DFW was eh

Yes, Mom, I will write a blog, though life has seemed largely un-comment-able. Frank and I took a roadtrip to Dallas-Fort Worth, to conduct a little reconnaissance. It left us rather cold, despite the heat. This is Dallas:

There was one house that was o-kaaay. Largely because it was different from the rest of them:
Because the others looked like this:
Which may have been fine, except they ALL look like this. And they all have the same brick mail box. It seems to be a thing in Texas: http://www.beautifulbrickmailboxes.com/ And when they didn't have mailboxes in front of the houses, they had mausoleum-like mailboxes at the entrance to the subdivision. Imagine the line of traffic at 5:00pm as everyone is stopping by to pick up their mail. Yes, we did see a couple people doing just that when we were driving by.

You know the old saying, "No shirt, no shoes, no service?" Well, this used car lot had a different spin on things in Fort Worth. The sign read something like, "WE FINANCE - no driver's license, no credit, no social security - NO PROBLEM." Interesting.

Me driving:

We stopped for a night in Little Rock, AR on the way home. I found this sign curious--it was in a bar/restaurant we ate at:

Little Rock was one sleepy town, but they do have a nice looking riverfront:
In other news, Frank has a race in October. Hopefully his car will be in good working order when the time comes. Once that weekend is over, we'll start tearing this apart:

My dad's old motorcycle that sat in a barn for 30 years. Every inch of it seems to be rusty. I can't even imagine what a project this is going to be. It's a 1967 Honda CB160, apparently it was quite a popular bike in its day, and still has quite a cult following. Here's a taste (and, yes, I have forbidden Frank from racing this thing, should it ever get running. Thankfully, he is not interested):

I've started my welding classes. I'll take some pictures of my work soon.

Sig seems to have a rodent ulcer, not cancer, as it is slowly responding to the most recent shot of steroid treatment. He's super annoying lately though--he's VERY talkative and wants to go outside all of the time. I'm thinking we need to move somewhere with a barn so he can just be a barn cat.

I've got a lot of availability in my work schedule right now, so if you know any people in Peoria, recommend they come see me for massage. I'll take good care of them. :)

Burglars Busted!

If you've been concerned about our neighborhood thief, put away your fears, the perpetrators have been caught!  The story even made the cover page of the Local & State section of the Peoria Newspaper (see above).  It was a much larger ring than we had suspected with 36+ break-ins and at least 6 people involved.  You can read the article here:  Peoria Journal Star.  There is also a more detailed story in the East Peoria newspaper, you can read that here: East Peoria Times Courier.  So, we're back to parking in the driveway, which is a good thing because we're picking up my dad's old motorcycle this weekend from my mom's house.  It hasn't been ridden in probably 30 years, so it'll be a big pain the ass or a fun project or maybe a little of both.  

Sig (my orange tabby cat) is having some medical problems.  Either a rodent ulcer or cancer, and the vet wants to do a biopsy...this could be a long story, but I'll just say I haven't completely decided on a course of action.  

I'm totally craving Ethiopian Diamond (the number 5 thing I miss about Chicago, I think it is).  Below Sara is modeling the food, from the last time I ate there, 2-3 months ago.  That's the longest it has ever been.  :(  Oh, Diamond, how I miss you so:

Frank and I are planning a reconnaissance trip to Dallas next week.  I'm really excited to be going on a roadtrip!  We found some really good deals on some really nice looking hotels with Priceline and Hotwire down in Dallas (like $42/night including fees and taxes!).  Probably because it's hotter than the gates of hell down there right now, and who would want to go there, right?  But, at least they have pools!  :)

The sound of the rain on the grass

The sound of the rain on the grass.  This is one of my favorite things here in Peoria, a sound I hadn't heard in a very long time.  In Chicago, rain makes the city loud.  Wet roads make for loud cars and there is enough of both in the city that there is a constant whir wherever you are.  But down here, there is not the incessant backdrop of city noise and when it rains I can hear it. 

The other day we woke up to the radio alarm, as per usual, but there was a National Weather Service alert.  Thunderstorm warning!  I'm always somewhat guarded about sensationalistic journalism, even from the weather channel, so a checked the radar.  A huge slash of red was rolling it's way across most of central Illinois.  So I went outside and saw this!  Now, don't be confused, the light color you are looking at is not cloud, that is the light shining through.  The dark gray is the cloud.  It was very beautiful.  The line between the dark cloud and the bright light was wonderfully and ominously distinct and extended from the northwest horizon to the southwest horizon.  I've never seen anything quite like it.

To the west:

To the east, still peaceful (Frank is on his way to school):

The storm was moving in at 40 mph, with wind gusts up to 60mph:

Above, the clouds were churning:

The wall of rain approached:
In other non-meteorological news: 

I've been trying to establish some fitness routine, which has suffered tremendously since the move.  I've started doing a little yoga again, and some walk-runs while listening to This American Life Podcasts, and I even took out a West African Dance video I had bought 2 years ago but never used.  I've been missing West African Dance classes something awful.  You Chicagoans are really lucky to have Idy Ciss teaching in town, and most of you don't even know it.  :)

I've also started working on some mosaics.  When I visited Portland 2 years ago, I discovered how much I loved mosaics and wanted to get into making them.  I had to move to Peoria to actually begin.  I'll post pictures when my first project is complete.  Guesses about what I'm working on?

Aaaaahnd...the news some of you have been waiting for: the unveiling of the new hobby!  I signed up today for some welding classes at the local community college.  Yep.  Welding!  More on this later.  :)

Wild Rides!

