Here I Go Again...

Nashville, TN:  I can remember writing my New Year's Day blog from a year ago.  It has been almost exactly a year ago (365 days today since it was a leap year) and it's been interesting doing a personal inventory of what this year has offered, what amazing opportunities I've had and what completely ridiculous mistakes I've made.

First, an overview of some of the good stuff (aka a summary of most of my blog posts from 2008):

- bought my first home:  a sweet condo in East Nashville (technically December of '07, but actually making it my HOME happened this year)

- started an amazing job as Tour Manager for one of the most incredible women in country music (and the music business as a whole)

- visited a few churches like here and here and here (though still looking for the perfect place for me)

- went to the UK with another fabulous female artist and hit London (again), Glasgow, Leeds, Manchester and Liverpool... and made it to the Cavern Club

- spent 4 days in Paris with my friend, Melanie, where we hit museums, cafes, Jim Morrison's grave and where I met up with my Algerian penpal from 20 years ago

- took a Mindfulness workshop and began going to weekly meditation group at Vanderbilt, plus tried (and still trying) to meditate daily (hard to do, but I have a great little meditation area set up in my room!)

- visited my best friend in Asheville, NC, and other fun bitches nearby, where I was reminded of how very important it is to have good friends

- went to a Women's Creativity Retreat in South Kona, Hawaii, where I studied under the woman that wrote the how-to book on Polaroid Image Transfers & Emulsion Lifts

- participated in the Relay For Life and walked 10 hours / 40 miles and raised $1685 for cancer research

- met a few boys :)

- traveled around the country (and a bit of Canada) with my boss, her friend and that other chick

- started salsa dancing

- strengthened my friendship with few fabulous females and found my local Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte

- went to Israel, saw where Jesus was born, lived & died and took a boat ride on the sea of Galilee listening to 70s music on an Israeli iPod (including "Brick House" -- very surreal)

- read a bunch of books! (for book club, of course)

- flew to the west coast to see the Indigo Girls, drove to Memphis to see the Dave Matthews Band, came back to see Sheryl Crow, Matt Wertz, Stephen Kellogg & The Sixers and Jason Mraz in town (not all together, unfortunately), then flew to Raleigh to see John Mayer 

- began volunteering at Magdalene and Thistle Farms

- got a new pair of glasses

- took a mixed media painting class

- saw (and met!) New Kids On The Block on their reunion tour

- got even more involved with Magdalene

- had a visit from M&D over Thanksgiving (and actually COOKED!) then went to Omaha to spend time with them over Christmas

And now for the low-lights:

Actually...

You know what?  I'd rather not post them here.  Partially because they are either stupid or embarrassing or heartbreaking (or all of the above) and, though I have a tendency to relive them whenever I write year-end reviews (and most nights, to be honest), I'd rather not have them in print so I can see what a jackass I can be at times.  Or have my friends / family / parents be reminded / made aware of it either.

However... 

I want to share some perils of wisdom my friend, Stacye, gave me one particular morning, following a night I'll chalk up to living & learning:

"One of the long-pondered opinions I've come to is that this life seems to be a long (hopefully) succession of major fuck ups, near misses and fumble-y attempts at making it all right. We're all just looking to FEEL something. More powerful, more in control, more attractive, more loved, less of a loser, less of whatever our parents or old boyfriends told us we were.... 

Unless there is real malice behind any of it I have to assume that it's all easily forgivable and not nearly as big a portion of the big picture as it feels like it is the next day. "

So instead of dwelling too much on the cringing moments of the past, I'll look -- once again -- to the future and hope that I can continue on this journey, this path to wholeness, knowing that despite all the bad stuff, I'm still so very, very blessed.

Can't Kill This One

Nashville, TN:  I'm notoriously bad for killing things.  Not actively, mind you, but by not taking care of them.  I've tried having plants on multiple occasions but I will either forget to water them or keep them in my room, which is very dark and cozy, but also means there is no sunlight for them to bask in (note to non-plant people: this is a necessity.  Who knew?).  

