the pool and in town (the pool overlooked the volcano and sea) and the following at a remote beach on the other side of the island, amazing!
Next, we hopped on a high speed ferry and sped over to Mykonos, the Miami of the Greek Islands. Totally pumping with energy, just pure fun on crystal blue, clear waters. Our hotel was super modern, the other two were more typically Euro in style and amenities. The staff was upbeat, hip and at our service for anything. We spent the day at Psaro Beach on cozy beach chairs with sea side food/beverage service from the hip restaurant, Namos, right there and also frolicked in the water. Our last morning we spent by the pool before heading back to Athens via ferry. We were super bummed to leave. Vacations always leave me wanting "just one more day." Especially the warm, sunny vacations.
By the way, my luggage still hasn't arrived. But when I unpacked my new luggage today, I pulled out my Campers and already felt nostalgic. Those puppies escorted me on one of the best trips of my life and are a forever symbol for the old expression, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."
They will remain in my closet forever!
Not to mention, I'd "contracted" some kind of bug along the way. My instinct says it was the turkey wrap I peeled apart to eat (freak diet still in effect at this point) at the Philly airport on our layover, but whatever it was, it had me feeling like a load of ... a piece of ... ok, too much pun intended, I just didn't feel healthy. I took a nap from 1pm to 5pm and tried to eat dinner that night in Athens but couldn't stomach it and was also stirring about my luggage. Shops are closed on Sundays in Greece (which is ironic because even though the reputation is that it's an orthodox observant country, most Greeks are non-observant) so we planned to postpone our flight to Rhodes on Monday (planned for 2pm) so we could shop. A girl's dream, right? Not really. Don't mess with a girl's "stuff" as you don't mess with a guy's car. Ya just don't. Did I mention Greeks take siesta too? Yeah, we had limited time to get me the basics.
Walking down the streets of Athens, I found it very hard to find the staples I'm used to when looking for summer wear; khaki and denim shorts, cotton flowy pants, a couple plain colored tee's, sundresses, etc. I was overwhelmed with low cut shirts, mini skirts, mini dresses ... everything vavoom to the nines! Thank goodness for United Colors of Benetton. It was our last stop (and please have clothes for me!) and the closest thing I knew to a GAP or Banana. I had 20 minutes to shop before they closed up for the afternoon and they did me well. I was also fortunate enough to score one pair of Campers sandals, which while they were not too fashionable, they were the most comfortable summer shoes I've ever worn and got me up and down the hills of Santorini, up and down the Valley of the Butterflies on Rhodes and in and out of all the amazing stores on Mykonos with its cobblestone streets (read: not flip-flop friendly). No one told me walking shoes were essential while touring the Greek Islands! If you go, you must invest. Must must must.
We made it to Rhodes safely and enjoyed two days of beautiful beach, a visit to the Old City and its castle, hiked down a valley full of butterflies and experienced the charming restaurants Rhodes had to offer. Then we headed to Santorini, which literally... took my breath away. Our hotel was in Oia, a cliffside town. We arrived via plane, and then took a taxi to the top of Oia. A man arrived soon after and took our suitcase as we followed him up and down the cobblestone path to our hotel (a solid 10-minute walk, not for the faint of heart). It was built in to the rock overlooking the sea; divine. Our room was more like a tiny 2-story casita, so charming and quaint. The sunsets were incredible. We spent the next day at the pool and in town (the pool overlooked the volcano and sea) and the following at a remote beach on the other side of the island, amazing!
Next, we hopped on a high speed ferry and sped over to Mykonos, the Miami of the Greek Islands. Totally pumping with energy, just pure fun on crystal blue, clear waters. Our hotel was super modern, the other two were more typically Euro in style and amenities. The staff was upbeat, hip and at our service for anything. We spent the day at Psaro Beach on cozy beach chairs with sea side food/beverage service from the hip restaurant, Namos, right there and also frolicked in the water. Our last morning we spent by the pool before heading back to Athens via ferry. We were super bummed to leave. Vacations always leave me wanting "just one more day." Especially the warm, sunny vacations.
By the way, my luggage still hasn't arrived. But when I unpacked my new luggage today, I pulled out my Campers and already felt nostalgic. Those puppies escorted me on one of the best trips of my life and are a forever symbol for the old expression, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."