I went racing with Frank!  Three times I rode with him in his Mustang.  Very exciting.  Here's a video of him driving the track we were at, to give you an idea: 

Of course, what you can't get from the video is the feeling of your body being pushed around in the bucket seats with the g-forces with the decelerations and turns at the highest possible speeds.  Frank races time trials, which means he is racing against the clock, not for position against other cars.  And, it's not a race to see how fast he can go, or how fast he can accelerate, it's about how fast he can travel around the track.  Since it is a very curvy track, how fast can he drive around the corners is a big part of it, and makes for a very wild ride!  

Frank's mom came on Sunday and took some pictures of me in the car (Thanks, Susan!):

The hood is not actually white.  It's aluminum.  Very lightweight, so good for racing.  Frank is all about dropping weight to be faster.

On my first ride with Frank, we had a flat tire--the eventual diagnosis was some sort of puncture wound.  Unfortunate.  But fortunately, we'd brought his other set of wheels in case it rained and he needed the knobbier tires.  It didn't rain, but it was good we had them!  

After we get off the track and take off our helmets, Frank is always super sweaty and hot looking.  Driving like that with no power steering and a very difficult clutch to push in is quite a workout!  

On his third time out, he cracked a rotor.  The rotor is the metal disc that the caliper clamps onto in order to slow and/or stop the car.  

I felt like I was in an iPhone commercial at this point--looking up and calling the nearest Autozones, Advance Autos, and Napa Auto Parts stores on the way into town.  There was a huge time pressure because Frank is an instructor and had to be back relatively soon to instruct.

Here is Frank quickly installing a shiny brand new rotor:

What these photos do not capture is the attention Frank's Mustang attracts.  Most (all?) of the cars out there look very pretty and expensive and fancy: BMWs, Porches, Corvettes, Lotus' (my personal favorite, based on looks and name alone), pretty new Mustangs, etc.  People spend time polishing them and putting on stickers and whatnot.  Frank's car does not look pretty or expensive or fancy, it looks somewhat homemade.  But it's fast! and inspires in other drivers something along the lines of respect and awe and curiosity.  Frank seems to have a reputation for being a crazy or daring or aggressive driver, but not in a bad way, in a fun way! 

We camped at the racetrack, which I prefer to staying at a m/hotel.  It was basically uneventful aside from some mole (I've decided it was) that was poking around on the edge of the tent.  

The sun setting Saturday night over Autobahn:

Camp fires aren't allowed, but I speculate we could bring a little grill or fire pit and cook on and stay warm with that. 

Last weekend we went to Springfield for a friend of mine's farewell to the United Arab Emirates Party.  She took a teaching job in Al Ayn.  Here's is the cake another friend made for her.  Isn't it spectacular?  A very good map of the area, on a very tasty yellow cake!

We spent the afternoon out on the boat on Lake Springfield.  It felt wonderful to be out on the water, in the sun.  

For the first time, I went to a show at the Riverfront in Peoria.  See the bridge in the background?  It was a performance of Hairbanger's Ball, which I did not know, is local to Chicago and plays at the Cubby Bear or something?  It was fun.  I like the Peoria-size of things.  There is breathing-room.  Everyone is not completely on top of each other, like they are at most every event I'd go to in Chicago. 

There's been a neighborhood thief stealing stuff from people's cars in their driveways.  So, as Frank is in charge of security, he's moved all the cars into the garage.  Amazingly, there's room for one big truck...

...one Mustang, two Echos, two bicycles, a riding lawn mower, and a helluva lot of tools...

...all with the door closed! 

We cleaned the garage yesterday.  Can you tell?

Pot Purity Experiment and other news

There are a few things that I don't like about East Peoria, namely the lack of shoulder and bike friendly roads, but there are redeeming qualities.  Like the pretty bridges that cross the Illinois River/Peoria Lake!  I suspect I'll be taking more photos of them and drawing them too when I find inspiring places to sit.    

Heading home on the War Memorial/Route 150 Bridge from a job interview.  (Yes, that's right, I'm looking for work.)

Home is where...you have two near-matching Toyota ECHOs?!  Yes, apparently it is. Frank's is pictured on the left and was inherited his from his father; it's a 2003.

I visited the Natural Grocery store today in Peoria.  Hmm.  I don't think I'll be frequenting this place...

...cause if you look closely, you will see that a can of beans is $2.49!! Some food items were up to two dollars more than I would expect them to be!  Crazy!

*****

As requested and promised, here are some photos of Ms. Mabel, Frank's 10 year old cat who is still not totally down with the uninvited invasion of my two rascal kitties:

Mabel on the top shelf of her cat tree.

And Mabel in profile.  She was growling in this photo as Sig was circling around my feet when I was taking this.

*****

And now, for the much awaited Pot Purity Experiment!

Frank has two sets of pots and I moved in one.  So the question arose one night, which pot would boil water the fastest?  We decided to do an experiment.

Frank very carefully measured out 1 cup of water per pot, and we used the three large burners on the stove, all on high.  Do you want to guess which order they boiled in and at what times?

The first three pots...and they're off!

At 3m 0sec, this lightweight steel (magnetic) pot (on the front right burner) brought it's water to a boil first:

This stainless steel (non-magnetic) and heavy steel bottom (magnetic) pot (on the back left burner) was quite a distance behind at 4m 30sec:

And the glass pot finished last with 4 m 45sec (front left burner):  

This was the order that Frank had predicted, though they took somewhat longer to boil than he had estimated.

