While the birth of my best friend's son was definitely the best thing I heard all week, it was in the midst of a pretty trying few days. So, I'll say that on top of the blessed event, the best parts of my week were feeling needed by a few people, teaching some new students and hearing their genuine awe of what they found that they could do, dogs socializing at the Farmer's Market, and Professor Braxton did not say "No" when I asked to take her class this semester.
On weeks like this, it feels like searching for a needle in a haystack for something good... but, clearly, when one opens up to the possibilities, she can find the good in any difficulty.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Friday Sabbath: Re-birthing
I sadly missed an interesting opportunity this weekend (due to a minor injury and losing my mind) at one of my studios. All the people who work there or went are still talking about it...
From what I understand, a gentleman came in to lead a meditation called "Re-birthing" in which one is guided through the depth of your origins (almost reliving early experiences lost in the subconscious). Some people are brought all the way back to their actual birth. One girl felt really relaxed, groovy even, with just some slight tension around her head. She discovered later that her mother was on intense pain medication when she was giving birth and had to hold the baby in as the head was starting to come out until someone could come catch the child. Two other ladies felt terrible cramps and their hands started to twist up. Some people started coughing...
...which means they probably had my birthing experience. I was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. So, I tell people that I came into this world choking... I wonder if it's not, perhaps, a good thing that I missed the meditation.
I wrote a poem in college about my feelings on the circumstances under which I was brought to life:
It's an interesting notion that the way in which we are born effects us beyond what we find likely on a conscious level. I've heard that the feelings we undergo during birth effect how we view the world, how we respond to it. I suppose I must have been uncomfortable and afraid, but experiencing a feeling like choking, if you are rescued and start to breathe, must offer a sense of relief. I'd like to think that, since I was obviously saved, that I was taught to press into or beyond fear to better my chances of relief or survival.
I was reading another article in Parabola lately of a Taoist master who lives in a fascinating hermitage. Rather than live on a mountain somewhere, he finds a purer anonymity in the city. In NYC, he is just another person and no one pays attention to him. He says that those in the woods somewhere will be found, seem magical, attract followers, and then they are no longer living like a hermit.
He also mentions that a true Taoist is not this mellow bliss-following monk who looks for peace and relaxation. He says that, instead, a true Taoist can lean into the pain and turn it into something else:
I don't know precisely what I was doing at the moment of my birth, but at this point in my life I hope that I can borrow from the life-thieves of Taoism and transcend any leftover trauma I've been carrying around, consciously or unconsciously.
I'm naturally thinking of the births of Anya's children. Lilia ought be able to gather from her birth the fact that she has a mother and father who would do anything to protect her, guide her from danger, and put her best interests first. Anya struggled for many hours with her, all the while focusing on how to preserve the best care for her daughter. With her new son, she finally took a time to rest... and that was when the boy slipped right out. I sense a consideration between mother and son, soul to soul, good friends.
Have you asked about your own birth? Like most of the events of our lives, I'm sure understanding where we've been can help inform where we've ended up...
From what I understand, a gentleman came in to lead a meditation called "Re-birthing" in which one is guided through the depth of your origins (almost reliving early experiences lost in the subconscious). Some people are brought all the way back to their actual birth. One girl felt really relaxed, groovy even, with just some slight tension around her head. She discovered later that her mother was on intense pain medication when she was giving birth and had to hold the baby in as the head was starting to come out until someone could come catch the child. Two other ladies felt terrible cramps and their hands started to twist up. Some people started coughing...
...which means they probably had my birthing experience. I was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. So, I tell people that I came into this world choking... I wonder if it's not, perhaps, a good thing that I missed the meditation.
I wrote a poem in college about my feelings on the circumstances under which I was brought to life:
October 4, 1981 at some ungodly hour of the morning
O n e tiny
u n i v e r s e
per nanosecond,
f e m t o m e t e r.
T h i s p l a c e
i s
where time is all that crosses
the black matter and s p a c e.
Only she could hear my c r y i n g.
The l o v e p l a i t was frantically
tossed to retrieve me from the
darkness that cloaked my unblinded
eyes. I was too frightened and weak,
to grab hold but she tugged and yanked at
the tangled cords of my cell. I was lassoed around
the n e c k; the beads of healthy prayers rattled snug against
my tissue paper skin. I stopped crying and blinked furiously against
motion and traveled without trying. A hissing star filled the lack of light and
I felt many faerie fingers flutter and carry me to somewhere hard and cold. The noises,
gd, the noises of cloth scratching flesh and the skin covered boxes vibrating Vibrating
vibrating. I watched the world melt into panicked movement as the tightness around my
throat loosened. I
could s e e some-
thing like windows
that shed nothing
but warmth. But
the windows of
my father’s house
reflected some-
one other than
me.
O n e tiny
u n i v e r s e
per nanosecond,
f e m t o m e t e r.
T h i s p l a c e
i s
where time is all that crosses
the black matter and s p a c e.
Only she could hear my c r y i n g.