Not to make excuses (well, not a TON of them at least), but I'm gone a lot.  When I'm out of town for work or other adventures, it's hard to remember that I need to get back at some point soon and take care of living things that are in my home.  Guess I'll wait on getting the dog I've been dreaming of a while now....

On a separate note, in my dining area, I have a 20' high x 12' wide wall, which is so large, if I had any sort of hanging art work on it, the wall would literally swallow it up.  Also, at the very bottom of the wall, I had a few stains from a mishap with the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser (they don't mention on the packaging that you're not supposed to use it on flat paint.  Had to find that out via a google search of "why are my walls now darker than usual in the spots I just supposedly cleaned with this freaking product!?").

So I needed to find something that would cover up said stains, plus add a little bit of artistic flare to an otherwise boring, but functional wall.  I went on a craiglist hunt and found a link to April James, a local artist, who does faux finishes and murals, among other things.  Upon deeper investigation, her blog has links to other local bloggers that I read myself.  The connection seemed to be a match waiting to happen!  So, after a few email exchanges and a free in-home consultation, April came over and created a piece of artwork that fit perfectly on my entire wall.  Plus, she gave me the one tree that I simply can't kill!

And now, for the photo shoot:

The wall before it became art...

Helping April hang shelves (and Sheri helping me by taking pictures)...

The beginnings of the tree...

Making the 8' ladder into a 10' ladder by putting one end on chairs (scary to watch!)...

Adding green highlights to the tree and decorative pieces to the shelves...

the finished piece... my own beautiful, artistic, non-killable plant to warm my home...

Home Life

Nashville, TN:  

Here's to

Sunday mornings,

being home (and wanting to),

bright sun & crisp breeze,

NPR,

new fuzzy slippers,

 hot tea

and

possibilities.

It's A Wonderful Life...

...UNLESS YOU DON'T GET MARRIED!

Omaha, NE:  As family tradition dictates, we watch "It's A Wonderful Life" after Mom's quiche dinner and before midnight mass.  I lay with my head in Mom's lap (no matter how old I get, this is where I feel safest) and try not to tear up at the same parts I do every year.  It is even harder tonight since I know this is the last year I will have on Christmas eve in this house.

However.

I had forgotten about this one part.  The part where George goes to find Mary when he gets his wish of not being born granted.  Clarence, the angel, tells him where Mary is... and it' not pretty.  Literally. 

George:  Clarence...

Clarence:  Yes, George?

George:  Where's Mary?

Clarence:  Oh, well, I...I...I can't do... 

George:  I don't know how you know these things, but tell me, where is she?

Clarence:  I...

George:  If you know where she is, tell me where my wife is!

Clarence:  I'm not supposed to tell.

George:  Please, Clarence, tell me where she is!!

Clarence:  You're not going to like it, George.

George:  Where is she?!?

Clarence:  She's an old maid!  She never married!

George:  Where's Mary, where is she?!?

Clarence:  She is...

George:  Where is she?!!??!?!

Clarence:  She's just about to close up the library!

So George runs through the streets of Pottersville (formerly Bedford Falls) and tracks down Mary.  Folks, I almost had to turn away from the screen.  This woman -- this poor, wretched woman -- came out of the library with NO makeup on, a FRUMPY hat, HUGE bushy eyebrows and -- get ready for the worst bit of all -- was wearing GLASSES!  It simply broke my heart to know that because she never married, she simply lost all sense of style.

I can only pray that if I ever have an angel come down from heaven (while trying to get her wings) and show me how life would be like if I were never born (though I doubt I had as much influence as George Bailey), the people in my life around me would retain sculpted eyebrows, lose all love of literature (or at least don't admit they work at a Borders) and, for the love of all that is good and true, that they are MARRIED.

The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

Omaha, NE:  I had big plans to blog during Advent.  I figure since there are four weeks building up to the preparation of Christmas, I would write four blogs to coincide with the the Advent calendar.  However, it's the night before Christmas and I have yet to write one thing.

But, it's made me   t h i n k   and THAT is one of the beauties of blogging.  Even if you don't get something actually written in the time frame you had hoped to, it forces you to take a moment and look at what's around you.

