Taking Stock

Well, well, well. A whole month of non-posting. You know, I am making a concerted effort to notice my readers less, and I believe in blogging without obligation, but I do wish there was a way I could have posted in the month of December. It was manic, maybe more than I really wanted it to be. For instance, I got my latest Netflix movie on December second and it went back in the mail TODAY because I watched it LAST NIGHT! When my commitment to getting my money's worth on Netflix wavers, you know it's jumpin up in here. (In passing, I don't know that I really understand all the hype around The Maltese Falcon, but, having seen it, so many cultural references have become clear to me).

But December was a fantastic month. There was egg nog. There was a massive baking spree, including peppermint bark, cashew toffee, pumpkin bread, banana cherry chocolate chip bread, and fruitcake cookies. My pseudo-help at the theatre somehow turned the corner into real help very swiftly, which I enjoyed down to my marrow. There was a grand total of 73 Christmas cards to be sent. There was the searching for and giving of gifts. There was a trip home, with the best seats at the Nutcracker that I've ever had, a brand new haircut, and quality time with the fam. There was a wild day of gift opening, Christmas movie watching, and EATING. And yet, even for all that, I wish there could be more. I wish I could watch The Grinch again. I wish I could dance to Manneheim Steamroller one more time. And oh, I wish that ballet had gone on forever.

But tonight, my friends, tonight is New Year's Eve. The time of looking forward, not only looking back. Oh, 2009, I really liked you a lot. And here is the biggest gift I think you've given me: I think I'm starting to learn how to be with people. How to be social, how to be friendly, how to make eye contact, how to make phone calls to strangers. Maybe for some people this is small, but then I say, you guys must not be introverted. Cause this is tough stuff for us. Respect it! Also, gratitude. I think I have grown in gratitude this year, in recognizing the beauty around me, and the absolutely enviable richness of my life. This leads to contentment. And let me tell you folks, that's a fine way to live.

But 2010, I've got big plans for you! You do not even know! You are an important number, the end of a decade. So, big ideas.

I don't really believe in New Year's Resolutions, because I feel like those mostly lead to disappointment and heartbreak. I believe in guiding directions. In intentional living. So, with that in mind, here are two intentional directions for 2010:

1. Eating organic food. I can afford to do it. I know why it's important. So what's stopping me. From now on, nothing. Although this could get dicey. Sometimes, the difference in price between conventionally grown and organic is ridonkulous. What kind of discrepancy is enough to justify one over the other? I don't know, and I don't want to be rigid about this. The point is just that, by the end of the year, I want to be buying more organic foods than I do right now.
2. Honesty. This is kind of big for me. I feel like I have too much of a tendency to try my best, without even thinking about it, to tell people what I think they want to hear. I worry so much about how people perceive me, whether I look smart enough or cool enough or spiritual enough or bohemian enough or artsy enough or professional enough. That's dumb. I am a work in progress, but where I am now is enough for today. I want to be intentional about responding from my truest self (whatever that is), and people can like it or not.

Okay, that's it. Nothing too fancy. Nothing for me to spend the next 365 days beating myself up about. Just a direction to move towards. I have some little goals too, that live on my white board instead of the blogosphere. Doing yoga twice a week, taking time to write in my journal book things, spending time practicing on a certain Christmas present, posting on the blog. You can extrapolate from that how successful I am at meeting those other goals. But those are pursuits, and they are laid back because you fall off that bandwagon all the time, but if you don't take it too seriously, there's no stress in climbing back on. That's how I like it. Loose and easy.

Time to ring in the New Year with champagne, cheap Chinese food, and possibly some strange and wonderful You Tube videos. That's what we did last year. That makes it a tradition. Hooray! I'll take my constancy where I can get it.

Welcome, 2010. I see good things for us.

Tis the Season

My beyooootiful sister. This was taken a few years ago...

Well, a mere few days after Thanksgiving and Christmas is already floating in the air. I have been making some lists and checking them twice, my favorite list being the one of delectable Christmas goodies I plan to bake. And there have been a few rehearsals of the show I am pseudo "helping" with A Christmas Twist. Think of what would happen if The Christmas Carol and Oliver Twist collided with each other head on and woke up as a brand new play. That's this show. The actors are so talented, the director is visionary, and if you're in the Buffalo area, I call you a fool if you do not find a way to see this show! It is hilarious enough to put even old Scrooge himself in the Christmas spirit.

As you might imagine, one of the things that has been in full force for a few week's now is the Christmas shopping. I try to be pretty careful in who I buy for, as the decision, as much as possible, has nothing to do with who I think is going to be buying gifts for me and feel put out that I have nothing for them. It's just who I think I want to give a gift to. Mostly those near rather than far (the post office at Christmas time has something to do with this, methinks) and handmade or local as much as I can.

But the reason that I love gifts, Christmas or otherwise, has nothing to do with where they come from or when they're given or what they cost. Gifts are meaningful to me because, at their best, they are a sign of the giver's fond reflections on the receiver. Sometimes you know someone well enough that the perfect thing for them jumps off the shelf. But sometimes it's harder, and then you have to sit and think. What do I know about him that would really tip me off? What are her favorite things to do? What kind of things is he interested in? What kind of books does she like, maybe I can discover her new favorite author? The thing that makes presents really beautiful to me is the time spent thinking about the person, and the more you really know them, the better your gift.

I don't really claim to excel at the art of giving gifts, and honestly, some of the people on my list are difficult enough to make me throw up my hands and say, Bah, humbug!" But I still think that the practice of giving gifts, no matter how commercialized and out of control this time of year (shopping stampede injuries and deaths? that honestly makes me feel sick) it is still a beautiful tradition. You know what I'm talking about. Because when you get that thoughtful or unexpected or beautifully handmade gift, you feel known. There are few better things than that.

Also, today is the first Sunday of Advent, the start of the church year and the Christmas season. Maybe you already knew that. If you didn't, I feel sad for the dearth of ecclesiology in your life. I LOVE ADVENT! Happy New Year, everybody!

S.

Court Reporters and Belly Dancers: Clash of the Titans

These are not belly dancers. Nor are they court reporters. They are my friends from Australia, helpfully stepping in in an illustrative capacity.

Today is turning out to be a super wonderful day. I negotiated for an ad space that normally costs $850, offered to one of the organizations I work for at $250, which was a most adrenaline inducing incident, if I may say so. I am a genius at this. Who knew? Also, today I am beginning to contemplate holiday plans that will not start to occur until after Thanksgiving (celebrating Christmas before Thanksgiving is holiday encroachment, and punishable by a night in prison or a hefty fine.) Visions of holiday baking, shopping, and caroling begin to dance in my head. Does anyone else feel, however, an odd sense that it's waaaay too early for Christmas? There's a radio station here in Buffalo that started playing Christmas music right after Halloween, and every time I skim past it and hear Feliz Navidad or some such, I get the strangest feeling, like someone is playing a practical joke. But, nonetheless, I love Christmas and can't wait to start celebrating, except yes I can, I can wait until after Thanksgiving. Okay then. Also, tomorrow is the first day that I will be observing rehearsals at a theatre I work for and it will be the first step of my ascendancy of learning the business of theatre and my road to fame and glory. This is a great day.

So, what I actually wanted to write about is this idea I've been batting back and forth. I take a belly-dancing class every Tuesday night (Dark Tower ladies, we need a reunion!) and there's this court reporting class that ends right about the time we're finishing our stretching and starting to go across the floor. So on any given Tuesday night, there are about five women, all wearing jingly coin belts, belly dancing across a yoga studio as these lovely court reporting ladies file past the window, nervously clutching their stenographers notebooks. Did I mention that before our class there's a bikram yoga class (a kind of yoga which is done in a very warm room) so the windows are completely steamed over. Does this not strike you as a scene ripe with comedic potential?