The l o v e p l a i t was frantically
tossed to retrieve me from the
darkness that cloaked my unblinded
eyes. I was too frightened and weak,
to grab hold but she tugged and yanked at
the tangled cords of my cell. I was lassoed around
the n e c k; the beads of healthy prayers rattled snug against
my tissue paper skin. I stopped crying and blinked furiously against
motion and traveled without trying. A hissing star filled the lack of light and
I felt many faerie fingers flutter and carry me to somewhere hard and cold. The noises,
gd, the noises of cloth scratching flesh and the skin covered boxes vibrating Vibrating
vibrating. I watched the world melt into panicked movement as the tightness around my
throat loosened. I
could s e e some-
thing like windows
that shed nothing
but warmth. But
the windows of
my father’s house
reflected some-
one other than
me.
It's an interesting notion that the way in which we are born effects us beyond what we find likely on a conscious level. I've heard that the feelings we undergo during birth effect how we view the world, how we respond to it. I suppose I must have been uncomfortable and afraid, but experiencing a feeling like choking, if you are rescued and start to breathe, must offer a sense of relief. I'd like to think that, since I was obviously saved, that I was taught to press into or beyond fear to better my chances of relief or survival.
I was reading another article in Parabola lately of a Taoist master who lives in a fascinating hermitage. Rather than live on a mountain somewhere, he finds a purer anonymity in the city. In NYC, he is just another person and no one pays attention to him. He says that those in the woods somewhere will be found, seem magical, attract followers, and then they are no longer living like a hermit.
He also mentions that a true Taoist is not this mellow bliss-following monk who looks for peace and relaxation. He says that, instead, a true Taoist can lean into the pain and turn it into something else:
I think of the serpent eating its own tail, that's a sage. You can take the lowest and transform it to the highest. You can take poison and turn it into medicine.
-interview with Sat Han, by Tracy Cochran, Parabola, Volume 34, No.2, page 54
-interview with Sat Han, by Tracy Cochran, Parabola, Volume 34, No.2, page 54
I don't know precisely what I was doing at the moment of my birth, but at this point in my life I hope that I can borrow from the life-thieves of Taoism and transcend any leftover trauma I've been carrying around, consciously or unconsciously.
I'm naturally thinking of the births of Anya's children. Lilia ought be able to gather from her birth the fact that she has a mother and father who would do anything to protect her, guide her from danger, and put her best interests first. Anya struggled for many hours with her, all the while focusing on how to preserve the best care for her daughter. With her new son, she finally took a time to rest... and that was when the boy slipped right out. I sense a consideration between mother and son, soul to soul, good friends.
Have you asked about your own birth? Like most of the events of our lives, I'm sure understanding where we've been can help inform where we've ended up...
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Thursday Kitchen: "I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles..."
Once in a while, I do the dumb thing and actually give a business my main email address. This doesn't always backfire on me... there are some places of which I truly would like to know about sales or special events the instant they apply. For those from whom I don't want to be e-harassed, I do the cowardly thing. I give them the email I never check. Somewhere in the vastness of the net, my Yahoo account is bloated and bulging at the buttons from all the junk I was too polite to decline by simply saying, "I'm not interested, thank you."
For some reason, a local restaurant here in town has my email. I can't remember when I gave it to them or how, but I received my first email notice today. They were advertising their end of summer treat. Oh! You better hurry! After the end of August they'll run out of France's favorite summertime treat: Brie!
I deleted the notice with a chuckle... I spent nearly two months in France... and I actually do not recall encountering brie even once. The three most prominent cheeses I found on menus, pizzas, and even in the homes of the locals were Emmentale, Roquefort, and Camembert.
This email slander on the great cheeses of France plus a little video my friend sent me today (Check it out and wear headphones... eight minutes of total insanity with no special effects whatsoever: http://www.vimeo.com/2840720), I started thinking of the food I ate in France that glorious summer...
I was one of the lucky ones. Not only did the College offer me a healthy grant to play in the south of France, I had a friend who had a sister who had a flat located in Enghien... one of the more quiet and charming corners of Paris. I could see Sacré Coeur from my bedroom window and hear people all over the city cheering as France won a game in the World Cup series that summer. I left home two weeks ahead of the rest of my class to stay with my friend's sister and I traveled around by myself all over Paris.
All college students look at their funds and make decisions on how they're going to spend it. Some want to see the sights or travel to neighboring countries on the weekends. Others want to buy stuff that they can show off when they go home. The young ones who are yet to be legal in the States drink themselves into oblivion. Me? I ate food. I ate alone, with old and new friends, and hung out with my host mother who introduced me to her country more clearly than any guide book or professor.
I remember once in Paris, overlooking the funky Stravinsky fountain outside Le Centre Georges Pompidou. I wanted to order some pasta... I know it was simple... I know it had this beautiful, mouth-watering light cream all over it, but what I remember most is the waiter. I don't remember what he looked like or what he said his name was, but he was the first waiter with whom I interacted on my trip and my French did not spurn him into speaking English. After I finished my meal, he looked down at my feet and said he liked my sandals... I very well may never throw those silly things out. Those of you who know me, they're the black sandals with the daisy on the big toe strap!