I've been reflecting on the season of Advent itself.  As a kid, I understood Advent to a chunk of time before Christmas that you had to get to before you got to the big day to get your presents.  At church, I always liked the decorative pink and purple candles surrounding the wreath on the alter (mainly because purple was my favorite color).  And I remember it being similar to Lent, except you didn’t have to give anything up or fast… it was a more “up” holiday because we were waiting for a birth instead of a death.

As a grown-up (ish), I am far too familiar with the activity of waiting.  The hurry-up-and-wait game is one of my least favorites to join in, yet I always seem to be a star player in it, whether or not I want to.  For some reason it seems the more impatient I get, the longer I have to wait.  Like some trick someone is pulling on me, trying to teach me a lesson, but it really just makes me even more impatient.

I have been more worried lately about what happens if the thing you're waiting for, even patiently (if it's possible), simply doesn't show up.  Like if you had made plans to eat at a really nice restaurant and you didn't snack all day just to have this amazing meal at 8pm and you show up to the place and it's closed?  Or what if you find out you can't have kids after you've waited your whole life to begin a family?  (Author's note:  NO clocks ticking, I just spent the afternoon with my cousin and her twin babies and it made for a good reference.)

However, as I prepare to go to our traditional midnight mass (though at a new church this year... I guess nothing stays the same but change), I think about the story of the first Christmas and the waiting game the folks of those day had to play.  Just think: so, you're promised that someone is going to come down and rescue you (and the entire human race) from oppression and fear and war, yet you don't know who it will be or when it's coming.  So you wait and wait and wait, then one day, you're told that this person -- just a regular old guy -- is actually here and is going to save the world... but he is actually a 8 lb. 6 oz. baby!  Oh, and he was born to some random couple (who aren't even married!) and he lives in some small & unimportant town.

I think about how long they waited.  Had they almost given up?  Did they believe that it was actually in the cards for them?  And I think about when it actually DID happen, did they get it?  Did they know that this was  a big deal?  Could they recognize greatness even though it did not come in the package they were hoping for / expecting?  

I feel like I'm constantly waiting.  Waiting for happiness.  Waiting for wholeness.  Waiting for love.  But when I get it, what will it look like?  What sort of package will it come in?  And, my more pressing question is not WHEN I get it but WILL I get it.... ever?  I'm sure there's some sort of greater plan for me in life, but what or who does that include?  When will it happen?  How long will I have to wait?

I read an article called "Slower Than Christmas" that said:

"Waiting is a key component of faith. Waiting effectively, continuing to anticipate future joy throughout years or even whole lifetimes or generations of often joyless struggle, might be seen as synonymous with great faith."

Oy vey.

However, it's right.  I think George Michael said it up best when he said, "'cause I gotta have faith-a-faith-a-faith."  What else can I do except have faith that this waiting WILL pay off?  I feel like if I know FOR SURE I will obtain all the desires of my heart, I would be more patient with this whole in-between time.  However, there is no way of guaranteeing that is going to happen -- or how it is going to look like when/if it does happen -- which is when all the faith stuff comes in.

In the meantime, I need to continue filling up my life with good things... in the meantime.  There are books written about it, songs sung about it and I found this almost-to-close-to-home article penned about it (with "eight suggestions for flourishing in The Meantime").  I do think it's pretty ironic that this period is literally called a MEAN time.  Don't you think it's pretty mean to have to go through unnerving, unreliable, unsettling feelings before you get to the pie in the sky prize.... whatever that may be?

From First-Order Principles for College Teachers: Ten Basic Ways to Improve the Teaching Process, Robert Boice, State University of New York - Stony Brook:

"Active waiting requires the kind of patience that tolerates short-term discomforts (such as temptations to do something else more immediately rewarding) in order to gain longer-term rewards."

Maybe this season of my life is a mere advent to what is to come.  Maybe the point is actively waiting and truly preparing my life for what comes my way next.  Maybe if I can just get through those "short-term discomforts," I'll begin to find the longer-term rewards.  

I just have to keep believing, keep hoping, keep the faith (-a-faith-a-faith-a) that what I truly desire is a WHEN and not an IF.

Even IF I don't know WHEN it's all gonna happen.

On Second Thought...