They will remain in my closet forever!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Go Team USA
The Olympics are always an interesting time for me. As many of you know, the Olympic theme music was also the theme music for all of my childhood and a bit into my teen years. I was, in all intensive purposes, an Olympic hopeful in figure skating. I trained six days a week up to six hours a day but managed somehow to experience summer day camp and write my elementary school plays. My parents made sure my childhood was as “normal” as it could be. Even though I was always self-conscious of my extra small, muscular body, they both instilled confidence in me as much as off the ice as on. It probably helped during times like in eighth grade when some stupid boy said, “Your legs are gross. They look like Popeye’s.” It’s funny now but it was terrifying and painful then!
The sports I gravitate most to during the Summer Games are swimming and gymnastics. Swimming because my brother was an incredibly talented swimmer and I also spent many Summer days in the pool at our house as a child. My Dad insisted I play sports in high-school after I quit skating as to “not let my body go to waste.” He sure was right. I played basketball one semester (um, let’s just say I was the only white-white girl on the team and I was only good at one thing the sport had to offer: running really, really fast.) The girls used to yell, “Do NOT throw the ball. Just run, girl, RUN!” I used to sit solo at the back of the bus to all away-games and realized after that semester that… I just didn’t fit in. S’all good. It was my first time ever playing a team sport and I learned a good lesson or two, one being that actually, my sh*t did stink.
The following Fall, I pursued track try-outs with my twin best friends. It was 102 degrees, I ran my ass off and the coach was pretty impressed. I just didn’t want to train after school everyday and run in that damn heat for two months so I quit soon after being offered a spot. My girls moved on that semester and enjoyed it. I tried swimming the next semester (again, along with my girls) and just loved it. It was completely different than figure skating. The psychology of it was fascinating. You couldn’t see anyone off to the side rooting for you or booing for you (commonplace in figure skating) and the sounds were foreign. Splashing water, coaching whistles and rhythmic strokes became a wonderful soundtrack for me that year. The only reason I didn’t pursue it senior year is because I got lazy. I didn’t want to wake up at 6am for practice when 1. I’d been doing that throughout my entire childhood (wait, that was 5am, thanks Mom) and 2. I only had three classes senior year and wanted to be as free as a bird as I could be.
Gymnastics is probably the closest competitive and solo sport to figure skating, so naturally I gravitate toward it. It is strikingly similar in the physicality of it as well as the psychology of it. Watching it for me is a bit like torturing myself. I can read those girls’ faces in a way that most people cannot. I get nauseas when I watch them before and after their performance. I know exactly what is going on inside their head and I know what their coaches are whispering to them. It’s an intense world in those girls’ minds full of motivational coach-speak, negative self-thoughts and practice music. It is somewhat calm but it is also stormy, like a windy Fall day where the dark clouds are looming in the corner. There is nothing like the feeling of being a young person and knowing you have one shot at a routine. And if you mess up, that’s it. You cannot go back and fix it to make it better. Or bribe someone to help you out. This is precisely the reason I hung up the skates…the pressure was just too much. I applaud Alicia Sacramone's grace and courage for what she's gone through this week (she claimed to be the sole reason we placed second) --- and I hope she moves forward with a clear head.
The Olympic theme music is soothing to me. It reminds me of so many important times of my childhood and also reminds me to feel hopeful, positive and realistic. It really is music of hope and dreams. It brings tears to my eyes in both happy and sad ways. It is amazing what one piece of music can do.
The sports I gravitate most to during the Summer Games are swimming and gymnastics. Swimming because my brother was an incredibly talented swimmer and I also spent many Summer days in the pool at our house as a child. My Dad insisted I play sports in high-school after I quit skating as to “not let my body go to waste.” He sure was right. I played basketball one semester (um, let’s just say I was the only white-white girl on the team and I was only good at one thing the sport had to offer: running really, really fast.) The girls used to yell, “Do NOT throw the ball. Just run, girl, RUN!” I used to sit solo at the back of the bus to all away-games and realized after that semester that… I just didn’t fit in. S’all good. It was my first time ever playing a team sport and I learned a good lesson or two, one being that actually, my sh*t did stink.