I made a point, like a good little tourist, of visiting Montmartre and some of the places one sees in the film Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain. I went to the funky little grocer, Maison Collignon, at the corner street and bought an apple, a Perrier, some postcards, and a chocolate. Then I went to Les Deux Moulains where the main character of the movie worked as a waitress. It looks pretty different now, but I ordered a dish I had read about in every single French language textbook I had used since 7th grade... Croque Monsieur. It's a large piece of bread smothered in béchamel (the most exquisite sauce in the entire world) and topped with ham and cheese. It's served warm with the ham slightly singed and the cheese browned. Simple, and so yummy...
My French friend I knew from the States met me during my trip and drove me to Lyon where she insisted I try "Ke-bab". This is actually Greek food, and you'll find some version of it at the Greek festivals and some Italian eateries, but it will NOT be the same. I wish I could put my finger on what the difference is... it's that shaved meat wrapped in a pita with Tziki sauce and served with fries. I don't know if they use different spices, lambs, or what, but I haven't had one better than the "ke-bab" in Lyon.
She also took me to many cafés. In France, their equivalent to the British tea time is anytime you can stop to take a coffee (to us, an espresso) in a café somewhere and smoke. We went to several of these places together and I never complained about the great coffee you can find in France. I have three cups that I acquired from visiting these places... all typical European demitasse cups. With my French friend, I acquired a blue one that reflects the backwards word on the saucer the right way on the wall of the cup and a pretty pink one. From the place I went to drink my coffee every day before class, the man working there gave me a beautiful white demitasse that has an art print on it with these rectangles that look remarkably like cards lifting in a line over the design. It's my favorite one.
My French friend also cooked for me while I was visiting her family in the countryside of Romans. She made the most amazing couscous (I have a recipe now that reminds me of it, but it's not nearly as good) and this gorgeous, huge paella. The beauty of these dishes almost made it hard to tear into them... so fresh, so flavorful... After these meals, we'd sit on the porch and drink Ricards until our eyes popped out. I think you can only drink this in summer... it has a coating licorice taste that never comes off the tongue but cools the throat the rest of the un-air-conditioned night.
My host mother had me try several things. First, she made me my first steak in about 14 or 15 years since I had stopped eating red meat when I was 10 years old. She barely did anything to it. She bought the meat from a VERY local (down the street local) butcher and cooked them in a pan on the stove. I don't think she even put spices on it. It didn't taste like any steak I had had before. I don't know if that's a freshness factor or if she seasoned her pans with pixie dust or what.
Second, she taught me to make three things: an apple cake, lemon ice cream, and lentils. This might sound simple, but at the time I was still working on making omelette's properly. The apple cake is still one of my favorites... particularly to make one evening for dessert and then have another slice in the morning for breakfast with a strong cup of coffee. The lentils... I still can't make them they way she did. It was my first time trying lentils... and on a hot, southern France day, it was the perfect, light dinner after class (she was not required by the program to make me dinner, but even when she went away on the occasional weekend, she always left me something). I can't replicate the ice cream at all, but I remember how it tasted... like a cold lemon cookie. We wrote these recipes down in French in my journal...
Thirdly, she took me out after the movies one evening to a place where I tried bison. The restaurant was this weird Texan/burger joint that she wanted to take me to so I could tell her how American it really was. I've never come across bison burgers in Virginia... just ostrich (which is game-y and weird). I don't remember anything about how it tasted... because I had it the one time and it was so strange. It didn't really resemble anything that I could explain... maybe a cross between beef and something exotic like alligator or shark.
Lastly, she offered me this alcohol... I remember you're supposed to have it before dinner to cleanse the palate or help prepare the body to digest. The liqueur is called gentian and it tastes like peppered flowers baked in the sun. Wonderful for summer. She prepared a bottle for me to take home with me... I can't bare to open it. I still have it sitting in the fridge.
I made a friend in France. I didn't mean to, it just sort of happened. We were joined at the hip after spending one lunch together. She's from Greece and was just about the loveliest girl I've ever seen in person. It was torture to be out with her... I don't care who you are... if you stand next to her, no one is looking at you. Luckily for me, boys were definitely at the bottom of my list (I went on one abysmal date while in Montpellier with this Swiss guy who thinks he's Gd's gift to the whole lowly, stupid planet), so it was easy not to be too bothered.
We went on two memorable food adventures. The first was the beach! My host mother had taken me to a restaurant on the beach, but this was different. When you visit the beaches in the south of France, you can just lay there and listen for the cart wheels whirring in the sand. There are vendors that walk up and down the beaches with so many delightful treats... sodas, coffee, snacks, and best of all, French donuts! After having a quick drink at a beach bar, my friend and I laid lazily on our towels on the sand and flagged down the occasional vendor to bring us sodas and beignets. It's where I learned what that hole in the pull tab of a soda can is for: you turn it to the freshly opened hole and stick your straw through it (a cheeky boy vendor "educated me" on the matter).
The second major adventure was in the heart of the city. She and I walked down several busy streets before finding a quiet restaurant lost between two long rows of the backs of buildings. This place specialized in pizza- any pizza you can imagine! We ordered the one with Roquefort cheese... and believe me, that was an adventure. That's the really stinky cheese (though not France's stinkiest) with green spots all throughout it... and I'm not lying when I say on this particular pizza... well, it just worked. It was sort of a last dinner thing, too, so my friend and I were very emotional. She was the one who was there to help me get on the train, hug me Goodbye, and wave sadly to me as the train pulled out of the station...