Isn't it interesting how different all their boils look?  Go ahead, look again.  :)

But then we realized that the first pot had an unfair advantage because it had a larger surface area, so we grabbed a different pot of the set.  Shorter this one was, but with an equal surface area.  We brought 1 cup of water to boil, and for this lightweight steel (magnetic) shorter pot, it took it 3m 10sec.  So just a smidge longer (10 sec) than it did for its lightweight steel counterpart.  It also had a very similar looking boil:

Interestingly, after we removed the heat source, the water stopped boiling in the pots in the same order they had reach boil.  The lightweight steel pots lost their boil virtually immediately, but the stainless steel/heavy steel bottom pot held its boil for awhile (we didn't time this part), and the glass pot held the boil for the longest.  The steel and stainless steel pots are conductors of energy whereas the glass is an insulator.  So, if I'm getting this right, the glass pot has the greatest thermal inertia so retains heat the longest. 

Tonight I'm going to try cooking some Red Lentil Dahl from the Sri Lankan cookbook Matt gave me for my birthday awhile back.  I wonder what Frank will think...  :)  I plan on also cooking WHITE rice, which should help it be more Frank-Friendly.  AND, to some extent, halving the spices the recipe calls for.  I'm thinking I may do something with a bag of collard greens as well.  

The Final Countdown!

This is where I am:

This is where I want to be:

Oh, the agony!

But, in the interest of tying up loose ends, I used a gift card a client had given me a year and a half ago to this cute boutique-y store in Winnetka called Randoons.  I used it to purchase this delightful bag:

Oh, and Matt and I ran 6 miles last night.   It was good.  Steamboat, here I come!

An Egg Experiment

The Egg Experiment

(Note to people concerned about the welfare of animals:  They are "cagefree" eggs.  I'm looking for a good source of locally produced eggs.)

Frank and I made a pound cake the other day.  Very dense stuff is pound cake.  However, Frank momentarily forgot this at one point and cut off a big honkin' piece.  Halfway through he realized his mistake: that pound cake is not angel food cake.  No, I said, angel food cake has 14 egg whites (according to Joey though a google search suggests 12 egg whites is common) which makes it very fluffy, whereas poundcake has 4 whole eggs.  Frank, ever frugal-minded, wondered, maybe a little concerned, "how much of the egg are you throwing out when just using the egg whites?"  I thought maybe 50%?  We had to see.  

Above are four separated eggs.  Just under 3 ounces of egg yolk, 5 ounces of egg whites.  When you're throwing out the egg yolks, you're throwing out 3/8ths of the egg.  So, if you're making an angel food cake and using 14 2-ounce eggs, you're throwing out 5.25 eggs by volume per cake.  Now, we didn't weigh the egg whites and egg yolks.  If we have a sensitive enough scale, I think we'll have to do this next time.  How much denser is the egg yolk than the egg white?  And/Or, if you beat egg whites versus beating a full egg, how much less dense is the result?  Are the four eggs in pound cake denser than the 12-14 egg whites in angel food cake?  Certainly they would be once you beat them, right?

Not having cooked with eggs for years now, I'm newly intrigued by the properties of these little guys.

*****

Bodhi kitty cuddling my hip in my sleeping bag

I'm back in Chicago now for a week.  Had a going away "party" with some of my co-workers last night: they are all so sweet and kind and I will miss them.  Sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor in an empty apartment.  No food in the house except some frozen fruit and tator tots.  :)  My cats seemed somewhat stressed out by it all (me being gone for awhile with no furniture in the house, I presume), but after some hardcore cuddling and massaging, they've calmed down a little.  Massage is so great for calming that sympathetic nervous system.  

I guess tator tots are potatoes.  I can have them for breakfast, right?  

Fare Thee Well, my Chicago dears!

Three years ago I returned from a trip to Sri Lanka, moved into a one bedroom apartment in Chicago, and said to the universe, while slicing a papaya and squirting it with key lime juice, "in three years I want my life to be different."  Well, it's three years later and my life is changing.  I'm moving from Chicago to East Peoria in central Illinois!

I've lived in Chicago proper for almost 8 years and it's been wonderful: getting my first "real" job out of college, painting crazy designs on the walls with my first roommate, making friends at massage school while learning to cultivate "unconditional positive regard" for people, saying good-bye to the Army.  

I learned it's kind of fun to have an apartment that faced the Redline train, to feel like a fish in a fishbowl on display to the world, but pausing conversations when the L rambles by does get annoying.  Having a yard in Logan Square is fun for playing bocce ball, grilling tofu, and playing fetch with the dogs, but not fun when someone steals your new brass fire pit because the price of copper just jumped, or you learn that you've not been hearing fireworks but gun shots.  

I learned about raw foods and wheat grass, and then how disgusting it is when you drink 6 oz of the stuff.  I learned that trying to have a community garden is a huge commitment.  I learned how to play the cello, then turned it on its side, added two strings and frets, called it a guitar and have struggled ever since--what an infuriating instrument.  I sought out independent coffee shops, dog-friendly dog parks, vegan restaurants, and outdoor eateries and beer gardens in the summer that are somehow distinctly Chicago.  I re-found martial arts in the way of Aikido after a 10 year hiatus and had a love-at-first-beat experience with West African dancing and drumming.  I got over my fears of biking in the city and swimming in the lake at Oak St and Ohio St beaches.  I finally trained for and started doing triathlons and my first marathon, though I ran it in Rome, not Chicago.  I will miss these things and the people with whom I've done them. 

