Brave New Wednesday: Hi-Ho Silver Edition

Even in the loveliest of long-term relationships, there are moments of doubt, little whispers that hiss through the tiniest cracks in what seems like the strongest foundation. Somehow, they find their way through at the most benign moments. I had one of those on Monday. Scott and I were having dinner, when he said, “Did you think about your hair today?”

I paused, shaken. Dude, it’s like you don’t even know me.

“Um, yes. Of course.”

“So what are you going to do?”

I can’t remember how I responded. There may have been snarling, possibly profanity. I had spent the weekend complaining about my hair. Earlier in the summer, I decided I was going to let it grow long again, under the pretense of one last shot at long hair before I am too old for it. The longest parts are just long enough that the curl has really started to come back, which also means that the unpredictability has started to come back, and how I look when I walk out the door with my hair still wet could potentially be very, very different from how I’ll look an hour or three hours later, often disastrously so. (Many years ago, a co-worker told me he could tell time by the size of my hair. I may not have ever recovered.) I have been rehearsing how I’ll be less uptight about the whole thing this time, but the reality is that the mere fact that I have to think about my hair at all pisses me off. There are so many other ways I want to use my brain.

So, the idea has been to grow it back out before I’m too old, but it also occurred to me today that I could make the same argument about wearing it short – I should enjoy wearing it short and kicky and fun before short becomes matronly. Either way, fuck old. I come from a long line of women who get more attractive as they age, and I have no plans to break that streak.

This is why monks shave their heads. Who the hell can get anything done like this?

It’s such an attachment. Now that the curl is back -at a whopping 3.25 inches- I feel like I have an obligation to it. It is absurd. How did guilt get so wrapped up in this? It is probably something worth exploring before I go for my next haircut, so I can simply enjoy whatever I decide to do.

Again, this is why monks shave their heads.

But wait! This is a Brave New Wednesday post, right? Well, guess what. Something new -and hair related- definitely happened today, and it is taking some bravery to acknowledge. I don’t really want to talk about it, but you can draw your own inferences from this video of my favorite blues performers. And also, fuck old.

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Misbehaving Tuesday: Get Lost Edition

Today was one of the first Misbehaving Tuesdays in a while during which I really, really, wanted to run away from everything, just get completely, thoroughly lost. All sorts of obligations are crouching in wait at the end of the summer, and right now I want none of it. Even though it’s all good stuff -school, teacher training, other educational goodies- today I want to run as far away from it as possible. Just for today.

Unfortunately for me, though, I have now lived here long enough that I can’t get lost. No matter what I do or where I start from, no matter which bendy little farm road I take hoping to end up nowhere, I end up in historic Glyndon. Dammit.

I went for a long drive today, long enough to burn all the gas left in my car, and took some pictures along the way. But first, a birdlet update: I have been informed by Birdmaster Fred that the birdlets are not house finches as we suspected. They are house sparrows. Call them what you like, as far as I am concerned, they are birdlets, and sometimes tweeters. Sadly, one of them died yesterday, but there are still three healthy friends in the nest.

Here they are two days ago.

And here they are today.

So, the drive. I stopped in awe of this giant caterpillar nest. (These always reminder me of Pier Six Pavilion.)

In the vortex that is historic Glyndon, there was a train.

Of course, no Misbehaving Tuesday post would be complete with a picture of shoes.

I had to get out of the car and take a picture of this thing. It was a little creepy, standing under the power lines, listening to them hum and crackle. I could hear them from inside my brain.

Or maybe it was just creepy because it looks like a real version of this.

But the best part of the day was after I got home from the drive, and stepped out for the CSA pickup. I met this guy. Finally, my hairy bee picture!

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Birds and Bees, Redux

There are two pictures I have wanted to get all summer (in addition to a picture taking trip to Centralia, which may wait until Fall): the birdlets on the porch, and a nice picture of a bee.

Today was bee day.

I have a weird relationship with bees. I think they are neat, but I am also terrified of them. I am allergic to their stings, and although I haven’t died yet from a bee sting, the reaction to the sting gets a little more severe every time it happens. So, I got a lot done today: more learning how to use my camera, and I embraced my mortality, too. I wish I could have captured some more detail on the bees, but embracing my mortality has its limits, even in my own backyard.

These are some close-ups from the house finch nest, from last week. This is about as focused as I can get while standing on a step stool and holding the camera over my head.

And lastly, my dog is photogenic.

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The Birds and the Bees

I have been trying for a long time to get a picture of the birdlets on the back porch. Every summer there are three or four… litters? of house finches. It is a kick to watch them grow, but getting pictures of them is a challenge. I have to find them at just the right time with their heads popping up over the nest, and then get outside with my camera and a step stool. Finally, I got some pictures this week, mostly looking down into the nest. I am not particularly happy with the quality of the pictures my little camera is taking lately. I checked for any settings that may be off, and it is possible that I dropped it because I drop everything, but for now it is a mystery.