The trouble is, I took a class in Humor Writing when I was still in college, and it kind of ruined me for being funny in my written work. You know how when you have to explain to someone why a joke is funny, it ceases to be a joke? This was like four weeks of doing that to our own writing. Excruciating. So I have been unable, as of yet, to move forward with my belly-dancing stenographers sketch. But hopefully, someday, by watching enough 30 Rock, I will be able to recover my own intuitive wit, and bring this fantastic scenario to fruition. Stay tuned.

Intentional Play

So, in my short hiatus, I have been trying to think more clearly about what I want this space to be. Not what sort of theme it should have or anything like that, since as we've already established, that's impossible. But what purpose I want it to serve in my life. I think that what I want is for this to be a place of play. I think in the past I've been focused too much on what imaginary other people want from this space, whether they think my thoughts are deep and interesting, whether I talk about dance or Gourmet magazine too often, whether I come off sounding cool and intellectual enough. This is absurdity. I am not a famous blogger, with lots of readers and ads and honorable mention in the New York Times. I don't really think I have that many readers to speak of. So, those of you who have mentioned to me that you read this blog, I love you and I'm so happy you're interested enough in my life to keep coming back here, and I would love for you to keep reading but from now on, I want to be more intentional about pretending that you're not there. By which I mean, I want to free myself from the constraints of "The Watchers," my imaginary people's imaginary opinions about me. Nobody has ever told me that I talk about dance too often. I made that up, a critique that I've been responding to in the way that I go about blogging, that no one ever said to me! And this is my space, and I want to use it for whatever creative action I see fit on a given day.

That being said, I want to start being more intentional about my writing again. It's kind of a long and ridiculous and boringly psychological story, but when I started to be serious about dancing, I felt like writing was something I would have to give up. Like I could only choose one art form or I would be betraying my pursuit of greatness. Well, fortunately I realized that this is silly and I don't want to pursue greatness anyway. But I do think (having been exposed to some really bad writing recently) that I do have some small gift with writing, and I think to just toss it aside is disrespectful, bad stewardship and all that. So, again, I am committing to play, not to post a finished essay every other week, but with intentionality. Intentionality towards those little stories that are happening all around me. Mine and yours.

Okay, that's all for today. Let's play again soon.

The New Thing

So, things have still been zooming around here at about a million miles an hour. Last weekend was full on tango workshop weekend. All tango all the time. And ladies and gents, I have tangoed all that I can, I can't tango no more. At least until Friday. Truth be told, I think I've been taking on more than my solitude-loving soul can handle. So, I haven't really come here today to actually post, sadly enough. More just to check-in and say hi. I haven't really been able to have enough down time to crawl into that mental space where the creative energy lives, where the deep thoughts gather and gel. But I washed some of the dishes today. I figured out why the water wasn't draining out of the washing machine the right way. These are great achievements. These are the great achievements for the past week.

So, I'll leave you with that and one great piece of news: I've been talking to one of my clients, a theatre owner, about doing some more hands-on work with them as part of my job. She is totally supportive of it and wants to get me in there learning lights, sound, and acting as the "outside eye" as they rehearse their productions. I could not be more excited. One more great thing for me to learn. I'd better be careful, though. When I learn videography, I want to become a videographer, when I learn lights, I'll want to become stage crew. Around every new corner there seems to be a possible career change. And to think, when I started college just a few short years ago I thought I had to become a writing major because that was the only thing I could be good at. Pah! Absurdity. Anyway, I am very excited to start this new venture and I thought you all should know. Expect more from me...someday.

S.

Epic Weekend

Remember how I said that I am busy every waking weekend of my life this fall. That theme is continuing. This weekend was so jam-packed that it ended up getting spread across 4 days. Four! Yes, no, I just recounted, it really was four. Here is what was done...

--Friday: Clue party at the Cliftons. I was Miss Peacock and made myself a glorious flapper-esque headdress of feathers. Dan has pictures, so maybe one day you will be able to see me in my regalia. Post-party party was an impromptu dance time, jump around awesomeness, which was food to my soul. Remember that, everyone I've ever lived with, how we would just have these spontaneous parties of dancing, how we could not not have them? Yep, it was like that.

--Saturday: Apple picking. First though, there was a stint at Jericho Road's workshop on cultures, facilitated by Jon Arensen. Aka--listen to crazy, interesting stories about Murle, geese, cows, and being high context for an hour. Then we headed off on the most beautiful drive up to the Orchard. It was a proper fall day of the blustery, low hanging grey clouds, bundle up variety. We picked Northern Spys and Fujis and I brought home 30 pounds of apples, which are going to become the most wonderful confectionous things you ever dreamed of. Then Jer and Eric practiced throwing apples to and at one another, at trees, and for distance throws. Then on the drive home, we stopped for doughnuts at Tim Horton's. Some people drank their coffee because some people think it is something other than bilge water, but some other people know better.

--Sunday: Work stuff. Brunch with the amazing people who organized this film we were screening, including this woman who wrote a book on homeschooling and was so knowledgeable and fascinating about education, sexism, and race issues. I could have listened to her talk for three days straight. Also, sidenote: smothered cornbread. A very good idea. Then a tabling event which yours truly helped to coordinate, and general mayhem before the screening of the movie. Then, the movie "Pray the Devil Back to Hell," which focuses on the Liberian women's peace movement, which helped to bring down the oppressive Charles Taylor regime. Not your typical documentary about war torn African nation. So inspiring, so hopeful. Grassroots peace efforts can work, people! Then, reception, cheese and crackers and such.

--Monday: The pressing of the apples. I will be eternally indebted to Jeff and Thryn for coming up this fall. Ever since we went to Jeff's house to press apples back in college, it is something my soul longs to do every year! The process is gorgeous and the result ruins your life, by which I mean, in olden days, apple cider from a grocery store is something that you feel like you could enjoy. But, after you've tasted home squeezed, you can never go back. I have four large bottles sitting neatly in my freezer, we'll see how long they last, now that I've taken to drinking apple cider like it's water. We'll see...

So that was the weekend of epicness. I'll post again when life is slow and sleepy. Any day now, I'm sure...

S.

Fine Things of Fall

Me and really large pumpkins, photo courtesy of Housemate

O ye blog, how silently hath ye wandered thru the vales...and so on and so forth. Guess it's time to step up the game where the old blog is concerned. My only excuse at the moment is that the days are packed with fine things, like the aforementioned belly-dancing class and the goodly bible study, and don't you worry, soon, so very soon, the winds will howl and the snows will blow and I will have nothing to do except sit under quilts and tippety type away with new blog posts for y'ins. Hasten the day.

And so today, I have no great words of wisdom nor any news. I have been reflecting for some time about the passage of these goodly season. It seems to be a theme of my life ever since I moved to Buffalo, and I hope it continues this way, to try to orient my life around the rhythm of each years' seasons, through seasonal eating and seasonal celebrations and rituals. I think it focuses me every few months on the way that time flies, and the way that NOW is the time to do every good thing. Or every thing that is good in this season. Transitioning to fall this year has been hard, though, as I think many find who live in the northern climes. The spring and summer were so short, and we don't feel quite ready to go back to the long dark and especially the cold of the winter months. It hasn't helped that, after a few unseasonably warm days, the weather seemed to pull the switch and settle us in for long weeks of cold drizzle and gray. I have, in fact, felt much comforted to feel my own struggle echoed by many out there in the blogosphere.