When I first moved to Chicago, I described the city and the earth as wearing a corset of asphalt and concrete.  This is how I felt when I first moved here, like I couldn't breathe, like I was suffocating under tall buildings and sweaty bodies and an endless expanse of road and sidewalk.  I was frustrated that the only "nature" that existed was what we planned or what scavenged our rubbish:  squirrels eating tossed out pizza crusts, birds eating berries in trees we planted, rats in our dumpsters. 

I finally found a sense of peace and connectivity on the running path, my niche in this city, on the lakefront when the temperatures dropped below freezing.  Yes, we can probably manipulate the earth's temperatures and weather patterns, but so far we don't do it on purpose.  Despite every carefully manicured detail of Chicago's lakefront path, the power of Mother Nature's majestic muscle commands respect and awe when temperatures drop.  When you're outside and alone in a city of 3 million with a foot of snow and ice on the ground burying man's landscaping, when your eye lashes have frozen together and you become numb to the pain in your sinuses, when it takes a hot shower and fluffy socks and an hour and a half for your bones to thaw out, you are humbled.  That's what it takes to feel connected to nature in a city like Chicago.  Though admittedly fun to feel so uniquely adventurous, it seems like a lot of pain for a little spiritual connection.  

I have decades of friendships in Chicago that will never be replaced.  Vegan potlucks, oatmeal w/ yogurt and bananas and cranberries, massage trades and almond butter and banana toast, adopting dogs from and then volunteering at the city pound, eating Thai food on the roof deck after a mile swim in a choppy Lake Michigan, post-run cornmeal pancakes, slide shows after someone returns from a vacation, legendary New Years Eve parties, hearing new bands at various small venues...  I love all of you. 

But life is about making choices, and having experienced an amazing re-connection with someone I knew from high school, I'm choosing the possibility of a life with him.  

Stay tuned, my dears.  :)

My First Spin Class

Which happens to also be my first true experience with fixed gear (oops!).  Oops because I OWN a a fixed gear but haven't really yet ridden it.  Anyone want to buy it off me?  It's nice.  Anyhow, it was a little boring and a little intense, but I also sweated a hell of a lot and walking upstairs to my apartment was a little more noticeable than usual, so I guess it was also good.  

On an entirely different note:

Businesses I'm interested in, in the future:

Green Energy Sources.  My role?  Learning to be a business person and get into that business.  OBVIOUSLY, other smart people would do actual engineering of goods to be provided.  

Honey.  Bee keeping.  This may be a personal thing, if not a full fledged business.  I may see about investing in a box if not this year than the next.  I recall reading that one should order bees in February?  Cause they sell out.  So maybe 2009 is about learning how to do this, and 2010 is actually DOING it.

Life coaching.  Something between 'advice giver' and psychotherapist.'  Someone to help people (YOU! perhaps) recognize and move forward to the life you want to be living.  This is one of those things that, when I first heard about it, I thought, YES!, that sounds like something I'd like to do.  Assisting people with figuring out who they want to be, and inspiring them to do the work to get there.  

Concrete.  Eric suggested it.  Businesses owned by women would get get lots of contracts, so I'll keep it on the list.

Yea, so I'm loving my business classes.  YES, the texts are slightly boring to read but they're SO APPLICABLE that it's exciting.  It's like, OH! I want to write a strategic plan for my life!

 

Change one little thing at a time...I don't buy it

It seems to be an understood rule out there that one shouldn't try to makeover their life in one fell swoop.  Change one particular habit and after that becomes normal, change another.  But I think, go for the gusto.  Mix it up.  Why not?  Come up with a workable plan and implement it.  I started 2 of 3 business classes last Wednesday, joined the YMCA on Friday (and swam Friday, swam Sunday, Ran/did weights Monday, in a bit I'll leave to swim), and started Weight Watchers on Saturday (and I'm doing a *great* job of writing down everything I'm eating and preparing nutritious meals ahead of time--go me!) and now it's the following Tuesday and I feel awesome.  And a, "yes, *finally*, I'm moving in a direction I want to go."  I suppose it could happen that I fall on my face, but I don't anticipate such a future.  Yay!  I love getting unstuck!

Unstuck, Unstuck, Unstuck at last!

Seriously though, life is good.  Let me count the ways:

1) I started two of the three business classes I'm taking this semester.  And get this--I actually LIKE them and am excited about them.  If it had been a first date, I would definitely expect a second date in the near future (like, say, Monday) and I'd be thinking that there's real potential here for a long and prosperous relationship.  It's rather refreshing to be excited about something that seems practical and potentially useful.   

2)  Yesterday I joined the YMCA and went swimming.  Yes, swimming!  For the first time since Lake Michigan got too cold to swim in.  Today I will go and investigate the weight room and if lap swim is open, swim again.  It's also warm and sunny out though so...I may head out for a run instead.  Batavia triathlon is 142 days away!

3)  I bought a new faux leather purple bag that is AWESOME.  You know, I always think blue is my favorite color, but there's something about purple.  Purple can convey so much more *attitude* than blue ever seems to be able to pull off.

4)  I learned how to strum on the guitar!  Yes, I pushed past that plateau and, though I am far from where I desire to be with this most infuriating but lovely of instruments, I see a new light in this tunnel.  Thank you to all who have assisted me in this journey off this plateau.  Guitar is the first instrument I've played since clarinet that I have arrived at and departed from a plateau.  I'm growing!  Also, exciting news about guitar:  my guitar class has been asked to accompany the fiddle class at graduation!  For whatever reason, I find this awesome, like I'm/we're good enough to be useful. 