Omaha, NE:  

I love this 

home-for-the-holidays-feel-good-crap, 

but it is 

freaking 

COLD 

here.  

Get me back to the south, please!

Who Says You Can't Go Home?

Omaha, NE:  After fighting post-Titans traffic (though enjoying good tunes & good company on the way there), arriving at the airport just in time to realize my flight was delayed an hour, sitting randomly next to an old friend on the first leg and reading the first half of Gretchen Wilson's autobiography on the second leg, I arrived safely to the place I was born & raised:  Omaha.

There's something very sweet, very humbling about having your parents pick you up from the airport and drive you to what used to be your home for so many years.  After I adjusted to the below freezing wind slapping me in the face, I bundled up in the backseat and took in the ride down the streets of Omaha... and memory lane.

First, we weaved in and out of the Christmas tree-lit streets of downtown's Old Market.   I had a flashback to when Andy Bouska, my high school boyfriend, and I spent the night outside here once in the early 90s, in an attempt to raise awareness of the homeless epidemic of the city.  (Those were the days I thought I could change the world.)

We then turned down the unassuming and comfortingly quiet 20th Street.  In an eternal moment, all senses flooded my memory banks:  the car filled up with the smell of my Dad's cologne, the sounds of the Beatles' 10 o'clock hour on the radio and, visually, my childhood whizzing by me on each side.  

There was Piccolo's where we had special meals at -- graduations, guests visiting from out of town, even a wedding reception or two.  Then the now-for-sale building that was once home to Poopsie's Bar (where I swear I thought I would have my first drink at... but never even made it in).  And, on the right, the yellow house that Craig Roberts (3rd grade boyfriend) used to live in (who, by the way, dumped me for Kerry Synoweicki later that year.  Jerk.).

A quick right on Martha, a few more blocks to 23rd... and now we're in front of the house.  I step outside to take a photo of this festive location and it's a bittersweet feeling knowing this will be the last Christmas I spend here, since my parents just purchased a new ranch-style home on the west side of town.  But I'm sure it was the cold air that caused my eyes to water.

Once inside, I scope the joint -- everything seems to be pretty much the same as when I left it last Christmas.  I check to make sure the important necessities of my stay are present:  wireless internet - check;  keys to mom's car - check;  hummus & blue chips - check.  And there in the corner of the dining room still stands, what my Dad affectionately calls the "Carolyn Shrine" -- a GI-NORMOUS photo of me from senior year of high school, complete with permed hair, contacts, an off-the-shoulder velour top and a soft glow to make me look slightly angelic.  Mom assures me that the photo will have a new home over one of the two fireplaces in the new house (whew - I was so worried!).

After a bit of storytelling and picture showing, I retreat to my old bedroom.  Most of it is how I had left it years ago, but at least my folks' upgraded my day bed to their old queen.  I crawl into it and glance to my right to take inventory of my bookshelf:  an old ballet shoe made into pewter, a NKOTB license plate given to me on my 16th birthday, photos from pom pon competions, a bouquet I caught at the first wedding I was in (or, more technically, ripped out of another girl's hands) and statues of samoyeds and cougars and Mary's.  

I fought for a way for many years to get out of this place, to see the world, to escape the seemingly small town that was stifling me.  And yet, on a cold winter's night in 2008, I understand there's really no place like home.

4am art

Nashville, TN:  Today, I woke up at 4am.  I laid in bed, looking at the clock, noticing it had not changed since I last looked -- which seemed like hours ago.  I couldn't seem to get comfortable -- there was a dull pain throughout my back, probably due to the 90 mins. massage and the 90 mins. hot yoga and the 3o mins. in the hot tub I crammed in the day before.  Plus, my mind just wouldn't QUIT.  Nothing too major, nothing more than I'm used to.  I just couldn't seem to get back to the rest I so desperately need.

I panicked for a moment -- is this like the 4ams in years past?  I went through a period of waking up each morning to the same nightmare.  You know the kind (and if you don't, be grateful) -- the times when you are jolted out of sleep, gasping for air as if you had been running from a man with a knife and there is a split second of wondering "did that happen?  was that real?"   Then slowly, the reality of heartbreak, the actuality of loss creeps over and covers you, like paint crackling through a newly painted wall.  The silence is deafening and the tears simply won't stop.  You are acutely aware that you. are. alone.