The food in France was amazing... a bundle of experiences I never saw in movies or could encounter accurately in any other place in the world... but I miss eating it with Vincente and Georgia the most.
For some reason, a local restaurant here in town has my email. I can't remember when I gave it to them or how, but I received my first email notice today. They were advertising their end of summer treat. Oh! You better hurry! After the end of August they'll run out of France's favorite summertime treat: Brie!
I deleted the notice with a chuckle... I spent nearly two months in France... and I actually do not recall encountering brie even once. The three most prominent cheeses I found on menus, pizzas, and even in the homes of the locals were Emmentale, Roquefort, and Camembert.
This email slander on the great cheeses of France plus a little video my friend sent me today (Check it out and wear headphones... eight minutes of total insanity with no special effects whatsoever: http://www.vimeo.com/2840720), I started thinking of the food I ate in France that glorious summer...
I was one of the lucky ones. Not only did the College offer me a healthy grant to play in the south of France, I had a friend who had a sister who had a flat located in Enghien... one of the more quiet and charming corners of Paris. I could see Sacré Coeur from my bedroom window and hear people all over the city cheering as France won a game in the World Cup series that summer. I left home two weeks ahead of the rest of my class to stay with my friend's sister and I traveled around by myself all over Paris.
All college students look at their funds and make decisions on how they're going to spend it. Some want to see the sights or travel to neighboring countries on the weekends. Others want to buy stuff that they can show off when they go home. The young ones who are yet to be legal in the States drink themselves into oblivion. Me? I ate food. I ate alone, with old and new friends, and hung out with my host mother who introduced me to her country more clearly than any guide book or professor.
I remember once in Paris, overlooking the funky Stravinsky fountain outside Le Centre Georges Pompidou. I wanted to order some pasta... I know it was simple... I know it had this beautiful, mouth-watering light cream all over it, but what I remember most is the waiter. I don't remember what he looked like or what he said his name was, but he was the first waiter with whom I interacted on my trip and my French did not spurn him into speaking English. After I finished my meal, he looked down at my feet and said he liked my sandals... I very well may never throw those silly things out. Those of you who know me, they're the black sandals with the daisy on the big toe strap!
I made a point, like a good little tourist, of visiting Montmartre and some of the places one sees in the film Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain. I went to the funky little grocer, Maison Collignon, at the corner street and bought an apple, a Perrier, some postcards, and a chocolate. Then I went to Les Deux Moulains where the main character of the movie worked as a waitress. It looks pretty different now, but I ordered a dish I had read about in every single French language textbook I had used since 7th grade... Croque Monsieur. It's a large piece of bread smothered in béchamel (the most exquisite sauce in the entire world) and topped with ham and cheese. It's served warm with the ham slightly singed and the cheese browned. Simple, and so yummy...
My French friend I knew from the States met me during my trip and drove me to Lyon where she insisted I try "Ke-bab". This is actually Greek food, and you'll find some version of it at the Greek festivals and some Italian eateries, but it will NOT be the same. I wish I could put my finger on what the difference is... it's that shaved meat wrapped in a pita with Tziki sauce and served with fries. I don't know if they use different spices, lambs, or what, but I haven't had one better than the "ke-bab" in Lyon.
She also took me to many cafés. In France, their equivalent to the British tea time is anytime you can stop to take a coffee (to us, an espresso) in a café somewhere and smoke. We went to several of these places together and I never complained about the great coffee you can find in France. I have three cups that I acquired from visiting these places... all typical European demitasse cups. With my French friend, I acquired a blue one that reflects the backwards word on the saucer the right way on the wall of the cup and a pretty pink one. From the place I went to drink my coffee every day before class, the man working there gave me a beautiful white demitasse that has an art print on it with these rectangles that look remarkably like cards lifting in a line over the design. It's my favorite one.
My French friend also cooked for me while I was visiting her family in the countryside of Romans. She made the most amazing couscous (I have a recipe now that reminds me of it, but it's not nearly as good) and this gorgeous, huge paella. The beauty of these dishes almost made it hard to tear into them... so fresh, so flavorful... After these meals, we'd sit on the porch and drink Ricards until our eyes popped out. I think you can only drink this in summer... it has a coating licorice taste that never comes off the tongue but cools the throat the rest of the un-air-conditioned night.
My host mother had me try several things. First, she made me my first steak in about 14 or 15 years since I had stopped eating red meat when I was 10 years old. She barely did anything to it. She bought the meat from a VERY local (down the street local) butcher and cooked them in a pan on the stove. I don't think she even put spices on it. It didn't taste like any steak I had had before. I don't know if that's a freshness factor or if she seasoned her pans with pixie dust or what.
Second, she taught me to make three things: an apple cake, lemon ice cream, and lentils. This might sound simple, but at the time I was still working on making omelette's properly. The apple cake is still one of my favorites... particularly to make one evening for dessert and then have another slice in the morning for breakfast with a strong cup of coffee. The lentils... I still can't make them they way she did. It was my first time trying lentils... and on a hot, southern France day, it was the perfect, light dinner after class (she was not required by the program to make me dinner, but even when she went away on the occasional weekend, she always left me something). I can't replicate the ice cream at all, but I remember how it tasted... like a cold lemon cookie. We wrote these recipes down in French in my journal...