5)  I've decided that tomorrow I'm going to join Weight Watchers.  Seriously.  I mean, I'm serious about my New Years Resolutions.  (Be it resolved that I get HOT in 2009 is basically it.)  There's a meeting at 8:15 AM 3/4 of a mile from my house on Saturday mornings.  This seems like an appointment I can keep.

Now, I just need to straighten up my apartment, set up my bike trainer, and hit the books!  :)

Jedi Mind Tricks

And the Art of Getting Out the Door to Run. The real story.

1) Bury deep the thoughts and feelings of how running sucks. (Once you start down the dark path...)

2) Plan to run early in the morning the night before. Upon waking, tend to the minimum of personal self care tasks, get dressed, and get out the door as soon as possible. Avoid any thought of what will happen when you cross the threshold. Make getting out the door AS SOON AS POSSIBLE your primary objective, this avoids giving the mind the opportunity to procrastinate.

3) Think about what you will eat when you're done running and how good that food will feel in your mouth, nourishing your cells.

4) Think about all the HOT bodies you'll see on the path. Think about being/becoming one of those HOT bodies someone else will see on the path. :)

5) Savor and enjoy the challenge and discipline of running long or running fast. Indulge the competitor inside of you, the seeker of adventure inside of you. Know that if you don't run this time when you said you would, it'll be that much more difficult to run next time. (This is karma!)

6) To follow up on #2, have a procedure in mind. As in:

Have running clothes readily available... Toilet. Brush teeth. Neti pot if necessary. Eat 2-4 dates. Grab gel shot. Drink water. Out the door.

7) Think about what cool place you're going to go run next. Barcelona? The Carribbean? The Great Wall? Think about other people being jealous and in awe of your exploits. (This is a desperate measure, I admit, but sometimes necessary.)

8) Remember that there will be moments where running is bliss. You have to run the sucky runs to get to the blissful ones. They do exist and they are the best of times.

9) Remember when you're done, you will be happier, calmer, and feel more at-one with the universe.

10) And the ultimate, fail-safe plan: make plans to meet a (reliable) running buddy you like to gossip with and have a ball! :)

a new book:an autobiography of a massage therapist?

So my friend J had been telling me about a book he was reading about writing being a physical activity. We often think of it as being a mental thing, but really it is a physical thing. And like you should go out for your run even when you're not quite feeling like it, you should write when you're not quite feeling like it. Something about creating the physical habit of it. Perhaps the motor nerve memories of it. I'm not sure I understand, but... It's interesting. Because I have no Zen/Zone experience with writing. Whereas with TALKING. Goodness. I can talk for ever when I'm talking about something interesting to me. And I think sometimes if I could take my talking and edit it down, take out all my redundancies and misspeaks...I could really have something there worth listening too.

Maybe I need a recorder (oh, wait!! I've had that idea before and I do, in fact, have such a device) but then I may also need a semi-pretend audience... Hmm. My A.P. Bio teacher in high school always encouraged us to teach the Krebs cycle to our dogs. Maybe I'll begin discussing my meandering musings with my kittens.

Massage therapists have a unique perspective on people. And are uniquely credentialed because we, or at least I, spend a great deal of time in reflection. Contemplation. Or meditation. Meditation on particular people, their bodies, their minds, the interaction of the two. Teasing out, in my own mind, how do I best interact with this person to assist them in attaining their highest state of wellness. What do they need from me? Who do they need me to be?

Maybe I'll write more later.

Oh, but wait,

In a nutshell: an autobiography of a massage therapist. co-authored by two massage therapists. it's not about me on a soapbox about myself, but a dialog on or about the perspective of the human experience by (two) massage therapists. we have unique roles in peoples' lives. sometimes the first try against pain, sometimes a last resort. sometimes we see people in an intensely personal way, behind the mask they wear for their loved ones. we bridge gaps. between medical models and energy work. between the physical and the mental/spiritual/emotional. We work with tissue, but feel the heat of people, the energy of people. Sometimes people are open emotionally, sometimes they are draining to the therapist, sometimes there is a wall around someone. Intangible, yet distinctive. We speculate on the health or lack thereof of our culture at large as we witness individuals and answer peoples' questions about how they are living their lives. We are not experts in diet or spirituality or psychotherapy or medicine, yet all of these things influence the health of a person's body-mind and we assist people on their mind-body-spirit journeys of healing and self-awareness and self-development and so we understand or speculate on all these things, to varying degrees. We contemplate life and death and healing and bear witness to people's suffering and sometimes their release from suffering. What we have to offer, as potential authors, is an intimate and often ignored perspective on the body-mind organism. Our intended audience? Not other massage therapists. But average everyday people. Those people who say, oh, you're a massage therapist? That's so cool. But they don't know what it really means to be a massage therapist. There is an intrigue to people who touch people for a living, who relax people, ease their pain. Who can say, no the pain is not in your head, you have trigger points, stagnation in your tissue. That stress or anger or whatever strong emotion you experience, yes, I can feel that in your body. Yes, you are all one. We are all one.

Some specifics to possibly explore further:

-Unconditional positive regard. Three words that, upon reflection, changed my life forever. How massage school changes you. Evolves you.

-Why do people seek out massage? What need in our society/culture does massage therapy serve?

-What we learn from our clients? Those people who swear by massage and glow with health into their 60s and 70s and 80s. What else do they swear by? What are their secrets? I hear a lot of them.