But THIS morning at 4am, I took a deep breath in through my nose, let it fill up my lungs and felt my belly rise.  I held it a moment then slowly let the stale air escape out of my slightly parted lips.  I reassured myself:  it is NOT that nightmare, I am safe in my home and I am not alone.  Well, at this moment, technically, I am, but in my world at large, I know I am very loved.

However, I was still uncomfortable and I still couldn't sleep.  So, I got up, slipped into a pair of fuzzy socks, snuck down the stairs and silently walked into my studio.  I've decided to make a few art pieces for Christmas gifts and haven't gotten around to actually making them yet.  So I flipped on a few lights, and in the quiet, begin creating 4am art.  

After I transfered a photo onto a piece of Polaroid 669 film and helped the ink dry, I dunked it into the 160° F water and gently shook the pan back and forth.  I watched the image gingerly separate from its backing but before it has a chance to dissolve, I scooped up the thin film that was left and placed it in a pan of room temperature water.  

There, it relaxed and spread out to become a real photo again.  Gingerly, I took it out of the water and placed it on a mirror.  I tried to maintain the balance of working with it quickly enough before it dries, but slowly enough that I don't tear it.  After a few attempts of smoothing, I held it back and marveled at my creation.  I have missed making art.  I have missed this feeling of completing a project.

And then I needed a little company.

Scrolling through my iPod, I turned on the speakers and searched for someone to invite into my studio and my thoughts.  Ahhh... there she was.  Just the person who would get me being up at 4am.  Just the person who would enjoy this art project.  Just the person who would laugh at my fuzzy socks.

"The journey to You leaves us so tender, a breeze could break our hearts.  So talk to us in whispers and sweet silence until we can walk again.  Be present with us, O God, even as we take our rest.  And strengthen our desire for courage."

From Hither & Yon: A Travel Guide for the Spiritual Journey 

by Becca Stevens

And with that, I retreated back to bed, feeling accomplished and exhausted, and got a couple more hours of sleep before my day REALLY began.  I am grateful for art that is always available and for words that serve as a sweet bedtime story, even at 4am.

And I hope she likes her gift.

In Lieu of New Year's Eve

Nashville, TN:  There's so much pressure on New Year's Eve to have an amazing time.  The night has to be excessively fun and you have to be consistently laughing and dancing with your best friends and drink exorbitant amounts of alcohol.  Then there's the midnight kiss with that perfect person... don't even get me started about THAT pressure!

So I decided to put a spin on NYE and instead of celebrating on the 31st, I flipped it around and partied like it was 1999 (remember when that used to work?) on the 13th.  

And I rung in the not-so-new year with 171 of my "closest" friends.

And I went on a pub crawl in downtown Nashville.

And I wore a Mrs. Clause outfit.

Ok, so it was a little different than a true end of the year celebration, but Santa Rampage still had almost all of the ingredients to a movie-scripted New Year's Eve party.

First off, I had to LOOK the part.

Next, I met up with my friends at the Beer Seller.

Then, we walked up to the Christmas tree at Union Square to commemorate the event.

And then the crawling (actually, only walking at this point) begins.

Second stop is at Coyote Ugly.  Though they encouraged all the female Santas to dance on the bar, I was far too sober to do that so soon!

But when we moved to BB King's, where we grooved (more appropriately) on the dance floor.

And then back to more crawling.

Somewhere along the way, we met up with some men in uniform (doesn't this picture make you proud to be an American?!)

And there was even a band that played up & down 2nd Ave!  Covering all the holiday classics, in including "Jingle Bells" and "Hava Nagila."

But, most importantly, I spent the evening with sweet friends.... 

Toby, May & Tim...

Evan (who usually is very grumpy... looks like Santa can put him in a good mood!)...

JB (otherwise known as "Santa Pimp")...

the happy couple, Chris & Jess....

and, of course, one of the founder fathers of Santa Rampage Nashville, the funny, the reliable, the awesome, Andy.