Thirdly, she took me out after the movies one evening to a place where I tried bison. The restaurant was this weird Texan/burger joint that she wanted to take me to so I could tell her how American it really was. I've never come across bison burgers in Virginia... just ostrich (which is game-y and weird). I don't remember anything about how it tasted... because I had it the one time and it was so strange. It didn't really resemble anything that I could explain... maybe a cross between beef and something exotic like alligator or shark.
Lastly, she offered me this alcohol... I remember you're supposed to have it before dinner to cleanse the palate or help prepare the body to digest. The liqueur is called gentian and it tastes like peppered flowers baked in the sun. Wonderful for summer. She prepared a bottle for me to take home with me... I can't bare to open it. I still have it sitting in the fridge.
I made a friend in France. I didn't mean to, it just sort of happened. We were joined at the hip after spending one lunch together. She's from Greece and was just about the loveliest girl I've ever seen in person. It was torture to be out with her... I don't care who you are... if you stand next to her, no one is looking at you. Luckily for me, boys were definitely at the bottom of my list (I went on one abysmal date while in Montpellier with this Swiss guy who thinks he's Gd's gift to the whole lowly, stupid planet), so it was easy not to be too bothered.
We went on two memorable food adventures. The first was the beach! My host mother had taken me to a restaurant on the beach, but this was different. When you visit the beaches in the south of France, you can just lay there and listen for the cart wheels whirring in the sand. There are vendors that walk up and down the beaches with so many delightful treats... sodas, coffee, snacks, and best of all, French donuts! After having a quick drink at a beach bar, my friend and I laid lazily on our towels on the sand and flagged down the occasional vendor to bring us sodas and beignets. It's where I learned what that hole in the pull tab of a soda can is for: you turn it to the freshly opened hole and stick your straw through it (a cheeky boy vendor "educated me" on the matter).
The second major adventure was in the heart of the city. She and I walked down several busy streets before finding a quiet restaurant lost between two long rows of the backs of buildings. This place specialized in pizza- any pizza you can imagine! We ordered the one with Roquefort cheese... and believe me, that was an adventure. That's the really stinky cheese (though not France's stinkiest) with green spots all throughout it... and I'm not lying when I say on this particular pizza... well, it just worked. It was sort of a last dinner thing, too, so my friend and I were very emotional. She was the one who was there to help me get on the train, hug me Goodbye, and wave sadly to me as the train pulled out of the station...
The food in France was amazing... a bundle of experiences I never saw in movies or could encounter accurately in any other place in the world... but I miss eating it with Vincente and Georgia the most.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Wednesday Valuables: Favorite Friendship Quotes, Part One
Since I'm about to fall over from exhaustion from the past several days, I'm simply listing some of the best things I've heard over the years in relation to the special bond between friends... Part Two will be published the next Wednesday night I'm feeling like this...
In high school, I think Tristan had a bumper sticker that read:
FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS GO TO STARBUCKS
Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.
-Jane Austen
My Russian father had an opinion about everything:
Tell me who your friends are, Miss Kathleen, and I'll tell you who you are.
Two from Ralph Waldo Emerson that I quite like:
A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud.
It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.
I'm sure it's not original, but a girl I knew a long time ago talked a hell of a lot, and what I remembered from all that pointless chatter was this phrase that I still use today:
Boys may come and go, but your friends are forever.
In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
- Martin Luther King Jr.
In thinking of Oscar Wilde and his ideas that true friends "stab you in the front," I also know that, in my world, all things lead back to Frasier...
At the opening of his new restaurant after his chef and cooking staff have walked out on him, Gil Chesterton, the food critic at Frasier's radio station walks in with five people:
"Hello, Frasier. I heard about your new restaurant and I decided to stop by. I've brought a whole table of food critics with me."
"Um, Gil, I thought you never reviewed on opening night?"
"You're my friend. I made an exception."
Your friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you.
- Elbert Hubard
Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather is one of those things that give value to survival.
- C. S. Lewis
To be continued...
FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS GO TO STARBUCKS
Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.
-Jane Austen
My Russian father had an opinion about everything:
Tell me who your friends are, Miss Kathleen, and I'll tell you who you are.
Two from Ralph Waldo Emerson that I quite like:
A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud.
It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.
I'm sure it's not original, but a girl I knew a long time ago talked a hell of a lot, and what I remembered from all that pointless chatter was this phrase that I still use today:
Boys may come and go, but your friends are forever.
In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
- Martin Luther King Jr.
In thinking of Oscar Wilde and his ideas that true friends "stab you in the front," I also know that, in my world, all things lead back to Frasier...
At the opening of his new restaurant after his chef and cooking staff have walked out on him, Gil Chesterton, the food critic at Frasier's radio station walks in with five people:
"Hello, Frasier. I heard about your new restaurant and I decided to stop by. I've brought a whole table of food critics with me."
"Um, Gil, I thought you never reviewed on opening night?"