Looking up at the nest.

Into the nest. Stand on a stool, point the camera down, guess, and click.

Yeah, all that stuff around is bird poop. Yay, nature!

On the other hand, this flower and bee picture came out ok.

In other news, my brave, exciting trip to the vet resulted in a dachshund with an allergic reaction to his vaccine. For two days, he had a big, poofy snoot and neck*. Poor itchy little dog.

He’s doing just fine now. After a good nose rub on Thursday afternoon and a day of rest he is back to his usual shenanigans.

*Because you can’t have a discussion about the birds and the bees without including a swollen wiener.

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Hips Don’t Lie*

We were all encouraged to choose workshop topics that would be a stretch, back at the beginning of the 500 hour teacher training in March. I was immediately drawn to the idea of leading a hip opener workshop, recognizing fully that this was not much of a stretch for me. I love working in the hips, I am fascinated by the drives associated with the second chakra, and one of my favorite, transformational experiences in the physical practice was a hip opener workshop I attended in 2007. Heck, I even love orange, the color associated with the hips in the chakra system. (I’m wearing orange pants as I write this.)

That said, this workshop has been on my mind in some form for five months, and other than knowing I want to tie in the theme of creativity, I have been absolutely stuck on how to do that, and kind of overwhelmed by the anatomical portion. Turns out, this IS a stretch.

But, a funny thing happened on the way to the workshop…

Following our training weekend in July, I started teaching hip-intensive classes, LOTS of hip intensive classes. I teach five classes a week, and in all five, I included more hip-opening warm-ups, and greater focus on the movement in the hips throughout the practice.

After two weeks of teaching hip-intensive classes, I had spontaneously started a Tai Chi class and finished two short stories on which I had been blocked for months. After four weeks of teaching hip-intensive classes, not only are those stories are done and Tai Chi moving along swimmingly, WordFrolic is up and running and I have the wheels in motion for another class I want to teach in the Fall, AND I had a big breakthrough in my significant domestic relationship. And! And! And! So much more on the horizon.

I also have an outline for my workshop.

Hips make things happen, yo. The workshop is Sunday, September 26 at noon, Charm City Yoga Midtown. Be there or be… dealing with tight hips and their associated manifestations.

*Full disclosure: While it makes a nice title for this post, this song makes me cringe. A lot. I am twitching just thinking about that woman’s voice.

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Brave New Wednesday: Fully Vetted Edition

New (and brave) for me today was taking the two b-list animals to the vet at the same time, by myself. And by “b” list, I do not mean second rate. I mean “bonkers.” And “batshit crazy.” And “bad.” And “boy, do I need a nap.”

So, for your reading pleasure, here is how to take a nervous cat and a spastic dog to the vet at the same time, in 31 easy steps!

1. Bring cat and dog carriers upstairs from the basement early in the day, so that the nervous cat and spastic dog can get accustomed to seeing them out, thereby avoiding undue stress at the time of departure.

2. Clean up the kitchen full of dog pee that results from the excitement of seeing the cat and dog carriers.

3. Go about your business for the day. Make a mental note to pick up disinfecting wipes.

4. About twenty minutes before leaving for the appointment, begin the process of getting the cat into the carrier, anticipating that it may take a few tries, and giving the cat some time to settle before getting in the car. Utilize the cat-scruffing skills you gained in hundreds of hours of shelter volunteer work, in which you successfully moved scared, unknown cats from one cage to the next, sometimes in and out of cardboard boxes, with barely a scratch.

5. Peel the cat off the chair. Marvel at your abilities to thoroughly mollify every cat except your own.

6. Peel the cat off the chair.

7. Peel the cat off the chair.

8. Once the cat is safely in the carrier, get a picture of her scowling at you. For evidence. Later.

9. The dog will be excited by this turn of events. Firmly instruct him to stay away from the bag of nervous cat.

10. Max, DOWN.

11. DUDE, GET YOUR NOSE OUT OF HER ASS.

12. Take the cat out to the car.

13. Turn the air conditioning up high to make her comfortable, and return to the house to get the dog.

14. Realize that you won’t be able to lock the house with the keys in the car.

15. Go back to the car. Take the house key off the keyring, go back to get the dog.

16. Determine that putting the dog in a carrier for a .8 mile trip is silly, and put the harness on the dog, instead.

17. Put the harness on the dog the right way.

18. Take the dog out to the car, locking the door on the way out.

19. Put the house key back on the keyring, to be sure you don’t lose it, or forget it later.

20. Once in the car, realize you’ve forgotten your wallet and phone.

21. Take the key back off the ring.

22. Firmly instruct the dog to “stay” as you go back to the house to retrieve the forgotten items.

23. Return to find the dog standing on the cat.

24. Tell the dog to get down.

25. Tell the dog to get down.

26. MAX, DOWN.

27. Put the house key back on the ring and drive to the vet’s office.

28. Park close enough to the office that simultaneously walking a spastic dog and carrying a bag full of cat running around in circles causes only minor injury.