At the end of the day (and by day, I mean 3am the next morning), I reflect on my existence in a sea of santas and am grateful for having an opportunity to celebrate the year on MY clock, defusing the potential power that Dec. 31st may have over my psyche.

The Yummy List

Nashville, TN:  One of my favorite monthly emails that pops into my inbox and is *almost* deleted, until I realize who it's from, is "The Yummy List."  Writer and publicist, Holly Gleason, gathers a multitude of big and little things in the world that could be considered "yummy."  Books, Songs, Food, Feelings, Ideas, Smells... if it makes you feel warm & fuzzy, if it makes you stop & think, if it makes you laugh or cry... Holly has a way of bringing it to life with her emotional descriptions and wondrous insightfulness.

This month's list included a moving summary of the book I've spent a lot of time with over the past few months, Find Your Way Home: Words from the Street, Wisdom from the Heart, by the Women of Magdalene with Becca Stevens.  

From "The Yummy List":

Find Your Way Home, The Women of Magdalene with Becca Stevens

They were hookers, junkies, castaways — and they were beautiful. Beautiful in the eyes of God, and those who choose to see the God in them. Such a person was Episcopal priest Becca Stevens, who started the Magdalene House and then Thistle Farms, a company that makes organic bath and beauty products, to help transition women off the streets and into society.

This tiny volume is the collected wisdom of many of these women, structured to reflect the precepts that guide their lives. It is simple truth, grounded in lives that have been fought for, yet surrendered in love to a love greater than anything most of us have known. There is philosophy, grit, faith and especially grace. It is an easy read that will make you more, indeed, that will set your spirit to live out loud and in compassion on fire. 24 Rules that will change your life, bring miracles and fill your heart — all in a beautiful palm sized paperback.

www.thistlefarms.org www.abingdonpress.com

It's nice to see how someone else (especially with such a way with words!) can describe this book and see the real gift of it... especially in time for the holidays! Definitely yummy.

New Zealand Brilliance

Nashville, TN:  Ah, New Zealand.  One of my favorite international places.  Not only is it aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but also, it invented bungee jumping, was the first western democracy to give women the vote and whose people are known as "kiwis" (just cute!).  

And now I have another reason to love this fair land.

Ladies (and some gentleman), I bring you... the Man Vending Machine.

Ah, yes... all the frustration of finding a perfect mate can now be put aside and achieved as simply as choosing a can of Coke.

Step One:

Choose Your perfect partner:  Mr. Classic, Mr. Romantic, Mr. Foreign, Mr. Rich, Mr. Action or Mr. Perfect.  Deposit your money into the machine (how much?  does it really matter at this point?!) and...

Step 2:

Wah lah!  Mr. whoever-does-it-for-you magically appears in a cloud of smoke, holding a dozen roses just for you!

Step 3:

Mr. so-and-so is all yours!  But at this point, the ball's in your court.  They might supply the men, but you're on your own after that!

To see the process, start-to-finish (note:  finish being getting the guy, not what they did with them after that), you can check out the video here.

After seeing all of the options, however, I'd probably end up with Mr. Perfect.  Somehow I have a feeling he's more of a reality than those other guys.

A Holiday Tradition

Nashville, TN:  

It's that time again.  

Saturday.  

8:30PM.  

Beer Seller.  

Come one.

Come all.

Come dressed as Santa.

It's Beginning To Look A Little Like Christmas

Nashville, TN:  It's barely 7am and I was awake even before it was light out, so I decided to trudge downstairs, make some tea, light my Thistle Farms Holiday Candle and plop in front of the computer.  I wonder what my days would be like without this thing... but I'm not curious (or brave) enough to find out now.  