The other thing that has been helping has been to dive into the glories of fall, rather than trying to hold on to everything that I love about summer (including the produce. Notice to the zucchinis in my fridge: you are the last of your kind and you must go!). This summer, too, was so great and so full of what summer should be. Swimming in lakes, bonfires, picnics, sleeping late, hot days, fruit pies, ice cream (oh my god. i have eaten so much ice cream.) But, though it was loosely implemented and conceived in the summer, I am putting my new plan of seasonal goals into full effect in the fall. Basically, when the season starts to change, I brainstorm everything that this season means to me, everything I feel like I MUST do before I run out of time. And then I go about and do those things. So far, it has been great. So now, I share with you, in no particular order, my list for fall, both the complete and the uncomplete:

1. Buy mums and bulbs. Plant bulbs, mums, and those two intrepid trees. (VISTAs were given trees at our earth day service project. I took 5 and so far only 2 are still surviving. They are in the ground. I hope they live till the spring. I also love bulbs. Working in the yard this season actually brought back buried memories of how when we lived in Omaha it was my job to strip all the leaves off last year's cuttings. In spite of my black thumbs, I still love to garden!)

2. Pumpkin patch. Check, as of this weekend. Any of the Omaha crew reading this, I hope you have as many fond memories as I do of Val's Pumpkin patch, the storybook maze, the pirate band, and of course the hayrack ride out to pick you own pumpkins. Well, yesterday me and my housemate made a voyage out to Clarence to check out their pumpkin patch. It was very different, more of a carnival atmosphere than the country, down home vibe of Val's, but there was still a hayrack ride, and a petting zoo, and the most amazing pumpkin cannon that would shoot out a pumpkin so high you literally lost sight of it. And of course the pumpkin olympics, of which we witnessed the pumpkin gut dash and the pumpkin pie eating contest. And lots and lots of pumpkins and mini pumpkins and gourds and indian corn. A good, good day and I am so looking forward to carving my big pumpkin for our...

3. Halloween party. I just finished decorating the house today, although we clearly still lack some fake gravestones and cobwebs for the front yard. And I am still waiting for the perfect costume ideas...any thoughts?

4. Raking Leaves (and jumping in piles of them and raking them up again)
5. Apple picking-and subsequent makings of pies and sauce and butter

That's pretty much all there is for now. Fall seems to be a pretty short season around these parts, but if you have anything that quintessentially speaks of fall to you, do feel free to share!

S.

Pancakes for the Tribe

I don't know about anyone else, but I have been on a cooking spree lately. Anything made with corn, tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, basil, stone fruits, all the gorgeous summer goodness that is passing slowly away as we tilt towards fall and winter. I think all this cooking, freezing, roasting, canning--dare I say it?--nesting is all part of the way I am trying to savor and say farewell to summer. It is passing, winter is coming. It will not stop coming because I refuse to accept it. All right, then.

Thankfully, my faithful subscription to Gourmet magazine has kept me up to my ears in delicious recipes--really ever since I started subscribing. Plum Kuchen, Roasted Tomatoes, Roasted Garlic Tomato sauce, Cherry Buttermilk Cake, Corn and Tomato Pie, Peach Ice Cream, Baked Tomatoes with Hazelnut Breadcrumbs. (there's a lot of tomato stuff, I know. I've been very committed to learning to like them and let me tell you, it's working!)And, most recently, Corn Pancakes.

Sounds kind of weird, huh? This is actually one of my now favorite recipes that I passed up my first time around, but was rescued for me because after I've gleaned all I want from each month's issue, I usually cruise by Gourmet.com to see a feature called "Ruth's Favorite Recipes from the _____ issue." Ruth Reichel is one of my favorite food editors and seems to have impeccable taste, and it's happened more than once that I've tried a recipe I was not too excited about on her recommendation and fallen head over heels. I know, I know checking the website? A favorite food editor? I'm a super-dork for this kind of stuff, but hey, I eat well.

So there I was, on Saturday morning, sun streaming in the window, a hot cup of fresh, French-pressed coffee steaming on the counter, potatoes sizzling in the cast iron skillet and the hot griddle full of these delicious pancakes. I was in foodie heaven, the quiet house, the relaxing concentration of producing good food, the anticipation of the meal to come when BAM! loneliness hit me like a brick between the eyes.

Backstory: I love cooking for other people. Whether I'm dragging people over here for a dinner or baking a cake for bible study or insisting on whipping something up to share when someone invites me over, or at the holidays...don't even get me started. The issue has always been not having enough people to eat the food that I make. Living at home, where I took over cooking for my family at the age of 16, there was only three of us and my mother and sister, who both ate like birds anyway, were usually on some kind of diet, which made making desserts all but impossible. When I went away to college, through bible studies, cooperative dinner making and just plain having more hungry people around, things got much better. And here in Buffalo, I have established a fairly *ahem* positive reputation, so if I ever have any food to get rid of, all I have to do is whistle. So why is it not enough?

By and large, I still eat most of my meals alone, and, don't get me wrong, it is fantastic to cook once and eat for a few days without having to dirty more dishes or make more work (that is the fly in the ointment, those dishes). But there are just some times, some meals, where I know, deep down in my heart, that I want to be sharing this food.

My sister and I often talk about our envy for the family in the movie Dan in Real Life. Coming from a small family where we barely know the extended sides, those fictitious summers by the lake, with brothers, sisters, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins all piled into one big house doing crazy, inventive fun stuff together sounds like paradise. But this desire, I think, has not so much to do with wanting a big family (I'm going to be very happy with my sister's 10 kids). I want a tribe. I want a group of people who are around, in the day to day, in your face, life kind of way. I want people who don't just live in my neighborhood or in my city but in my house! I want people to empty the cookie jar without asking if it's okay. I want people to groan over the injuries of Wipeout with. I want a noisy house, where people run around and yell up the stairs instead of walking up and knocking quietly on doors. I want a huge dining room table, where anyone could invite anyone to join us and we'd all just scrunch together a little more and add a little water to the soup. I want to walk in with the skillet of steaming corn pancakes and go around and give second helpings to anyone that wanted them, right from the skillet to the plate.

Oh well. This is one of those things where there's no reason why it wouldn't work out and there's a million reasons why it wouldn't work out. And I guess I'm just a little more blue than usual because all of my buddies are either out of town or doing med school rotations or visiting relatives or taking more college classes or celebrating their anniversary or driving to Ohio or writing grants or...busy. Really, really busy. Not their fault, but still rough.

So, if you've ever felt like inviting yourself over for dinner, but thought it might be rude, just do it. I would be so, so happy to whip up a quick batch of corn pancakes, just for me and you. Or me and you and everyone we know.

Ordinary Life

I have been thinking a lot about Story Telling, and I have more to say about it, but first I would just like to note one little thing. I feel like, for me at least, it is easy to feel like the things I have to say, or the stories that I have to tell, are not interesting because they don't feel unique. I have this weird tendency to assume that everyone's life is exactly like mine, and so no one would be interested to say. Everyone has read every night before bed for most of their lives. Everyone used to go out to their friend's horse barn in the summer and listen to country music and currycomb the horses. Everyone had a Barbie cake for their 7th birthday and their moms all walked into the house to find the dog up on the table, eating a corner. Everyone had a pirate party for their 18th birthday and went chasing around the woods looking for buried treasure. Everyone has insane allergies in the spring and fall and started getting nosebleeds when they moved to Nebraska because their was so freaking much pollen! (thanks a lot, goldenrod! I'm still a little bitter about this one) Obviously the point is that, contrary to my bizarre assumptions, those things didn't happen to everyone, they happened to me. I may have had a fairly typical life in the broad view (wasn't raised in the circus, didn't go to Hogwart's, never captured by pirates (well, except for at that party))but in the minutia, I think we're all quite extraordinary. And, in the future, I want to honor my little stories. They may be small, but, gosh darn it, they're mine!