The following Fall, I pursued track try-outs with my twin best friends. It was 102 degrees, I ran my ass off and the coach was pretty impressed. I just didn’t want to train after school everyday and run in that damn heat for two months so I quit soon after being offered a spot. My girls moved on that semester and enjoyed it. I tried swimming the next semester (again, along with my girls) and just loved it. It was completely different than figure skating. The psychology of it was fascinating. You couldn’t see anyone off to the side rooting for you or booing for you (commonplace in figure skating) and the sounds were foreign. Splashing water, coaching whistles and rhythmic strokes became a wonderful soundtrack for me that year. The only reason I didn’t pursue it senior year is because I got lazy. I didn’t want to wake up at 6am for practice when 1. I’d been doing that throughout my entire childhood (wait, that was 5am, thanks Mom) and 2. I only had three classes senior year and wanted to be as free as a bird as I could be.
Gymnastics is probably the closest competitive and solo sport to figure skating, so naturally I gravitate toward it. It is strikingly similar in the physicality of it as well as the psychology of it. Watching it for me is a bit like torturing myself. I can read those girls’ faces in a way that most people cannot. I get nauseas when I watch them before and after their performance. I know exactly what is going on inside their head and I know what their coaches are whispering to them. It’s an intense world in those girls’ minds full of motivational coach-speak, negative self-thoughts and practice music. It is somewhat calm but it is also stormy, like a windy Fall day where the dark clouds are looming in the corner. There is nothing like the feeling of being a young person and knowing you have one shot at a routine. And if you mess up, that’s it. You cannot go back and fix it to make it better. Or bribe someone to help you out. This is precisely the reason I hung up the skates…the pressure was just too much. I applaud Alicia Sacramone's grace and courage for what she's gone through this week (she claimed to be the sole reason we placed second) --- and I hope she moves forward with a clear head.
The Olympic theme music is soothing to me. It reminds me of so many important times of my childhood and also reminds me to feel hopeful, positive and realistic. It really is music of hope and dreams. It brings tears to my eyes in both happy and sad ways. It is amazing what one piece of music can do.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Ladders & Avocados
Sometimes I wonder if my life is a comedy for a group of people in the afterlife or perhaps my neighbors in the building next to mine (their kitchen window looks out on to my deck, front door and living room window).
Today was a somewhat normal day. Went in to my freelance gig, I am currently writing recruitment ads for sexy companies like Qualcomm, Alltel, KPMG and McKesson. My projects went smoothly, a couple fires, they were all put out in a timely fashion. My roommate and I arrived home around the same time and gosh darn-it, our front door wouldn't open. Yes, exactly, it wouldn't open. The construction in our building (now at three years, mind you) currently has them rebuilding a beam in the back (right under my unit) which there in turn "raises the building." Essentially, a couple inches get added every day. Well, today it was SO much that the door could barely fit through its frame.
Superwoman me decides to fetch a ladder and climb up into our unit (our window was open just a smidgen). I just didn't want to wait out in the cold or go torture myself and sit in a local restaurant and smell all the yummy things I can't devour. So I placed the call to my landlord, got the green light to call a 24-hour locksmith (there's a sea of them in the Yellow Pages! Amazing) and sat and wait. (Just in case anyone is curious, I didn't pick by price-checking, I picked by who was least ghetto-sounding upon "hello." I round up with the Israelis after trying two others, brilliant. They're smart engineers, surely I can trust them with my 100 year-old door).
So now I wait my "20 minutes, no later" and make myself a deliciously-boring salad and am excited to try my brand new dressing that I found that actually works with my freak diet (Annie's Naturals; a hard-to-find version). I begin eating my salad and the more and more I eat it, the more my mouth is weirdly going numb. And then so is the back of my throat. I mildly panic. I know it's not anaphylactic shock but this is surely NOT normal. I then call my trusty allergist's call service- he always calls me within 10 minutes when I need him. Then I call my trusty Nurse B. Bless her heart with a brand new newborn, she picks up on the first ring and calmly listens to me FREAK OUT and suggests I "call 911" if I'm not sure what's going on.
"BUT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT, I CLIMBED IN BY LADDER! A LOCKSMITH IS ON HIS WAY!"
"What???" she asks ever-so-calmly.
"I CAN'T EXPLAIN NOW! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF!" and like timing would have it, my allergist rings in. I hang up on her and try and pick up the phone in a very calm voice. I tell him I may be having an avocado problem, but I am not entirely sure.