-Why do I love my job? I'll answer because it's always so present to me. Because rare is the day I don't feel better after working than before. What I take from my clients is what I give them. Because I benefit from setting my ego-identity aside and focusing all my attention on the interaction between my body and theirs, where my intention is to create space for whatever healing that may occur for them, may occur.

(And Jenny is licking in between my toes...this is a little weird. Jenny is a dog.)

-And what is the mind-body-spirit relationship that we witness. How does one nurture oneself? Care for oneself? Why is this important?

---I used to think, when I was justifying the ethics of becoming a massage therapist, that if I can ease someone's pain or emotional suffering or burden, they will be more apt to be kinder to their children/spouse/anyone they interact with. And though this occurs one incident at a time, this may be the way to peace in the world. One little moment and incident at a time. The difference between eating consciously and liposuction.

---I think, perhaps, that as we become more aware of the true nature of our own existence, as we develop more our spiritual awareness, as we...explore our mind-body connection ...through being touched. When we are touched, we become more aware of ourselves. Both in the ego-sense, the boundary of, this is my skin, this is where I exist, and there the rest of the world exists. This is perhaps the first level or layer of awareness. But as we investigate and explore this further, we come to understand (perhaps?) that we aren't, in fact, defined by the border of our skin. The electromagnetic radiation of bodies, the almost annoying interplay between our subconscious minds and muscular tension, the realization that the food and air we consume influence the state of affairs of our minds and bodies, that sleep and exercise influence our mind-body health... All this may suggest that we aren't lumps of clay built by god. But that we grow from god, that we are god. That we are all one. That we all, collectively, are on a journey. You can put God in or take God out, if the word God doesn't work for you, the equation reads the same. (Btw, it's midnight madness at my house. The kittens are on a rampage.) I speculate that certain truths become evident, that some behaviors will become more natural, that one will naturally seek out a higher (not standard or quality..I see why people use the term) vibration. The ego always struggles to maintain its existence, its prevalence. Question: how does the ego exist in a kitten?

Okay, time to sleep.

It's almost mar-ra-thon time! :)

Marathon training season is around the corner!!!!! Yay! I'm so excited.

Just the other day I said to a client, a multi-marathoning client, that a first marathon seems to elicit one of two responses in people: "Ugh. One and done. Checked that off the list. Thank God that's over" orrrrr.....it's the beginning of a whole new obsession. I think I may fall into the latter category.

I was just reading about post-marathon recovery. Think I'm getting ahead of myself? What's that? Ahead of myself.....naw. Could. not. possibly. be. Not me. :)

Anyhow, if I were to follow the marathon training program, it would start next week. Will I? Eh. I think I'll try to do the three mid-week runs. Or, at the very least, do two of them. I might keep and eye on a couple of training plans and just make sure I'm on top of my game. I think I'll do longer weekend runs than what the training plans call for (there is that Half Iron looming in the near-er future). I think I've been a little lax with the frequency of my training, if not the distance, which is fine. I've been thinking about other things, but I'm ready to nail it down again.

Yay!

WAD tonight totally kicked my ass. I love it. But my feet have forgotten how to move fast in the last 4 months of non-dancing and this is terribly frustrating. It's like my mind knows how they should move but they just aren't listening. I think I need to get to an Ashtanga class and remember my muladhara bandha, that should help.

And. and...

I hate cancer. Will it not leave my family alone. And I'd just been thinking about pain, the chronic pain that people have and how it is so spiritually challenging. And cancer. Chemotherapy. All that jazz. It's so trying.

And I'm thinking about writing a diet/self-love book. I wonder if I could fill up a whole book with the things I think about on the subject. And if anyone would want to publish such a book. And...the really frustrating thing is that I just know I'm going to see the book I want to write on the New Books bookself at Border's in a month. This often happens. (Wait a sec, I could just spew all my ideas here..........) Hmm.

An Unexpected Day

I have realized in the last week that I--sometimes perversely--enjoy days that do not happen as I expect. It started on Tuesday when a good friend and I went to look for my kittens at a local stray cat no-kill shelter. Playing and hanging out with various cats in the shelter, not finding my cats, but enjoying the ones I was meeting, I forgot to remember time, and I missed my dance class. So we kept playing with the kitties. And I felt especially drawn to the FIV+ cats, tough little stocky street-wise tom cats that most of them are. Scarred and roughed up but now surprisingly affectionate and unassuming and unpretentious, these guys resonated with a part of me that made me curious. And so we went for tacos and we got to talking.

Two things. Why am I drawn to hard luck cases? And what's with my attraction to people in the 19-22-ish age range? Granted, I have my scruffy-self-made-man-with-glasses attraction thing too. And my low-center-of-gravity-muscular-Asian thing. And anyone who's good at something or who talks about the world in a certain way will pique my interest. Mention something about the beauty of bread making and working with yeast and building gluten bonds and my palms start to sweat. But, maybe it was that I'm in the middle of listening to Lolita on CD that I have been conscious of the perversion of being into younger people and aware of my own track record. Granted, this age range is legal...but that doesn't mean it is not also an indicator of something I might wish to be conscious of that has been haunting me unawares.

Sara asked, what was going on in my life when I was nineteen to twenty-two. Heh. Those were the Dark Ages of my life. The pit of my despair. Years of many dark nights of the soul. The Black Hole of my existence. Could it be? Could it be that the whole thing of my dad dying did not have the greatest gravitational pull? Could it be that it was this time of my life? Could it be in the memories of this time? What is the story I tell myself, how do I remember it? It is not a time I like to think about, talk about, admit to having participated in. I carry the scar that, to me, marks the end of this time, an accidental tattoo that reminds me I am worth it, but what came before? What is the memory that lurks behind my conscious awareness? What power does this hold on me. What is unresolved. And what do I do about it. Constriction in my sternum, my ribs don't want to lift, can I still breathe?