OMG

So, apparently my most recent attempt to eke out of few musical recommendations has been rather more on the unsuccessful side than not. Oh well. I'm sure you're just working out exactly which might be the perfect songs to recommend, and then I'll have a flood of helpful suggestions. No worries. Take your time.

While we're waiting for that, there is much to report! I'm in a little bit of a sticky wicket for the fall, at least the possibility of a sticky wicket. I'm doing four different types of dance. Yes, I said it, four. Mondays are tango, Tuesday are belly dancing, Wednesdays are Samba, and, oh yes, Monday and Wednesday I also take the Modern Dance class from hell.

But no, this implies that I don't enjoy the class. I definitely enjoy aspects of it. Let me try to begin at the beginning. I am taking a Beginning Modern Technique class at Buff State college, largely because one of the trifecta of dance types that I want to be good at is contemporary, and modern is the boat I am taking to reach that happy land. I am taking it at the college because I have a jolly old educational stipend from my year as an Americorps, and since I don't really have any notion where my life is headed and feel rather unenthused about any thought of grad school, this seemed as good a place as any to spend the dough. Wait, let me revise that, it sounds a little too aimless. I don't know where I'm headed, really, but dance seems to be a prevailing wind in my life right now, and so dance classes do make sense.

So that's how I got there. As to how it's going...well, the first day we showed up she gave an introductory speech that caused three people, at its conclusion to simply stand up and walk out, never to return. "Do not show up late for my class, if I have to come here on time so do you and there's no reason to be late for a class that starts at 10:00. If you are absent more than three times, you better just drop this class right now. I don't care if you have a court date, that's not excused it counts as one of your three, so use them wisely. If you have never done dance before, this is not the class for you, this is a class for experienced dancers so if you're not experienced you will not be able to keep up, you'll just slow everyone else down. So, if that's you, you better just drop the class right now." (Two things to keep in mind here: sure, I have been dancing forever but I am no modern dancer, and, this class is Beginning Modern Technique I, as in, there is no lower level of the class you can take. There is another section designed for non-experienced dancers, but still...) So the taskmistress of this happy little band does not mince words, she swears freely, she yells frequently and she has no qualms about coming around to adjust you into the right position. The class consists of a strenuous 45 minute stretching time, which is as much about working on the finer points of technique (posture, foot positionings, swings) as it is about warming up. Then about 30 minutes of across the floor work, in which we walk, jump, turn, skip, hop and all manner of combination of those things across the floor until no one can breathe. And then for about the last 15 minutes we learn some pieces of choreography, which we are expected to retain for the next class so that we can add some more.

It is grueling, there is no support from the top, I am being pushed to the absolute limits of my abilities and I can just barely keep my head above water. But, because of all of that, more than in spite of it, I am loving it. I am amazed to be in this class and to be able to do these things that she asks us to do, considering I've had next to no training. Every class I walk away in a stupor of exhaustion and dehydration, but I walk away with a sense of triumph as strong as if I'd just climbed Mt. Everest. I did it. I did everything she asked me. I did everything that the way more experienced dancers can do. I made it through.

Now, not to be too self-aggrandizing, I will let it be known that it's not like I'm doing everything great. When we go across the floor, the finer points of technique are mostly out the window, since we're just going too gosh darn fast to worry about positions, and oh, by the way, the entire time she's shouting at us, "Move! Pick your feet up! Close your mouth!" My leaps are not at all what I wish they were and let's not even talk about the turns. There are no shoes worn in modern dance and all I've ever done has been with shoes on. So my feet will continue to stick on the floor until I build up those calluses, which means I will continue to tear up, cut, and blister my feet until I build up those calluses, but there's no way around it. (Believe me, I've already checked with every dancer I know, there's no way around it.)In short, it's obvious that I've still got a long way to go.

So it's not exactly a walk in the park to say the least. For awhile, I was slightly panicked when I realized that as much as I enjoy taking this class, it isn't fun. I'm not happy and fulfilled when I'm out there with a stitch in my side skipping backwards across a room once every sixteen counts. Eeeek, oh no, now that I'm really doing it, I've discovered that I don't like dancing!!! After working through that episode, what I realized is that I don't like dance classes, which is great. Dance classes are there for building skills. Dance classes are not an art form. You don't build a career out of going to dance classes. So when all is said and done, I can move on from dance classes, back to what I love, which is my dancing. I'll just be able to do it way better (I hope).

So, that's pretty much the story on that. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be hearing much more about this class in the future. It's always such an emotional roller coaster for me, it took me days and days of processing just to get down to what I have written here. But it's a very exciting, challenging new chapter in this meandering journey of mine, and I'm so happy to be able to share it with you.

Oh, and those other classes? Well, they have all come to me for free in exchange for some of the work I am doing for one of my clients. And my great hope is that those won't try to kill me, but help remind me why I love dancing in the first place. Balance you know. It's all about the balance.

Small Favor

Now my little blog buddies, you have to admit that I don't ask very much of you. Granted, you might counted that could be because I can't really seem to post more than once a week and I never give away any free stuff or anything like that. But I think, when you reflect, you get something greater than that here. There is love here. Love for you. That's what I give away every time you come. Here, have some more. *love* You're welcome.

In return for all that lovin', there's something I'd like you to do for me. I'm looking for great music. Specifically, great dancing music. I'm always up for something new, and when my routine gets a little stale, I like to be able to have a little stash of the Fresh to dip into for some inspiration. So if you have a song bopping around in the back of your mind about which you've always thought "Hey, somebody should be dancing to this!", please comment! Just so you know, I've had great luck in the past with songs by Regina Spektor, Adele, Feist, Beyonce (yeah, I do some hip hop. You gotta problem with that?) Glen Hansard et al. Just to get the juices flowing.

Let me know, pals! I can't wait to see (and hear) what gets you off your seat and on your feet!

The Past Three Days

Hey folks!

So, for the past three days, I have been ensconced beyond hope of contact in an intensive training for arts-in-education teaching artists. One of the organizations I'm working for brings artists into classrooms with special attention paid to the way that the arts dovetail with the core curriculum the class is already learning. So I've been spending my time hanging out on the artist side of that equation. In a word: bliss.

First, the content. We learned really cool stuff about classroom management, arts in ed philosophy, and how to plan classroom time for these artists visits. Not to mention our immersive experience by getting to do a unit of study ourselves. We focused on the work of Duayne Hatchett, an artist who spent significant time in Buffalo and who has a retrospective of his work at the Burchfield-Penney Art Center. We were able to do our own works of art building a foundation of basic concepts leading to a visit to the exhibit of his work. It was a remarkable span of work, from early organic, found object sculptures to later sculptures based off the manipulation of geometric shapes, the creation of new tools for creating patterns on painted canvas and crimping metal for making sculptures, and work incorporating more organic elements. We had wonderful discussion surrounding five different pieces of work, asking serious, artsy questions and exploring them together as a group. Intention, inspiration, line, shape, personal context, relationship, we at least made a stop at all the bases. And then, wonder of wonders, who should show up at the gallery but Duayne Hatchett himself! A small man in a battered polo shirt and jeans with a long white ponytail; snappy and humble and way sharper than a man over 80 has any right to be. He answered all of our questions and told us funny stories about some of the pieces that I at least had initially barely noticed. The other thing that Hatchett provided was an understanding of all the work that goes into the mechanics of holding a piece together in a neat, sturdy sort of way. Screwing every piece into a base of plywood at the back, welding frames together to give both visual and actual support. Who knew? (Well, I learned the next day, when back in training I tried my hand at my own sculpture which completely fell apart due to poor construction, but I was clueless at the time).