"You're my friend. I made an exception."
Your friend is the man who knows all about you, and still likes you.
- Elbert Hubard
Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather is one of those things that give value to survival.
- C. S. Lewis
To be continued...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Tuesday: A son is born...
Hobbies take a back seat again... Jude Liam finally entered the world at 6:44am this morning. He weighs 8 pounds and he's 20.5 inches long. He hardly cries, has Dennis' mouth, Anya's face, and is probably sitting in his striped blanket wrapped up like a burrito wearing his yellow and green knit cap.
Congratulations to the family! The wait is over! (And now, the FUN begins...)
Send love to the family... with a two year old girl and this new baby brother, it's going to be a handful... But, I think the Perreault Family has what it takes to make it a good experience for all.
Congratulations to the family! The wait is over! (And now, the FUN begins...)
Send love to the family... with a two year old girl and this new baby brother, it's going to be a handful... But, I think the Perreault Family has what it takes to make it a good experience for all.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Monday Review: Oh, Nora, you sentimental fool...
One of the movies on my list of films to see before I move from Williamsburg came out this past weekend. I'm not usually an opening day sort of moviegoer, but my mother, aunt, and cousin were interested in seeing it this past Friday. So, I taught my class, dashed to Mom's to shower and primp, and then we dashed off to AMC 24 to see Julie Julia.
I originally had believed that the movie was based on Julie Powell's book JULIE JULIA. Instead, this film is an adaptation of both Powell's book and Julia Child's MY LIFE IN FRANCE. It seems that the ever sentimental Nora Ephron wanted to show how alike Julia and Julie were in their endeavors by evenly mirroring their stories. On the one hand, you have Julia's marriage, move to France, enrollment and struggle in Le Cordon Bleu cooking academy, and the cookbook she wrote with two other women that would bring French cooking to America. On the other hand, you have Julie's husband, their move to Queens from Brooklyn, her soul-sucking job, and her decision to revive her life by keeping a blog in which she would write about cooking through all 536 of the recipes in Julia Child's first volume of MASTERING THE ART OF FRENCH COOKING in one year.
I guess this attempt is very... sweet. I'm not sure how else to put it. It's a very Hallmark idea to bring the odd and distant peoples of the earth together in a common goal for peace and harmony. I only read Powell's memoir, so, I'm not sure if this is what I got out of the story. The movie stays true to the fact that when Julia Child got wind of Julie's project, she made some unflattering commentary. I'd like to think that Powell didn't think so much that they were separated at birth but that Julia was a beacon in her dark, NYC outer borough universe... Julia was the muse that inspired Julie to gain her eventual happiness...
...because the two women could not be more different. The only thing they have in common is that streak of "crazy" that led them to fame. Julia Child is stuffed with principles, acheivements, and butter... all of which she takes very seriously. Julie Powell is funny, crude, unorganized, and one of those people who rushes to make it by the skin of their teeth. I thought paralelling them was interesting, but also cheaply warm and fuzzy...
Especially when you look at the girl they hired to play the part of Julie Powell. Amy Adams? Seriously? Only in Nora Ephron's Meg Ryan infused style would one think to pick that particular actress to play this role. I would have sooner picked the girl they chose as Julie's friend than Amy Adams. She just didn't capture the fire I read in Julie Powell's voice. Adams' portrayal is a clumsy, self-centered, wide-eyed little girl... all she got down was the "crazy" bit. The real Julie Powell, to me, is feisty, hot-headed, bright, hilarious, and somewhat frightening (if you read the book and read about the state of her kitchen... Ooooh, scary...). I still managed to have fun watching the movie, but I was pretty disappointed with Amy Adams as well as the lack of details from her life (Powell's got some great, wacky friend stories, people for whom she obviously cares deeply, that I missed seeing come to life on screen).
You can probably imagine that it's Meryl Streep who steals the show. You might have despised the Julia Child in reality, but Streep infuses a life and passion into her that you have to admire. The woman had some guts! Yeah, she had the funny voice, she was freakishly tall, she didn't seem like the most amiable dinner guest, but Streep's trademark amazing acting skills pulled you into Julia's heart, made you walk around, and feel something. I can imagine that Julia Child could be a bit much at times and Streep did not shy away from that....she just made you appreciate that aspect of a person who has what it takes to make history.
I feel like I have some reading to do... Julia Child apparently had an interesting road to get to be the revered household cooking gddess that she is today. The movie mostly focused on the Julia Child side of life... and that was probably for the best...
...because it seems Ephron wants to make Sleepless in Seattle and You've Got Mail for the rest of her career. She's not cut out for grit and honesty of Julie Powell. I undoubtedly liked this film better than any of Ephron's other movies, but you could see parts that refer too much to her old films... like the consistent voice-over of Julie's thoughts as she types on the computer. Just too You've Got Mail...
I have no grand hopes for Julie Julia's recognition in the future as a great film... but it was entertaining nonetheless...