And if I look into me, into my history with my now 30 year old eyes, what do I do with what I see?

It was hard at first, my memory kept dodging my conscious mind. I jotted some things down to help my mind focus on what it was supposed to be thinking about. What had happened in that time? What is it I don't like to think about? I've spent so much time not remembering, I've probably erased some things completely from my neural pathways. But what really happened?

I pulled out old journals from that time and started reading. Investigating my old self through the processes I'd laid out on paper, I was aware it was me, but also aware of the time that has passed, the reincarnations I've had. And I read the journal before the Dark Ages began, and a strange thought materialized. I was the meanest person in my life. If I had a conversation with myself about myself and how I treated myself, I would tell myself to break up me. Dump her. She is toxic. Poison. Bad for you. Mean. Really mean. Hard on myself? People have been saying this lately, now I'm starting to get it. I think I thought it had started in the Dark Ages, but it didn't. It maybe has always been there, in me. I don't think I treat other people with this meanness, I don't judge others the way I judge myself. I'm not harsh or condescending with other people the way I am to myself. I thought this way of being, this harsh controlling strict voice in my head had started in the Dark Ages, was a carry-over of something that had once served a purpose, to, in a sense, pull myself out of that pit. I thought the rigidity with which I spoke to myself was good. I thought control and discipline were attributes. I thought...I thought...I remembered things differently. I was mean and rigid and controlling and demanding before the Black Hole pulled me in. Maybe it was, in fact, the unforgiving nature of that voice that pushed me into that Hole.

Of course, I can also be very loving and good and encouraging of myself. I'm not all meanness. No, that would be silly. No Dom is always mean, there has to be some good to keep the relationship going. But when I was mean, I could be really mean.

And so I woke up Thursday morning thinking about this. And I wondered if today was going to be the day that I died. This is not uncommon. I probably wonder a handful of mornings every month if that'll be the day that I die. Someday it'll be that day, I'd like to be little prepared for it. They say this isn't uncommon when someone significant in your life has died and your own mortality becomes especially present to you, but I don't remember a time not having these thoughts. And Thursday morning, I also had the thought that I was going to be in a bicycle accident--I was planning on biking to work. Hmm. Maybe I should drive. And then I had the thought that I was going to be in a car accident. Hmm. Better a car accident than bicycle accident, I figured. But, like I said, these thoughts are not terribly uncommon. So I checked the weather. 49 degrees. Cloudy. Eh. That's pretty chilly. Premonitions of bicycle accidents combined with chilly bicycle temps was enough to get me in my car.

I had to wait, behind a long line of cars near my house, through 3 light changes before crossing the intersection. Then the crosswalks were being repainted and the road was half-covered with orange cones. Then there was the usual construction on Ridge...but there was a cement truck blocking our path. So I turned off onto a side street to go around it...and waited for drivers to decide they could turn right afterall...but not before seeing the traffic start moving again on Ridge. Oh, I should have stayed there! And then two times the light changed before being able to get back onto Ridge. I hate driving. I hate commuting. I hate driving long distances like to my mom's house or Iowa. I'll enjoy driving to Utah when I eventually will again. Or if I go camping this summer, I'll enjoy that. But I hate running errands in a car, the tedium of it bores and upsets me. And driving to work has been especially bad lately with all the construction everywhere in the city because of all the potholes from this last winter's dramatic temperature shifts and whatever else they're doing.

And so by the time I got up to Wilmette I was running late and irritated and distracted by the junk my head. And then I was aware that I was moving forward but the car in front of me was not. Slam on the brakes. Steer to the right. I'm gonna hit him. Go LIMP!

Okay, so this is the story. In massage school, one of my teachers told a story of when 4 of her friends were in a car accident. It was something crazy like they were out west and lost control of the vehicle and they were veering off to hit a wall of rock. At a moment before impact, someone in the car shouted, "Go limp!" And everyone did. And no one had any injuries. Because if you're relaxed, your body is basically just a sac of sacs of water or juice. If your tissue isn't tense and hard, you move with fluidity. Like a water balloon will bounce, unless it is too taught and hard, then it'll break. This is why people who fall asleep at the wheel or who are intoxicated have fewer injuries than many accident victims that are awake and coherent. In the last few weeks, I've had the increasing sense that I was going to be in an accident and I've been practicing "going limp." I've been having the thought that I was going to be rear-ended, I didn't think that I was going to be rear-ending anyone.

But I did. And he bumped into the vehicle in front of him.

But here's the interesting thing. In the moment I realized I was going to hit him and there was nothing I could do about it, in the moment I was thinking go limp and watching my arms float away from me in the air of their own accord at the moment of impact, I forgave myself. And then I sat. And watched the rearview mirror to see if the guy behind me would hit me. He didn't. I think he served to the right, or maybe he stopped in time.

And the world reorganized around me.