Second, the people. I was in a room full of about 20 artists from all sorts of disciplines: visual arts, music, theatre, dance, and architecture. I was not there as a teacher or an artist, and so in a way I felt a little out of place. I have no expertise to offer and everything to learn. But, in a way, from the first day when people started drifting into the room, I felt at home. There's something about being with other artists that just feels right. There's an energy...I can't explain it, but I felt it for sure. Add to that the everyone was so generous and gracious with one another. There's a collegiality of common task, of some essential shared experience, of the conviction that what we're all trying to accomplish, bringing kids an experience of a true work of art, is valuable and necessary for their development. Plus they were nice and cool and fun and nice!! And as a result, I had a much easier time slipping into my true self the past three days, which is a big deal for me in my personal development. And I felt, which was probably the most amazing part of all, so, so supported in my own pursuit of my art. We had an extended time to introduce ourselves, so I was able to talk about my journey into being passionate about dance, but not a trained dancer. And it was okay. Nobody looked at me like I had three heads and shouted "You?!?! A dancer?!?! You must be joking!!!" They asked me about my dancing. They shared their own personal journeys in their crafts. They gave me direction, guidance, and encouragement. Nobody told me I was crazy to want to start dancing at the ripe old age of 24. Nobody thought I was crazy. Crazy.

It was also so validating of not only the work I do right now, but of the direction I want to take my life. I felt at home doing these things. With these people. The arts are my home. So no matter what I head towards or where I end up, I always want to be surrounded by arts and artists. I know how to find my way home.

S.

Realization

Sometimes I wonder what this blog is supposed to be. You know, most blogs are not just blogs, they are design blogs or baking blogs or photography blogs or mommy blogs or sustainable living blogs or some type of blog. It has taken me some reflection to remember that I'm not a professional blogger, I don't think I'd want to be even if given the chance, and as far as I'm concerned, those are the only people who need to worry about fitting into being some type of blog. This is just a me blog, and so it shall remain. However, you people probably don't realize how much I have to try to keep this from being a dance blog. Dance may be all I think about, but as we've established, I'm not exactly articulate on the subject, in spite of or perhaps because of the extent of my passion. So basically, for your sakes I do all I can to keep this from being a total crushy, simpering, giggly-girl blog in which all I ever do is make eyes at Dance from across the room and babble on about how everything is great and I love everything and we're sooo MFEO nobody really understands us. (They don't, but that's not the point.)

I promise, I'm not going to do that today. I just had a little epiphany this week that I'd like to share. I think in all my empty-headed gushing about how wonderful tango is, how spiritual and connected one feels when one is dancing it, and other such vague sweet nothings, I pretty much glossed right over the way I got started in it. It was all so...accidental, going because somebody else wanted to try, being befriended by Barbra, the Tango Fairy Godmother, getting great opportunities to learn more of the dance practically thrown at my head. Because it was more or less something I stumbled into, an opportunity I'd have been a fool not to take advantage of, I was just rolling with it, like I'll do this right now because I can, and when the opportunities dry up I'll move on.

But this Monday I was at a practica, and it wasn't even a particularly good time. The guys I danced with were bossing me around as always (relax your shoulders, tighten your frame, keep your feet closer together!) which, helpful as it can be is never terribly fun, it wasn't very well attended and I didn't dance some magical dance with a fly-by-night Don Juan who swept me off my feet (our tango community is very short of those types. more populated by the old and picky). But in the midst of this very ordinary night, it dawned on me: I want to be great at this.

This is why this is a big deal--certain styles of dance seem to be at war with each other in the fight for excellence. It's terribly difficult to master the grounded bounce of swing as well as the floating off the ground style of ballroom, the perfect lines of ballet with the down and dirty aggression of hip-hop. I am certainly no prodigy, but even my partners have commented that, after spending too much time doing tango I don't get down into floor enough for swing and I cross my feet too much. My miniscule experience with ballroom used to make my tango hold too rigid and my swing experience made me move my hips too much. What I'm trying to say here, people, is that it's hard to move back and forth! Really hard!

So when I say that I want to pursue tango, it's a big commitment. No matter how much time I'm able to devote to dancing (and trust me, it's not much) I can't pursue everything. So what I'm saying is, at least for now, I would forgo other options to be able to really learn this dance. It is in fact, one of just a couple that I really, really want to master (as much as that can ever be accomplished). Of course, if I have other opportunities thrown at my head, I'd be open to learning any style of dance. But tango, I would like to tell you, I would pursue even if nobody threw it.

S.

Tales from the Porch

I would just like to make it known to the world that my neighbor children are the cutest children in the entire world. No, don't try to protest. I know you think that you know or perhaps have even produced children more adorable, but...you haven't seen these kids. I don't even like kids. But it has to be said, beyond any murmur of contestation, that these kids are the quintessence of kid-ness.

In the house on our right lives a Chinese family, and they have two girls, one who's maybe 3 years old (and has pigtails!) and one who's maybe a year old. The other day I came out onto our porch to check on health of my fuschia plant, and there, on a porch completely strewn with toys, was the littlest girl and her grandma, who was squatting on some kind of box. As soon as I walk out, the little girl looks up at me, smiles, and starts waving, that little kid wave in which the hand opens and closes on itself like a clam shell. I, of course, smile and wave back. And the grandmother looks at her, looks at me, and beams ecstatically, pointing at her as if to say, "Look, do you see what she's doing? Isn't she the most brilliant child you've ever seen in your life?" I smile and nod, "Yes, she's amazing!"

On the left there are two houses before the end of the block, and I think a large Burmese family resides in each house. They each have a pack of kids who are always traipsing back and forth to each other's houses, pretending to fight with little swords, screaming at each other, riding bikes or roller skates up and down the block, while their mamas and aunties talk on the porch. These kids are much more free (largely because they are older) in roaming around and their wanderings occasionally seem to include our little postage stamp of front yard. But they never come when the door's open or when we're outside the house. You'll just see signs they have been there, like the visitations of little fairy children. One day I found a little strand of plastic beads flung in the yard, another day there was a plastic replica of the Death Star with different Star Wars character stickers all over it. And just the other day there was a fragile-looking pink rose, almost out of sight on the front step, with a few stray petals scattered over the porch.

Today I was working at my desk in front of the open window of my room and I heard little voices coming from very close by. I looked out casually, and didn't see anyone, and went back to work until I heard the voices again. This time I looked out and there were two little boys from next door, one of them had our hose and was yelling to the other to turn the water on (this is conjecture, they don't really speak English to each other, so I never have a clue what they're saying). Then when the water finally came, he took our hose and went, methodically and with precision, around the entire yard and watered our garden. No joke, they could not have done a neater or more careful job if we had hired them to do it. He went carefully around the entire perimeter, watering the mum and my marigold, the squash vines, then back to the flowers before his brother called him back to pay special attention to a weed growing at the edge of the squash plant. All the weeds that have filled in around the flowers, as well as the unruly patch of Queen Anne's Lace that's growing wild back there were all given careful attention. Even the heads of the daisies that hung over the concrete were given their fair share (I don't think they quite understood that only the roots of the plants really need the water). Then they started to give careful attention to watering the fire pit, I think they might actually have been trying to fill it with how much time they spent pouring water into it, and I was going to go down and say hello and probably mention that the fire pit didn't need quite so much water, but by the time I made it to the backyard, they were altogether gone, and the only sign that they had ever been there was that the hose had been left on. Fairy children indeed!