In any event, before I get sucked in to the world of other people's lives via their blogs or perusing another fruitless dating search engine, I decided I would share some pictures of my home, decorated for the holiday season.  I realize now the same decorations in my last place look fairly small because of the high ceilings in my new place, but I do feel it's helping me get in the mood of the season.  That, and listening to the traditional Christmas-home-decorating soundtrack, Merry, Merry Christmas.  

living room, complete with tree and santa hat on the stereo speakers

dining area & staircase leading to master bedroom

sweet little wreath that looks teeny on the big wall over the fireplace

typical artsy shot from upstairs

handmade kitchen towel with my Goddaughter's handprint on it

away in a manager & on top of a bookshelf

When I'm Back On My Feet Again

Nashville, TN:  As I concocted my blog in my head tonight on the drive home from Ibiza, I decided I was going to title it with the first song that popped in my head with the word "feet" or "shoes" in it.  After clearing my mind of salsa beats, I waited for the chosen one to reveal itself to me.  Suddenly it was clear:  "When I'm Back On My Feet Again" by Michael Bolton.  Seriously?  Come on, brain.  THAT is your first thought?  Not "Dancing Shoes" by the Arctic Monkeys or even "I'll Be Back Upon My Feet" by the (original) Monkees?  You know my love of and history with pop music, but even I have to draw a line sometimes.

Back to the matter at hand (or feet, as it were).  It's been at least 3 months - if not 4 - since I last salsa'd.  I was going on a fairly regular basis -- Thursday nights, with an occasional Saturday night thrown in for good measure.  I normally danced with my new friend, Jose, who generously helped me in the very beginning, when I really didn't know what I was doing.  But now it had been a while and Jose was nowhere to be found, so I had to try this one on my own and see if I could do the old "you never forget how to ride a bike" trick.  

And it worked!

Not only did the steps come back to me in a flash, but this was the first time of wearing my new "real" salsa shoes and I could actually get my whole body to do a full turn in a cross-body lead (not as easy to do when you're wearing regular heels).   When the first half of the lesson was complete (where the men & women are separated to learn their specific parts), I made a bee-line for the guy I noticed was picking up the steps the quickest.  His name was Carlos and once we started dancing together, I could tell we were a good fit.  I fet myself stop counting each step and started moving fluidly, swaying my hips a bit more deliberately on the beat.  Carlos and I danced a few more salsas then one merengue, which I'm not as familiar with, but I still think I held my own.

I don't want you to think I'm ready for Dancing with the Stars, however.  Once Carlos and I took a break, another man asked me to dance -- I believe his name was Carols too (or for the purposes of our story, Carlos Two).  Carlos Two was older -- probably closer to my Dad's age -- and smelled vaguely like my Dad when he still smoked (cigarette smoke and men's musk to cover it up).  Carlos Two didn't like to talk and didn't look me in the eye much, though I notice most people don't look you in the eye when you're dancing.  It's like they're keeping an eye out for who's a better dancer they can ask when we're done.  I though I was getting the hang of it until, at one point, I gouged him in the neck with my thumb nail (oops!).  He was also a big fan of turning me, and since I was wearing the aforementioned new shoes, I would actually spin more than I wanted to and it was hard to stop myself to get back into position for the basic step (rock back, rock front, together).

One of my favorite parts of the night is the space between guys/girls separate lessons and couples lessons.  To get a feel for how fast the steps are going to go, they play one song for everyone to dance to at the same time, alone.  When I first heard the song (which they play at every night I've been there!), I knew I knew it, but I wasn't quite sure what it was.

"When I'm Back On My Feet Again" by Michael Bolton?  No, but wouldn't that have been a nice tie in with this story?  Instead, it's "Lady," originally done by Kenny Rogers, but now, performed by La Palabra.  It's perfect for our practice round and makes me smile to think that country music somehow sneaks into every crevice of my life.

Looks like it's a popular song.  Check out this video of someone else learning salsa to this song.  I could totally handle that setup... as long as I had the shoes.

Find Your Way Home - week 5

Nashville, TN:  As predicted, the 5th and final week of the study and discussion of Find Your Way Home: Words From The Street, Wisdom From The Heart was the most powerful one… for me, at least.  Not only was I able to attend the gathering (even though I had to actually take a flight home after my last show in Baltimore to make it on time), but Becca also invited me to read one of the 24 principles from the book and share my story with the Adult Sunday School attendees.

Which also means I would share it with everyone, via the podcast.  Yipes.