I originally had believed that the movie was based on Julie Powell's book JULIE JULIA. Instead, this film is an adaptation of both Powell's book and Julia Child's MY LIFE IN FRANCE. It seems that the ever sentimental Nora Ephron wanted to show how alike Julia and Julie were in their endeavors by evenly mirroring their stories. On the one hand, you have Julia's marriage, move to France, enrollment and struggle in Le Cordon Bleu cooking academy, and the cookbook she wrote with two other women that would bring French cooking to America. On the other hand, you have Julie's husband, their move to Queens from Brooklyn, her soul-sucking job, and her decision to revive her life by keeping a blog in which she would write about cooking through all 536 of the recipes in Julia Child's first volume of MASTERING THE ART OF FRENCH COOKING in one year.
I guess this attempt is very... sweet. I'm not sure how else to put it. It's a very Hallmark idea to bring the odd and distant peoples of the earth together in a common goal for peace and harmony. I only read Powell's memoir, so, I'm not sure if this is what I got out of the story. The movie stays true to the fact that when Julia Child got wind of Julie's project, she made some unflattering commentary. I'd like to think that Powell didn't think so much that they were separated at birth but that Julia was a beacon in her dark, NYC outer borough universe... Julia was the muse that inspired Julie to gain her eventual happiness...
...because the two women could not be more different. The only thing they have in common is that streak of "crazy" that led them to fame. Julia Child is stuffed with principles, acheivements, and butter... all of which she takes very seriously. Julie Powell is funny, crude, unorganized, and one of those people who rushes to make it by the skin of their teeth. I thought paralelling them was interesting, but also cheaply warm and fuzzy...
Especially when you look at the girl they hired to play the part of Julie Powell. Amy Adams? Seriously? Only in Nora Ephron's Meg Ryan infused style would one think to pick that particular actress to play this role. I would have sooner picked the girl they chose as Julie's friend than Amy Adams. She just didn't capture the fire I read in Julie Powell's voice. Adams' portrayal is a clumsy, self-centered, wide-eyed little girl... all she got down was the "crazy" bit. The real Julie Powell, to me, is feisty, hot-headed, bright, hilarious, and somewhat frightening (if you read the book and read about the state of her kitchen... Ooooh, scary...). I still managed to have fun watching the movie, but I was pretty disappointed with Amy Adams as well as the lack of details from her life (Powell's got some great, wacky friend stories, people for whom she obviously cares deeply, that I missed seeing come to life on screen).
You can probably imagine that it's Meryl Streep who steals the show. You might have despised the Julia Child in reality, but Streep infuses a life and passion into her that you have to admire. The woman had some guts! Yeah, she had the funny voice, she was freakishly tall, she didn't seem like the most amiable dinner guest, but Streep's trademark amazing acting skills pulled you into Julia's heart, made you walk around, and feel something. I can imagine that Julia Child could be a bit much at times and Streep did not shy away from that....she just made you appreciate that aspect of a person who has what it takes to make history.I feel like I have some reading to do... Julia Child apparently had an interesting road to get to be the revered household cooking gddess that she is today. The movie mostly focused on the Julia Child side of life... and that was probably for the best...
...because it seems Ephron wants to make Sleepless in Seattle and You've Got Mail for the rest of her career. She's not cut out for grit and honesty of Julie Powell. I undoubtedly liked this film better than any of Ephron's other movies, but you could see parts that refer too much to her old films... like the consistent voice-over of Julie's thoughts as she types on the computer. Just too You've Got Mail...
I have no grand hopes for Julie Julia's recognition in the future as a great film... but it was entertaining nonetheless...
(Images from /www.start-news.com, bluemoviereviews.files.wordpress.com, www.harpersbazaar.com)
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Sunday Reflections: The Joy of Teaching
I have openly admitted several times before that the reason I wanted to be a yoga teacher correlates with my fibromyalgia. I knew that if I trained to teach that I would also be able to take better care of myself. My condition requires consistent, gentle movements to help work out aches and pains... and yoga fits the bill perfectly.
However, as the Disney bluebird hops on my shoulder, I have found a joy in teaching people. I already know what yoga does for me... but every time I teach, I have a chance to see what it does for other people.
It's not much of a secret that I'm not a huge fan of "people," but yoga erases the attention these petty sentiments almost entirely. The lady in the front row might be the bitch who cut me off on the highway and the guy in the left corner could very well be that jerk who jumped the line ahead of me at the market, but in the yoga studio, no one is anyone. We are all existing in a bubble of wellness. All I can do once I enter that room is guide the students and absorb the energy that they are putting into their practice. I also have the exquisite pleasure of seeing some of them make large improvements in their technique, breathing, etc.
So, today I'm reflecting on what it has meant to me to start out quietly at a beautiful studio in Williamsburg and then to add to my schedule three classes at a very different studio in Newport News.
The Williamsburg studio is sort of idyllic... you walk in to a simple lobby and place your things in a cubby on the wall. Then you enter the studio as a damp wave of warmth fogs on your air-conditioned skin. The mirrors in the front and side of the room reflect the scenes of trees, weather, and birds through the windows. It helps to make the studio seem a little bigger than it actually is (maximum capacity is about 30 people). This was a calming sanctuary in which to study and practice during my training program. There were nine of us trainees in total, giving us space to spread out and make ourselves comfortable with mats, bolsters, and blankets. It was a unique moment in my life.