I really wished that I could go out and offer them each a homemade cookie, but I have none on hand at the moment. I suppose that after that every kid in the neighborhood would start coming around for cookies, but I don't know that I would mind. I have always had secret ambitions to grow up to be the lady who always had a fresh hot cookie, a hug and a story for any kid who came to her. Basically, I think I wanted to grow up to be Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle. Have I arrived already? Am I a Grown Up so soon? Small price to pay to be The Cookie Lady for the world's cutest children!

S.

More Pics

Back again briefly, for another swatch of pictures. Lame, I know, but there is not much to say at the moment, I think.
The pics are as follows:
1. I like funny signs
2. Sisters...sisters...
3. Clouds rolling in, Rocky Mountain National Park
4. Alluvial Fan, RMNP
5. Glass Shop, Manitou Springs, CO

Whoops

So, when I spoke of my triumphant return to bloggy land, did I fail to mention that I was currently spending time with friends who were in town and then subsequently leave Buffalo for a week and a half of vacation? No? Not even a little bit. Hmmm...

Well, sorry for getting your hopes up only to dash them again. I am recently returned from many adventures in the West, which kept me from the beloved blog, but were entirely worth it, as they were as rough and wild as the Old West itself. A sampling of our great exploits:

--A leisurely afternoon viewing the house of the Unsinkable Molly Brown and the capital building of Denver with my historically minded sis.
--Spending a few days among the hummingbirds in a cabin on the river
--Horseback riding through the mountains
--White water rafting on the Poudre River (one of the coolest things I have ever done, may have to expand on this in another post)
--A scenic drive up one of the most trecherous, unpaved, hairpin-turny, steep-drop-offy, serpentinest roads we have ever driven, for grand, glorious and oh so worth it views of the Rocky Mountains and the alpine tundra biosphere
--Waffles for breakfast in a castle
--Climbing the rocks in the Garden of the Gods and a quick hike to see Siamese Twins
--A train ride past Douglas Firs, marmots, and the Sangre de Cristo mountains, up to the tippy top of Pike's Peak (upon which America the Beautiful was composed, dontcha know?)
--A side splitting visit to a modest Old West museum that nonetheless provided the backdrop for some very fun photo ops
--a concert of Rogers and Hammerstein's classics (don't get me started!)
--Finally, collapsing in a friend's condo by a mountain lake for some well earned R&R, including a wonderful night of pizza and SYTYCD, a pool with a sauna and a eucalyptus scented steam room (!) and possibly the most hilariously swash-buckling paddleboat ride that was ever embarked on the high seas.

I love lists. I hope you love them too. They are the only way I know of to cover ten days of awesome in a way that doesn't put everyone but the participants to sleep. Perhaps I will post some more pictures soon. But for now I'm back in the Buff and on to more adventures!

S.

Reporting for Duty

Finally, finally! The long month of quasi-quiet is over and the chatter can resume full force. Oh, and do I ever have things to tell you today.

So I am full of joy because not only am I in my new room, but I have pretty much all my furniture and things are basically the way I want them, with the major exception being my workspace, which I think requires a little more furniture for the sake of organization. And maybe a bigger chair. That would be nice. Not necessary, but nice. And I am settling in nicely to my new home and daily discovering more delights. For example, just recently I discovered that the piano bench actually rests on legs that are shaped like a bird's claw clutching a glass ball. Who would expect such a fantastical, Lord of the Ringsy sort of furnishing in a commonplace house such as ours? But this is clearly a place of many secrets.

But, aside from all that, today's topic is the long promised, long awaited one in which I finally fill you in on the job situation! Aren't you so excited? I knew you would be! So I have not gone far from the sheltering nest of Americorps work, but I have made a very significant switch from Americorps VISTA to Americorps ABLE. The most significant differences are that ABLEs get to be more hands on in their work, and they have a lot less paperwork to worry about. Both big bonuses in my view. So I ended up being able to create the project plan for my new job, a circumstance which has come about in the most circuitous way that I won't even tell you the story because there are so many steps and dead ends and yet every step was completely necessary to get where I have ended up. But that is also a great gift to be able to insist, in a way, on what I want to do.

The new job basically has three components: 1.) To bring collaborative, large scale art projects to Grant St., an endeavor which has, as I understand it, already been started, but just needs a little more juice to get finished. Grant St. is really close to my neighborhood, but is also kind of infamous for not being such a good section of town. 2.) Work to connect the Houghton College arts community to the Buffalo arts community, both by bringing Buffalo artists to Houghton for workshops/lectures/exhibits and by bringing Houghton to Buffalo through keeping students informed about the different things happening in Buffalo and trying to arrange internships or jobs in the arts field for Houghton students. And the very best part is part 3.) Freelance work for different arts non-profit groups which could include anything from helping them with a marketing campaign or designing a new brochure or helping them recruit volunteers to helping as a teacher's aid in an arts-in-education classroom. I am very open to working with all kinds of groups, but of course I'm particularly excited about working with dance groups. The great thing about my job description is that it is very flexible and I can adapt it to the opportunities that present themselves and what catches my interest.

I'm a little nervous about the whole enterprise, though, to be perfectly honest. Sometimes I do wonder if I've bitten off more than I can chew, but I feel like that feeling comes from the fact that right now I'm thinking about the job instead of doing it. And besides, I need a challenge. Oh, do I ever. I won't be starting until after the 13th of this month because I leave next week for a little vacation with the fam in the great state of Colorado. I have to say at this point I don't know that it's a well deserved rest since this vacation comes promptly following two weeks of...vacation. And I can't say it's been a terribly productive vacation either. But I think of these two weeks as a time of rest, whereas our time in Colorado promises to be more of a time of adventure. We need all three, I think, work, rest, and play, so I should have all my bases covered.

Hopefully I should be able to check in before I go, but lately the most interesting news behind my new job is the absurd amount of time I've spent watching the first season of House since I finished my last job. Thanks a lot, Netflix! Oh, but then there was that one day I spent exploring caves and wrangling turkeys. Maybe that will be the meat of my next post...

Until then,
S.

Taking Stock

So, here is where we stand: the move is done, although none of the unpacking, decorating, cleaning up, etc. have been accomplished. We have one wedding down and one to go, along with one accompanying visitation of friends down and one to go. But, then again, we have almost two full weeks off of work. And how are we spending them--hmmm...? Well, it must be said, though I have lofty hopes and much to do in terms of encouraging myself in my writing discipline, as well as some other projects I have up my sleeve, not much of that has been going down. There has, however, been a lot of lounging about, idly trolling around the internet, cooking lots of amazing food, and watching lots of House (thank you Netflix! If only your turnaround time was just a little bit faster.) Not the steely eyed discipline I've come to expect from myself (rather wistfully, though, as opposed to an expectation that might actually be fulfilled)but still, let's remember. I'm on vacation. Never mind the fact that two days after I start work I'm...going on vacation. Well, at least I should be extremely well rested by the time I start...

