Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Surfing the Sandhills

I have gotten it in my head that I am going to learn to surf. I voiced this out loud to a coworker (in her 20s, from Southern California) and expressed my concern about being able to pop up on the surf board (the pop up is when you go from laying on your stomach to standing on the board). "You can totally do it! It's not hard!" she insisted. And she demonstrated a pop up for me in the hallway of my office in her work clothes.

So California. So 20s, when everything seems possible. And positive. Why was she being nicer to me than I am to myself?

You can totally do it! It's not hard!

So I entered an essay contest to win a week at a surf camp for women:

In a landlocked State my connection to the rhythms of the planet comes from the change in seasons and migration of birds, not the ocean. I hike under a huge sky through tall prairie grass growing on an ancient sea. When hiking in the Sandhills, now grazing land for cattle, I find broken bits of seashell left from sea creatures 15,000 years ago. Grass moves in the wind like water, though the ocean water left is deep beneath the Sandhills in an enormous aquifer under the Plains.

I turned 41 years old this year and I am floundering a bit to stay afloat. It took much less than 15,000 years for my life to change, but as I age and take on more leadership in my career, as my children become adults, as my body and mind resist the notion that they are somehow “old,” I feel a need to reconnect with myself and the Earth. I surf the hills on my walks far from the ocean and long to surf actual waves. I want to connect to the rhythm of the ocean in Las Olas by actively riding the waves rather than simply letting them crash around me.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Censorship

I recently commented about bellydance that I have never had such a stressful hobby. Troupe drama. Studio drama. It just never seems to end. Every time I think that I am at a point where I can relax and just enjoy dancing, something new happens to stress me out and suck out the fun.

Weekend dance workshops usually include a show or hafla at the end of the day. It's a chance to perform for people who enjoy the same hobby. I registered for a workshop and another member of my troupe also registered. We rehearsed a duet to a fun electronic Klezmer song that had both slow and fast.

So, Friday night, the night before the workshop, we found out that the hosts of the workshop found our song offensive and that they had tried to edit the song themselves and that we either had to edit the song or bring a new one. It was 10:30pm when my troupe mate and I discussed what to do. She chose not to go at all. I went but left after the workshop and skipped the dinner and show. I let them know that we were not happy with the censorship of our song. She whispered the offensive line, and I have to say that I don't think the singer actually says that.

There were many, many ways to handle this problem. The chosen path resulted in a lot of anger and was unnecessary. I actually emailed the band to see if I can get the lyrics from them. I am not sure what I will do with the lyrics once I have them, but hopefully I will have calmed down enough to use the opportunity to draft an email about how disappointed I was in how this was handled, and by the way, you are wrong! (Yeah, see, I am not ready to write it yet...)

Monday, January 23, 2012

Time Travel - book review

I was sitting in the teacher's lounge at my alma mater when a nice young kid (20 years old?) sat down next to me and when I looked up at him he gestured at my Kindle.

"Reading anything good?" he asked.

"I'm reading the Stephen King book about the Kennedy assassination," I said.

"Non-fiction, then?" he said good naturedly.

I searched his face for irony and found none. He just didn't know who Stephen King is.

I was already feeling the space/time continuum weight due to the old school/teacher's lounge/novel about time travel/reading a favorite author of my teen aged years. Oof.

11/22/63 is Stephen King's fictional account of the Kennedy assassination. If you could go back in time and stop the assassination, would you? And what would the effect be? I really liked the book. I have always been a Stephen King fan and there were some parts of this that reminded me why. Some of it is not so good, of course, but it was a fun read and raised some interesting ideas. I am a little obsessed with what it would be like to be Lee Harvey Oswald's daughters, for example.

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Thursday, January 19, 2012

7 Degrees

I could not help but notice the lack of coats this morning at the high school. It's been a mild winter, but still, there is no mistaking the temperature this morning. I saw several boys wearing long, baggy basketball shorts (even just past the knees leaves a lot exposed in weather like this). I saw one boy wearing a short sleeved t-shirt and jeans. He was walking along reading a paperback book like it was June. Of course there was also the usual assortment of pajama pants and animal hats (puppies, cats, cows, etc.). One of the boys in basketball shorts and a sweatshirt was at least wearing a stocking cap.

I think for a minute, how did their mothers let them leave like that?! And then, as a mother of teenagers herself, I know exactly how it happened. Sigh. Well, at least they look cool, right?

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

The Pilot's Wife - book review

Sometimes a story of intrigue will grip you and you can't turn the pages fast enough. Sometimes your book club will pick a book that will annoy you and finish with major irritation as you are unable to suspend belief. This is the latter.

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Tuesday, January 10, 2012

What are you reading? - book review

('Cause I want a place to keep track.)

The Art of Fielding was described to me as Franzen-like. It is. I loved the dialogue and characters. A beautiful book about people and baseball.

Swamplandia is about a family living in the Everglades. This definitely went in directions I did not expect. Some adult issues, or I would suggest it for precocious middle school girls.

The Tiger's Wife is about Balkan history, which helps it make more sense to me than it did when I was reading it and didn't know that. I am not usually de-railed by fable and allegory, but this book irritated me with its vagueness. For the record, I am ok with _The Jungle Book_ being The Bible.

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Monday, January 09, 2012

Ageism

Frank and I were driving to school this morning (and incidentally, yay, school is back in session!) and on the radio they announced that it was Jimmy Page's birthday today and that he turned 68.

"68!" Frank exclaimed. "And he's still playing the guitar and touring the world."

"Yep," I said.

"Kind of like Grandma and Poppy who went to Ireland for Christmas. They're in their 60s, too. When you're 68 you can tour the world," he observed.

"That's true," I said.

"Ooh, look, a Porsche!" Frank said, and then he was off talking about motors and wheel bases and stylistic observations about the particular model of Porsche next to us on South Street.

I was left reflecting on my son's rather optomistic outlook about what it means to be 68. There was a lot of commentary a couple of years ago as the Rolling Stones were on tour in their 60s. Rock is aging, but I think it bothers older people more than younger people. My son is compeltely fine with old rock and rollers. In fact, he thinks it's cool.

This weekend I was at a debate tournament with my daughter's school. I have been really struck by how similar everything seems to me. The kids are adorable in their suits and earnest in their willingness to please and their desire to win. Many of the same people are around. Several of my fellow debaters are back as fathers of kids who now debate. My coach, a new teacher and coach when I had him, is now at the top of his game coaching-wise. He is well-respected and has earned it. He's friendly and smart and fair - all qualities that he had as a young teacher which have served him well in his career.

I was talking with a friend from high school when my old coach came by and observed, "Lea looks just like she did in high school." The comment caught me by surprise, but it was a nice compliment. I don't feel like the same person. I am heavier and greyer and more cynical. I think that changes are more obvious to the individual than they are to everyone else. I look in the mirror these days and see my mother's face when she was 41, but when I look at my mother in her 60s, I don't think I see her as she is now; somehow my brain has not allowed that aging to occur yet. And really, it is that trick of the brain, to see someone as they were, that allows us to love Jimmy Page at 68.