I teach one class there on Saturday mornings... it cuts into my time at the farmers' market, but I love going back to this studio, training with people I met during the program, and feeling the serenity of that gorgeous room.
I was acquired recently by another studio in the city next door. It's a whole different ballpark. Body to body, the room in which one practices can hold up to 75 people. There are four walls, two lined with mirrors. There's a covered fridge in which we keep cool cloths for the end of practice as well as little bottles of water (we carry those and packets of Emergen-C in case anyone feels faint). We plug in our i-pods to a sound system, turn up the heat, and shut the door. There is only aritificial light in this studio, but it has a nice dimmer switch to adjust for working out or relaxation time.
I took one class and realized that my teaching style is very different from the other girls at this studio. I find that kind of funny... it reminds me of two Lutheran churches... you might think there's a unity due to the denomination, but every congregation is very, very different. I've tried to blend my style with the sorts of instructions and variations that the other teachers give so as not to totally throw off the regular clientel.
I have to say that, so far, I've really liked these other girls. I feel pretty much at home in this bunch. They're all unafraid of being themselves and make it easy for me to do the same and step outside the "yoga aura" and admit to my likes, dislikes, and hobbies. I never walk into anything with the expectation of friendship... if anything, I work for solitude... but I feel I may walk away from this studio with a person or two with whom I won't want to lose touch.
I'm driving more often than I did as a college student! Back and forth from Williamsburg to Newport News... I'm remembering what fun I used to have in the car singing to my music or thinking about my day (which translates into "writing in my head") or talking to a friend or my mother on the phone. I hope that some shameless freak has written a book on Car Yoga... it's just such a great time for me lately to center, consider my angle for class, consider nothing at all, what have you.
I'm also seeing more of my family. The majority of my relatives live in Newport News... they've allowed me to come shower and offered me homecooked meals after standing in a room of 100 degrees telling people what to do... Yeah... life is pretty good...
However, as the Disney bluebird hops on my shoulder, I have found a joy in teaching people. I already know what yoga does for me... but every time I teach, I have a chance to see what it does for other people.
It's not much of a secret that I'm not a huge fan of "people," but yoga erases the attention these petty sentiments almost entirely. The lady in the front row might be the bitch who cut me off on the highway and the guy in the left corner could very well be that jerk who jumped the line ahead of me at the market, but in the yoga studio, no one is anyone. We are all existing in a bubble of wellness. All I can do once I enter that room is guide the students and absorb the energy that they are putting into their practice. I also have the exquisite pleasure of seeing some of them make large improvements in their technique, breathing, etc.
So, today I'm reflecting on what it has meant to me to start out quietly at a beautiful studio in Williamsburg and then to add to my schedule three classes at a very different studio in Newport News.
The Williamsburg studio is sort of idyllic... you walk in to a simple lobby and place your things in a cubby on the wall. Then you enter the studio as a damp wave of warmth fogs on your air-conditioned skin. The mirrors in the front and side of the room reflect the scenes of trees, weather, and birds through the windows. It helps to make the studio seem a little bigger than it actually is (maximum capacity is about 30 people). This was a calming sanctuary in which to study and practice during my training program. There were nine of us trainees in total, giving us space to spread out and make ourselves comfortable with mats, bolsters, and blankets. It was a unique moment in my life.
I teach one class there on Saturday mornings... it cuts into my time at the farmers' market, but I love going back to this studio, training with people I met during the program, and feeling the serenity of that gorgeous room.
I was acquired recently by another studio in the city next door. It's a whole different ballpark. Body to body, the room in which one practices can hold up to 75 people. There are four walls, two lined with mirrors. There's a covered fridge in which we keep cool cloths for the end of practice as well as little bottles of water (we carry those and packets of Emergen-C in case anyone feels faint). We plug in our i-pods to a sound system, turn up the heat, and shut the door. There is only aritificial light in this studio, but it has a nice dimmer switch to adjust for working out or relaxation time.
I took one class and realized that my teaching style is very different from the other girls at this studio. I find that kind of funny... it reminds me of two Lutheran churches... you might think there's a unity due to the denomination, but every congregation is very, very different. I've tried to blend my style with the sorts of instructions and variations that the other teachers give so as not to totally throw off the regular clientel.
I have to say that, so far, I've really liked these other girls. I feel pretty much at home in this bunch. They're all unafraid of being themselves and make it easy for me to do the same and step outside the "yoga aura" and admit to my likes, dislikes, and hobbies. I never walk into anything with the expectation of friendship... if anything, I work for solitude... but I feel I may walk away from this studio with a person or two with whom I won't want to lose touch.
I'm driving more often than I did as a college student! Back and forth from Williamsburg to Newport News... I'm remembering what fun I used to have in the car singing to my music or thinking about my day (which translates into "writing in my head") or talking to a friend or my mother on the phone. I hope that some shameless freak has written a book on Car Yoga... it's just such a great time for me lately to center, consider my angle for class, consider nothing at all, what have you.
I'm also seeing more of my family. The majority of my relatives live in Newport News... they've allowed me to come shower and offered me homecooked meals after standing in a room of 100 degrees telling people what to do... Yeah... life is pretty good...
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