But, in the meantime, here is the thing (of the thing) my own room is a federally declared disaster area of unpacked boxes, but other glories reside in this new humble abode of mine:
--an upstairs AND a downstairs bathroom
--a room of one's own (not to be underestimated, eh Virginia?)
--lots of very international neighbors
--a secret staircase at the back of the house (I like to think of it as being my own personal secret passageway, since it's next to MY room)
--a window that overlooks our wild, tangly yard, waiting to be unearthed (The Secret Garden) and a fine view of the expansive, lush, neatly tended garden next door (which I like to think of as the Witch's garden from Rapunzel, into which I shall sneak after night falls and have to sacrifice my first born child as a penalty (ha, the joke's on you, Witch, I'm not having any children!))as well as a tempting view of the pool in the neighbor's yard beyond that (speaking of sneaking into things after dark...)
--grape arbors belonging to the houses on both sides of us (we live amongst horticulturalists, apparently)
--a Wusthof chef's knife in the kitchen. This is the glory of glories, I do not think I have words to convey to you the esteem and love in my heart for a good chef's knife. And it's a Wusthof!!!
--a very chipper patch of daisies in the back yard, though they seem to be rather infested with aphids, as I discovered when I tried to domesticate some the other day.
--an attic and a basement, which have not yet been explored to discover if they be glorious or terrifying, but there is at least adventure to be had there.
--And finally, the most tempting, beautiful strawberry pie I've ever laid eyes on, resting quietly in the fridge, while I wait with bated breath to see if the fruits of my labor (ha!) will set properly.

I'm sure there are still charms uncounted waiting for my discovery, but I think the above list is not too shabby for a week's adjustment.

Toast to the Queen City

Okay, I know I said that this would be a quiet month (and it has been, yes?) but we have to do at least a little something to commemorate a very important anniversary. June 8 marks the one year anniversary of my arrival in Buffalo, remember? Remember the grueling road trip and my family's one night stay in our Lafayette apartment before I whisked them off to the airport at 6:00 AM the next day? Oh yeah, good times. And, even more importantly, as we all know, the first anniversary is the paper anniversary!! Very special. I will celebrate by giving myself...a printed copy of this blog entry. Or a paper hat! Or a paper crane! Okay, enough of that.

I think it's funny to be commemorating my anniversary in this particular month, as it is once again a time of transition. Last year--new job and new place to live. This year, new job and new place to live. Don't worry Buffalo, I'm not leaving you, just relocating up and over a block. But as always, for me at least, anniversaries are times to reflect and this one is no exception.

Oh Buffalo, Buffalo, you've been so good to me. I remember the most striking thing to me about life when I first moved here is that I felt like I was getting to do everything I had always wanted to do, all at once. Planting a garden, learning to play the guitar, eating ethnic food any time I wanted to, learning to swing dance. It was magical. And, really, I think that that has been characteristic of my life since then. I remember talking to my sister on the phone once and she said that my life sounded "glamourous." Well, besides being one of the highlights of my life thus far (because who doesn't want the kind of life their little sister will envy?) it's actually kind of true. We should label June 2008--June 2009 the year of trying new things or maybe just the year of doing whatever I wanted to do (if you can come up with something catchier, please go ahead. cause that was not catchy). I have so much freedom in my life right now, and I've been able to do so much. Let's not forget the introduction of Argentine tango into my life, lots of choral concerts, the ballet and other dance performances at UB, becoming a yoga devotee and a Real Dancer. If I want to do things now, I do them. And, more than that, I look for things that I want to do rather than just waiting for someone else to come up with an idea. This often backfires on me because a lot of times other people don't really want to do the things I'm doing, but in those cases, I do them by myself.

And that in itself is something. When I moved here, if I didn't have people to do things with, I just didn't do anything. And, oh hell, I'm just going to say it, even though it sounds all sorts of arrogant: I think it's brave of me to go and do things by myself. Seriously, there are a lot of people who go there whole lives without ever being able to do that. And I think it's brave that I can try new things as well. I've met so many people who say "I can't" without even taking the faintest stab at something. But isn't life much more boring when you just stick to what you already know? I think this year has also been the year of becoming brave, which is ironic, since in the midst of becoming brave, circumstances have often conspired to scare the shit out of me. (Remember when we caught that guy watching us through the window? Remember when somebody set that car on fire on our street? Yep. Good times.)Maybe not so much not being afraid of things that are actually threatening, but of becoming not afraid of being alone. More than that, even being able to embrace the aloneness and recognize the ways that it nourishes me.

However, it would not be a fair surmise of this year if I failed to mention how incredibly frustrating and horrible my job was. Obviously, this is an experience that I hope not to repeat. But you know, even though I felt in so many ways that my job wasn't pushing me, I was learning things. I think I feel much more confident of myself as an adult now, if that makes any sense. I've developed an ability to approach people in work situations with an attitude that's more like, "Hey, how are you? I'm here to do X and I know how to do it and I can do it well." This is entirely different than that feeling I used to get when I would first have to approach people, you know the one I'm talking about, where you're around people who are clearly not taking you seriously and you feel about 4 yrs. old and generally just want to throw a tantrum because everyone is being so gosh darn patronizing. I think a large part of growing past that feeling comes from learning that these so-called "adults" are often no more knowledgeable or mature than you, and oftentimes less. I have made presentations to large groups, dealt with unruly high schoolers, spoken my mind in opposition to other points of view at meetings, and along the way I've even learned a few of thems that you'd call marketable skills. Not bad for a year of labor. And, just the thing to give me the confidence to equip me for my new job.

What? New job? What new job? Well, I'd love to tell you all about it, but that will just have to wait for another post...

So thank you Buffalo, for a fine, fine year of growing, stretching, and trying new things. I know we had some harsh words round about March when it looked like the whole winter thing was never going to end, but I think we've both moved on from that, and it must be said, you've grown on me. Let's drink to another year of lovely life in the lovely Queen City...

S.

Taking a Break

Well, as some have noted, I have not been posting as regularly as I should be. Believe it or not, I have set a goal to post here twice a week, and I haven't been doing that. But you have to understand, June be crazy. Three weddings, two housemates moving out, two more moving in, me moving out and changing jobs, friends coming in and out of town. There's not that much spare time for the bloggy. I have some big plans, but let's ease off of our expectations for June. We're just going to extend a little grace. If I can get over here to post, I will, but if not, I promise to be back on a regular schedule in July.

Alrighty then, see you soon!
S.

This is Cool

Not just this page, (I tell my mom that all the time) but the whole project is lots of fun and, dare I say it, accurate. I think I could do this new math.

Other Lives

Today has been an epic day. I had to stack hundreds, perhaps even thousands of brochures into cupboards. As a result, I have two significant paper cuts on my hands. They are so significant, in fact, that I have to call them paper wounds. But that, as I am sure you will be relieved to discover, is not what I want to talk about today.

Blogs are my hobby, or at least one of them. By which I mean, not just writing, but reading blogs. Lots of blogs. I have lots of spare time at work with affords me with unholy amounts of free time to spend in the world of blogging. As such, the collection of blogs I check in on regularly has grown considerably. Blogs of artists, mothers, authors, chefs, photographers, florists, decorators, pastry chefs. Awesome people that I would know absolutely nothing about except for the fact that they are posting their thoughts/pictures/recipes on the world wide web. And it's awesome. Inspiring even.

I think many commentators on some of the phenomena we've seen with the rise of the webnet point out the drawbacks of "online communities." People get a sense of intimacy with people they know in a strictly digital capacity and lose touch with or fail to form real life relationships. Maybe I'm being oblivious, but I really don't see that being a problem for me, probably because I am not extroverted enough to start discussions. I feel like blogs are a lot more like reading people's memoirs for me than making invisible friends. I clearly differentiate the difference between online and actual relationships. I don't have a sense that any of these bloggers are my friends, in fact all of my friends are very much people in my day to day, real live, walking around life. So, I think I have escaped that peril.