29. Once in the vet’s office, you’ll have help managing both animals, except for that time they leave you by yourself for ten minutes trying to hang onto a cat who wants to be anywhere in the world other than on a table, and a dog who wants nothing more in this world than to eat the litterbox brought in for the cat.

30. Try not to laugh when the vet staff compliments you on your extremely calm and well behaved dog, and sweet, gentle cat.

31. When the appointment is over, try to time your departure with the arrival of a woman who will speak to every animal in the office with an extremely high, squeaky, and loud voice, while you are getting detailed instructions about the care of your animals.

32. Return to your car with spastic dog who is now hopped up on vaccines, bag of dervish cat, and $379 fewer dollars.

33. Go home and celebrate by washing your hands six times. You’ve just taken a nervous cat and spastic dog to the vet!

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Misbehaving Tuesday: Big Melons Edition

This Misbehaving Tuesday falls on National Watermelon Day. So, in honor of this, why don’t you check out this pic of my big melons?

I got them at a farm stand on the way back from Rocky Point Beach, where I spent a few hours this afternoon.

At Rocky Point Beach, there were… rocks.

This fella was checking me out for a while.

There was a very, very busy bee digging in the sand.

Thanks for a lovely day, beach!

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Time of the Season

July’s blazing insistence upon summer has passed. Yesterday everyone flipped the calendar to see the beginning of the school year crouched in wait at the end of the month, September poised at the bottom of the page like some yellow-eyed zombie, only instead of waiting to eat brains, he is sitting down there with a collection of brains waiting to give them back.

The traffic is a little less sparse than it was just last week, but business is slow, lulled. It is hot and less hot outside at the same time, and the humidity no longer sticks to the treetops; it settles between every blade of grass, seeps up into the cars, lurks in every corner of the house and settles on the appliances. Heavy silver sunlight is interrupted by five minutes of rain. The weather. Is moody. The city. Is moody.

I came home from teaching today with Time of the Season stuck in my head. It is one of those songs with which I get obsessed every couple of years -although it occurred to me as I was listening to it for the eighth or ninth time today that obsessed is a somewhat unpleasant word I use to describe myself. Really, what I get is fascinated by stuff. I am fascinated by accordions, real estate, construction and destruction, how people fidget with jewelry, boys with tattoos and glasses, and Centralia, PA. Not obsessed. And when I habitually wrap my hand in my shirt to open doors in public areas, that is not my OCD manifesting itself. It’s my FCD.

Anyway, Time of the Season is a damn sexy song, and just perfect on a day when the city, the weather, everything had a little edge to it. After listening on repeat all the way to Whole Foods, there was nothing I could do but notice the guy with the close trimmed beard, the girl in the miniskirt, the man with dreads, aware of all of their… edges.

Maybe this time of year FCD stands for something else entirely.


The Zombies – Time Of The Season

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WordFrolic!

This morning I woke up still thinking about the project I was writing about in the wee hours. Surely that meant it was time to take action, and it turns out that action meant making it way more complicated than necessary and wasting a couple of hours. But, one domain, a handful of plugins and a few hours later, WordFrolic! is nearly ready to launch.

What is WordFrolic? Well, go look! It’s gonna be fun!

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Where ideas can hang out! And do whatever!

For months now, I have been thinking that it would be way cool to have a writerly version of Illustration Friday. No competition, just a forum for quick little blurbs, any form, based on a single word – something to help writers (me, others) get re-engaged with the fun parts of writing, that initial, unedited, un-analyzed, un-workshopped flash of inspiration, the word fun. I decided to do a test run myself this evening, and sat down to write whatever came to mind based on the Illustration Friday prompt for the week: Artificial. I wrote two things, a 150 word blah blah blah usual thing about sexual tension and shopping carts yawn. And then there was this.

Teacher: Use “artificial” in a sentence.
Student: The art official threw down the penalty flag and called “delay of game” after Brian spiked his canvass with 1:37 left in the half.

Thank you! I’ll be here all week. Don’t forget to tip your server.

So, yeah, I may have to do this. As I was thinking through a description for it, and going through the mental rolodex of all the people I could bug for help involve in getting this moving, I was reminded of the old, old Bob and David website, where on every mouseover in the upper right corner, there was audio of David Cross saying “Where ideas can hang out! And do whatever!” I went to the current Bob and David website to see if it was still on there anywhere. No dice.

This is how I ended up spending the past hour two hours two and half hours watching clips of Mr. Show on YouTube. Happy Friday!

Also, please don’t steal my idea. Just sayin’. And don’t take more than you can handle, and make sure you know your dealer.

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