The beauty of this book, this class and this opportunity is that it has energized me.  I found myself pouring over the book, choosing a principle that felt like it was written just for me.   I spent hours reflecting on my life and noting the choices I’ve made in the past that have led me to this exact moment in time.  I don’t think I’ve been THIS engrossed in something besides my career.... or maybe my love of boy bands... but I digress….

Though I actually enjoying being the center of attention (shocker, I know), I was really NERVOUS about my talk.  I know it’s my life so it can’t be wrong, per se, but I have a tendency to be part Pollyanna when it comes to the big finale of the story.   I didn’t want give people the wrong impression of my life (“once I was lost, but now I’m found”), but I also wanted to get a point across… but needed to figure out WHAT that point was.   Oh, and I wanted to make them laugh.  I figure if they are laughing WITH me, it will save the fear of them laughing AT me.

The good news is that there were 4 other women who were also sharing, so I wasn’t alone (though I seemed to be the only one with visibly shaking hands).  Lisa, a school teacher, started us out and instead of choosing a principle, focused on the title, Find Your Way Home.  Growing up in her church at home, she never felt good enough.  There were people that 'got it" and another group of people that "surely missed the mark."  She says that at St. As, "the community IS different but are marked, not by their difference, but by their common ground."

Tonya, who is a member of the Magdalene community, read #19:  "Live in Gratitude."  She said that "gratitude is healing through my mistakes that I made in life."  Even though she grew up with morals, values & respect, she just didn't get it.  On Sunday mornings, she used to hate going to church because she didn't see the purpose.  But through all of her struggles (going on 3 years clean), when she seems someone outside of her family extending their love, it's an "eye opener" for her and she is grateful for the victories she's won.

And then there was me... but I'll come back to that.

After me came Katie, 9 months clean on Thanksgiving Day!  She chose #13: "Laugh At Yourself," which is perfect, because since I've known her, I always see her laugh.  It's hard to imagine that when she was using drugs, she didn't want to be in public places and didn't allow anyone to see her face.  Now that she's clean, she likes coming out and is glad she can laugh at herself instead of beat herself up like she was used to doing for so long.

Luisa wrapped it up and talked off the cuff, which she is not used to doing.  She spoke about how she came from a deeply routed religious background but had changed some of the programming and shifted her mindset about how she was going to approach life.  She had a feeling that God wanted her to get outside  of the lines that are drawn (either by ourselves or others) and brought her to a community where she could stop apologizing and worrying what other people thin.  She read a piece one of the women had wrote from principle #7:  "Make A Small Change and See A Big Difference," which turned out to be a piece written by Becca.  Of course, without knowing it, Luisa had tied up the 5 week class in a perfect bow with the full-circle conclusion that "you can't tell who is who and what is happening in the book, but to know that we're all looking for the same things in the world as we're walking through it."

Ok, back to me.  Funny, I can re-listen to the podcast and take notes and give you the CliffNotes version of the lovely stories all women (and a man!) have shared.  However, when it comes to me, it's hard to be objective and not nitpick everything little thing I didn't like (though, luckily, my voice didn't quite have the shaky goat quality that I SWEAR I thought it would sound like).  So, instead of running through the bullet points of my 6 minute talk on what brought me here, how the book relates to and brought me to community and where I see the journey taking me, I'll let you listen for yourself (gulp), HERE, if you want.  

Shaky hands again....

But in case you don't get a chance to check it out, I will leave you with the principle I chose which, honestly, could not have been written any better for me in my life right now.

Principle #6:

Take The Longer Path

There is no shortcut on the spiritual path.  The journey to wholeness is lifelong.

We walk the path slowly and remind one another that love is waiting for us when we are able to receive it.

The journey is slow and miraculous; and our job is to just keep going, respecting love's power.

Playing With Yourself

Nashville, TN:  People who play instruments always impress me.  Granted, I can read music, play "Memory" on the piano (poorly) and know at least 5 chords on the guitar (which means I can pretty much any country song).  However, people who REALLY play are just uuber talented to me.  Especially when they can use their voice, two instruments, a few pedals & loops and literally play with themselves, making this insane little full band sound.  

Check out KT Tunstell doing one of her hits, solo(ish) on a late night BBC show.  Even Anita Baker was groovin!