But there is another trap I think I may have slipped into that nobody had the foresight to warn me about. Blog envy. Not just envy of another person's online self-expression space (although some of them are freakin' cool) but a kind of envy of the sort of life that is expressed in those words and pictures. After a long stint in front of the computer, it can be tempting to sigh over the fact that I'm not a watercolorist living in Cape Cod, a florist in Manhattan, or a French expat pastry chef with years of restaurant experience under my belt. These people are cool! I want to be cool too.

I understand and try to avoid the dangers of vicarious living, but I think there is one considerable benefit in all this. I think at this stage in my life, I am continually embroiled in the crisis of deciding who I want to be and I think exploring the options of possible future selves could someday resolve that conflict. And this medium could be exceptionally helpful since one is always discovering new kinds of people in the blogging world and, since I'm not wholly sold out to any of the options I actually have before me, maybe my true calling is out there, still waiting to be uncovered. Only a blog away...

Strawberry Cure

Today was a really awful day. Anxious and depressed, partially for no good reason, partially because today I feel fairly certain that my entire future is mere inches away from going down in flames. So I came home and am making a strawberry-raspberry galette. It's for bible study tomorrow, but just making it kind of makes me feel better.

I want to be Real...

photo credit: Debra Trean

I have been thinking quite a bit lately about what it is that I want to do with my life. This is chiefly because my current position is about to end at the end of June and I am trying to work out where it is that I'm going to work next. The issue is, whenever you're making decisions about what it is you want to do, I think especially at this time in one's life, you're also making decisions about who you are and who you want to be. You're not just taking a job (ideally), you're advancing towards some ambiguous thing called a career.

Well, I think what I've realized about who I am and where I want to go in my career is that, more than anything else in the world, I love dancing. I want to be around dance for my entire life. I think it is far too late to consider a career in a professional dance company, but I want to be around dance and dancers and in the dance world, basically forever. I don't know what I want to do in the world, largely because I don't even know all the kinds of things that I could be doing, but that is where I want to be.

The big issue with this is that I feel unqualified. I have been dancing my entire life, but I've only taken a few actual dance classes. At this point in my life I dance at least three times a week, sometimes four if I am assistant teaching a tango class. But it never seems like enough to make up for a lack of on paper qualifications or feedback from knowledgeable peers. Which leaves me constantly wondering: Am I a Real Dancer?

Now don't, for heaven's sake try to pin me down on what exactly a Real Dancer is. I'm sure I have no idea. The closest I could come to describing what I encompass in the term is to say that if I was esteemed and treated as a dancer by other, accomplished dancers, I think I could consider myself a Real Dancer. The trouble is, I don't really know any accomplished dancers. Although the exact definition of "accomplished dancer" is also a little fuzzy. I mean, do I have to get props from Martha Graham before this would be a done deal? Would even that kind of validation be enough?

The root trouble is, I think what I really need is not so much affirmation from Martha Graham so much as some affirmation from myself. But I have always struggled to be internally validated about anything. Even my writing, in which I have earned a freakin' Bachelor's degreee, by the by, but I just don't seem to have enough...I don't know, moxy is a fuzzy enough term, to consider myself a Real Writer either. I don't know where the obsession comes from, to find some mystic guru to descend and tell me which side of the arbitrarily drawn line I fall on, but I guess it all has to do with identity again. What I do is a very large part of who I am. And I am a person who has many interests, but few passions. If I can't achieve some level of proficiency in those passions, why bother with the pursuit?

But that's it--the pursuit! If I pursue writing, if I pursue dancing, doesn't that defacto make me a writer and a dancer? I mean, if a person dances three times a week, I don't think it would make very much sense to say that they're not a dancer, right? I don't know about the warm and fuzzy shelf life of this little epiphany, but for a moment it comforts me a great deal to know that I can be a Real Pursuer. Whether that makes me a writer and a dancer, or a Writer and a Dancer, I don't know, but hopefully it will at least afford me some real peace of mind.

S.

P.S.--But, as an aside, if anyone offered me Martha Graham's phone number, I wouldn't turn it down...

The Black Thumb

photo credit: weeder's digest

Okay, I know we're already deep into May with nary a peep from me and I am failing to live up to my two posts a week in the most miserable fashion, and I owe you a long, thoughtful post that I don't yet even have the inspiration for, let alone time to put together...but tonight will not be the night for that. I have bad news

My ranunculus is dying.

I think it caught something called powdery mildew. It started getting this white powder all over its leaves and then all the leaves turned brown and fell off. It is hard to explain how very sad I am about this. I loved that plant. It was beautiful. And it makes me sad because I feel like so many plants that I've owned since coming to Buffalo have died. Do I have a black thumb? I am starting to be afraid that this is the case...

RIP Ranunclus. I really felt like what we had was magical, if short-lived.

S.

Puzzles

As those of you who know me probably already realize, I have become an avid putter-together-of-jigsaw-puzzles while at work. Our latest is a Ravensburger puzzle, which come from somewhere in Europe and are supposed to be very high quality. Anyway, they have descriptions in different languages on the box and I was intrigued that they had one in "US" English and one in "Great Britain" English. Here they both are. I think comparison between the two offers deep insights into the different cultural values. Observe:

GB: Doing a puzzle is a bit like doing yoga exercises...a very welcome relaxation from your daily routine. It is a labour of love, challenge, and light relief all in one.

USA: Doing puzzles is exciting, with invigorating emotional ups and downs. Piece for piece, as you search, find, and search again, your feeling of achievement grows. One person can work on a puzzle--or a whole group. Why don't you make your next party a puzzle one?

Wait, which is it? Is it relaxing, or exciting and invigorating? I guess it depends on where you're from. Also, I think they’re both a very funny way to describe doing puzzles. I don’t know that I would call the “emotional ups and downs” I’ve experienced “invigorationg.”

April Flew

Guys, I have to say, I feel pretty bad about how the blog has been going this month. I feel like all of a sudden somebody has pushed the fast forward button on this month and all of a sudden...yeah, it's pretty much over. I checked. So, here is my fast forward update of the past month. In April, I:

--traveled to Houston and spent and entire week frolicking through my preview of summer.
--discovered a monastery that raised miniature horses
--tabled in about a zillion school cafeterias, spreading the word about services for youth in crisis.
--added a ranunculus to my collection of non-dying plants (fingers crossed!).
--cleaned a beach for Earth Week.
--got the most kick-ass, sexy haircut I think I've ever had.
--visited Houghton to finally see Into the Woods.
--celebrated twenty-four years of me with whiskey, tapas, and very dear friends
--fought "The Man" (actually it was more like "The Women") and tried so very hard to improve what my job was supposed to be
--fought the most epic battle to seek and win a bridesmaid dress.
--composed awesome, hilarious songs with Eric, Jer, and Alicia
--planted five trees (FIVE! yeah. go Earth!)
--saw the Russian National Ballet Theatre perform The Sleeping Beauty
--eagerly, eagerly! awaited the arrival of Real Spring
--and, stuff. You know, stuff. I don't know where all the time goes, honestly. But it's going, going, gone as far as April is concerned. I hope you feel at least a little bit better acquainted with why I've been so absent this past month. Forgive me! I commit anew to checking in more frequently and keeping you in the loop.

S.