The guy whose vehicle I hit got out, asked if I was okay. I tried to open the door; it didn't open. I rolled down the window. Yes, I'm okay. Are you? Yes. He went up to check on the other driver. He made a phone call. I sat, feeling shaken up, not quite ready to stand or walk or talk. I sat. I breathed. I had a thought about making a phone call, but didn't know who I would call. As more thoughts came to me, I found my driver's license and insurance card and climbed out my window as if I were climbing out of a race car. That was fun. I checked on the woman in the front car, she was okay. I called work. I wasn't going to make it in, I'd call to update her on the situation. Should we call 911 or 311? I don't know, I said, I feel pretty shaken up. I called my insurance company. The police officer arrived. We made small talk on the side of the street for an hour or so while the police office did the paperwork in his car. I felt calm. At peace. At rest. I accepted absolutely whatever consequences there were. I didn't offer any resistance to any criticism. And yet, there wasn't any. I apologized to them. These things happen seemed be the nonchalant reception. Report written, citation issued, the other driver's left the scene. I thanked the police officer for being so nice, "Well, it's not like you woke up this morning and decided to go on a rampage. That's why we call them accidents."

No, I didn't.

But so far, this accident seems to be the most therapeutic incident of my life, this day that didn't go according to plan at all. Writing this now, Saturday night, I've yet to feel a single thought impulse of the accusing, berating, abusive, negative self-talk that too frequently has echoed around my head. I forgave myself in a moment. Without forethought, it happened spontaneously. Which is how anything actually happens. In a moment.

Forgiveness. I'm not sure I understand it. What is that? What is forgiveness. Is that a surrender? A giving up? A giving up of control? Is it a loving? Is it an acceptance? Something unconditional? It is something you can feel viscerally, is it not? An opening in your heart, a light shining from your space behind your sternum? An ease of inhalation. A calming exhalation? A sense of peace and almost happy death? What is forgiveness?

Other things became clearer. I thought I had struggled all those years. But what is struggle. I thought I had failed. But what if I didn't? What if all those years, those years formerly known as the Black Hole, the Dark Ages, what if they were actually me being a huge success? I have only seen myself live those years, those circumstances one time, that time that I did live them. Maybe I actually did a really awesome job of living that life, that lifetime? I survived. I didn't even get addicted to drugs or kill myself or anyone else. I graduated from school. I understand...I understand a hell of a lot more about life and living and empathy and people struggling with minds that don't behave the way they want them to...then I probably would have if those years had not happened as they did. And what if these years were actually my greatest success? What if those obstacles were a biggest challenge? What if what I had thought of as failings weren't failings at all but obstacles to overcome and learn from?

Somehow, in a way I would not have thought possible, I forgave myself both for an accident and a time in my life that used to be my greatest burden, both of which may not actually require a forgiveness, and yet it is there. I've reframed this 19-22 time of my life. It's actually my time of greatest challenge and therefore greatest success, like the best massages are the ones you need the most (or that's what I say).

Another thing. I've been realizing how powerful language is. To be told I'm "at fault" versus being told, "it's your fault" is a very very different thing. And this thinking about language, I realize I have been overusing "need" and underusing "want." In life, in a life, there is only really one thing to do. Or, we can say two. To be born, to come into existence. And to die, and detach from the ego. Everything else is something you want. It may feel like a need, because you need to do it to get something else, but if you honor it as a want, the power rests with you. It comes forth internally, the pressure you feel is to achieve or acquire what you seek. It is not what someone else, some external force is putting you.

You may feel that you need to clean your house. But you don't. You want to live in clean house. Or you may not want to appear a slob to your friends. Or whatever your reason actually is, but it's not something you need at all. Now, to achieve the clean house, maybe should clean the house or get someone else to clean the house. But to say you need to clean your house puts you into the position of being a victim. "I'm sorry, I can't go out tonight, I need to clean my house." No, you don't. You're choosing to clean your house because you want that or wanting that result more than you want to go out. It's more powerful to recognize this.

_____________________________________________

Oh, yea, and Eric and I ran 10 miles today. I hadn't even decided I was going to run today when I woke up. But Eric came over and we went for a run. And when we ran 3 and I thought we'd be turning around...Eric steered us further down the path. How far do you want to run? I don't know. So we kept running. Just passed the totem pole is 4 miles (so would be 8). Okay. Hey, they opened up the bike path, wanna check it out. Eric thought it looked cheap and that it wouldn't last more than a few years. Big improvement from before though, for at least as long as it lasts. All the crabapple blossoms were pretty. Looked pretty. Smelled pretty. Almost at Belmont Ave. Should we turn around. Naw, we're passed the 4.5 point. Let's keep going to make it 5 and an even 10. This still tickles me. I love that I can, without any prior planning, other than making sure I had some toast beforehand, run 10 miles.

And looking at my thoughts. Reconsidering, again, this Half Ironman thing. I don't want to do it if it is more of me beating up on me. Me stifling me. Me punishing myself not for being bigger, better, more. For not being more perfect in some undefined and unimportant way.

Eric and I talked about this over cornmeal pancakes and tempeh. I thought about how I felt on the run. The thing is, I enjoy it. I love it. Sometimes running makes me cry. I like running long because...it's purifying. Short runs are for maintenance, because your body can't always take a long run, and because there are other things in life other than running. But anywhere up around 10 miles now feels really good. During the run, well, if I thought about it, in a way I'd prefer to be laying down at any given moment. :) But there is also a sense of...appreciating the momentum of moving forward. Stopping becomes difficult because I become used to the sensation of moving forward, sort of like how it feels when you're walking on a moving pedway and you reach the end and you sort of lurch forward if you don't pause in your walking for a moment before departing.

So, maybe we'll do the Half Iron. I'll do what I like to do, which happens to be biking and running and swimming, and then when it comes time when we have to decide yes or no, we'll/I'll decide. If not a Half Iron, we'll probably do another International. I like the International distance Tri.

Okay, it's 3 am now on Sunday. Time for bed. :)

Happy Mother's Day!