Now seconds later, Mr. Israeli Locksmith (followed by my smart roommate who decided to not follow my lead up the ladder but instead wait patiently at a friend's down the street) shows up and I'm not sure what the FUCK is going on with me. The locksmith starts drilling from the outside of the door and I start explaining my symptoms from inside. Then the locksmith decides he needs to come up (by ladder) too, and begins the climb as I am trying very hard to listen to what my doctor is telling me : basically, take two antihistamines and knock myself out and to stop panicking. This is literally going on like a circus around me and my poor roommate, who is now stuck out in the cold. (Did I mention my cat's rhythmic bellowing through all of this?)
The best question my allergist asks me: "If you felt something weird at the first bite, why did you keep eating?" Good question, doc.
"Well, to be honest Dr. D., one out of three avocados makes me feel weird. But never this weird."
"That should tell you something, Meredith. A lot of people like you are sensitive to tropical fruits."
Hmph. OK, one more delicious food acceptable for my diet that I now can't ever eat. Marvelous! So I hung up with him and watched the locksmith shave our door down and do some other locksmithy type craft and then he was on his way. Suddenly, the apartment got so very quiet and it was the best calm I'd felt all day.
Or, is that the two antihistamines?
Today was a somewhat normal day. Went in to my freelance gig, I am currently writing recruitment ads for sexy companies like Qualcomm, Alltel, KPMG and McKesson. My projects went smoothly, a couple fires, they were all put out in a timely fashion. My roommate and I arrived home around the same time and gosh darn-it, our front door wouldn't open. Yes, exactly, it wouldn't open. The construction in our building (now at three years, mind you) currently has them rebuilding a beam in the back (right under my unit) which there in turn "raises the building." Essentially, a couple inches get added every day. Well, today it was SO much that the door could barely fit through its frame.
Superwoman me decides to fetch a ladder and climb up into our unit (our window was open just a smidgen). I just didn't want to wait out in the cold or go torture myself and sit in a local restaurant and smell all the yummy things I can't devour. So I placed the call to my landlord, got the green light to call a 24-hour locksmith (there's a sea of them in the Yellow Pages! Amazing) and sat and wait. (Just in case anyone is curious, I didn't pick by price-checking, I picked by who was least ghetto-sounding upon "hello." I round up with the Israelis after trying two others, brilliant. They're smart engineers, surely I can trust them with my 100 year-old door).
So now I wait my "20 minutes, no later" and make myself a deliciously-boring salad and am excited to try my brand new dressing that I found that actually works with my freak diet (Annie's Naturals; a hard-to-find version). I begin eating my salad and the more and more I eat it, the more my mouth is weirdly going numb. And then so is the back of my throat. I mildly panic. I know it's not anaphylactic shock but this is surely NOT normal. I then call my trusty allergist's call service- he always calls me within 10 minutes when I need him. Then I call my trusty Nurse B. Bless her heart with a brand new newborn, she picks up on the first ring and calmly listens to me FREAK OUT and suggests I "call 911" if I'm not sure what's going on.
"BUT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT, I CLIMBED IN BY LADDER! A LOCKSMITH IS ON HIS WAY!"
"What???" she asks ever-so-calmly.
"I CAN'T EXPLAIN NOW! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF!" and like timing would have it, my allergist rings in. I hang up on her and try and pick up the phone in a very calm voice. I tell him I may be having an avocado problem, but I am not entirely sure.
Now seconds later, Mr. Israeli Locksmith (followed by my smart roommate who decided to not follow my lead up the ladder but instead wait patiently at a friend's down the street) shows up and I'm not sure what the FUCK is going on with me. The locksmith starts drilling from the outside of the door and I start explaining my symptoms from inside. Then the locksmith decides he needs to come up (by ladder) too, and begins the climb as I am trying very hard to listen to what my doctor is telling me : basically, take two antihistamines and knock myself out and to stop panicking. This is literally going on like a circus around me and my poor roommate, who is now stuck out in the cold. (Did I mention my cat's rhythmic bellowing through all of this?)
The best question my allergist asks me: "If you felt something weird at the first bite, why did you keep eating?" Good question, doc.
"Well, to be honest Dr. D., one out of three avocados makes me feel weird. But never this weird."
"That should tell you something, Meredith. A lot of people like you are sensitive to tropical fruits."
Hmph. OK, one more delicious food acceptable for my diet that I now can't ever eat. Marvelous! So I hung up with him and watched the locksmith shave our door down and do some other locksmithy type craft and then he was on his way. Suddenly, the apartment got so very quiet and it was the best calm I'd felt all day.
Or, is that the two antihistamines?
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