At the end of a long day at Gleason's, some guy put headphones on me and asked me to speak in full sentences for the camera. I only agreed to play deer in the headlights because Phyllis did it. Phyllis is the other woman in the video. If she had jumped off a cliff, or the nearby Brooklyn bridge, I, too, at that point in the day, might have joined her in sheer exhaustion.
We'll let them believe I'm a "NY boxer" and one of "the finest at Gleason's Gym" (see YouTube description), now won't we?
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Honey, Help Me Out
While setting up a new computer for me, my husband actually said, "I plan to dummy-proof this for you."
Yes: "dummy" and "you" in the same sentence.
It must be said that this statement follows one particularly difficult week in which I
(a) did not properly attach the cap to our bottle of honey, which in turn made said cap fall into his food, along with more than a serving size of the condiment, and
(b) failed to fully turn the knob of the wine box, which began a Biblical flood at the base of the box, found 24 hours later, rendering our cabinet a robust aroma with notes of cherry and dark berries, ending with a smoky finish.
I recall that when I took the test in What Color Is Your Parachute? my parachute did not lean toward machines or equipment of any kind. I should work with ideas, the test said.
And yet these ubiquitous parts of life stymie me every day. Right now, for example, I'm eating my oatmeal in a bowl that's seated on a plate. It's on a plate because the oatmeal itself exploded all over the microwave, and the plate catches the stuff dripping down the sides. I'll eat the rest.
This is not the first time it's happened.
I'd like to think that all this evidence points more toward genius, not dummy.
After all, I'm smart enough to keep the oatmeal plate/bowl away from my new computer.
Yes: "dummy" and "you" in the same sentence.
It must be said that this statement follows one particularly difficult week in which I
(a) did not properly attach the cap to our bottle of honey, which in turn made said cap fall into his food, along with more than a serving size of the condiment, and
(b) failed to fully turn the knob of the wine box, which began a Biblical flood at the base of the box, found 24 hours later, rendering our cabinet a robust aroma with notes of cherry and dark berries, ending with a smoky finish.
I recall that when I took the test in What Color Is Your Parachute? my parachute did not lean toward machines or equipment of any kind. I should work with ideas, the test said.
And yet these ubiquitous parts of life stymie me every day. Right now, for example, I'm eating my oatmeal in a bowl that's seated on a plate. It's on a plate because the oatmeal itself exploded all over the microwave, and the plate catches the stuff dripping down the sides. I'll eat the rest.
This is not the first time it's happened.
I'd like to think that all this evidence points more toward genius, not dummy.
After all, I'm smart enough to keep the oatmeal plate/bowl away from my new computer.
Monday, May 21, 2012
"I Go My Hardest"
As a wellness coach at the Y, I sit at a desk and answer questions. A large sign announcing "FITNESS" hangs over the top, and on occasion I've added some handwritten notes, such as "The doctor is IN" and "FITNESS HELP 5 cents."
Last week a guy asked me about deadlifts. He loves doing them, he says, but he often throws his back out and has to sit out a few weeks. I checked his form--minus the bar, as he was still hurting--and aside from encouragement to keep his eyes up, he was good.
Instinct told me that maybe this man is prone to injury, the proportions of his leg bones prevent ideal technique, and maybe he needs to find something else to do. But my gut said to think outside the box. The man declared his love for deadlifts, and was almost wistful while telling me he'd had to go without. I needed to find an adequate substitute.
I demonstrated halo deadlifts and good mornings. He perked up and we got to talking.
"They deadlift in the Olympics, don't they?" he asked. "I figure the exercise must not be bad for you if it's in the Olympics."
"Well, powerlifters are prone to very particular injuries, such as spinal decompression," I said. "There are dangers in any sport. Look at football and the brain injury studies--the research hasn't stopped anyone from playing, or watching."
"Sometimes you just do what you love and accept the risks," I heard myself saying.
Because nothing is guaranteed in this world.
Yesterday's paper had an article on a 9-year-old girl with type 1 diabetes that wrestles on her school's team. The title was "Girl wrestles diabetes, against boys."
Indeed. The article was right in highlighting such a kid as inspiration. And as a mom of a type 1 diabetic, I could find even more in the situation than the writer knew to address.
Wrestling is one of the more challenging sports that a diabetic can undertake. Blood sugar can rise 200 points in the adrenaline rush of the short round; this is manageable but not ideal for the A1c "report card" of the blood.
Conversely, the blood sugar could drop; this kid has passed out on the mat more than once. It's my worst nightmare, and for the love of the game, this family takes the risks. (I trust they've put all the precautions in place, knowing that diabetes is simply beyond management, at times.)
"Sometimes, when my sugar is low, it's hard to wrestle," she says, "but I go my hardest."
In the face of danger, she doesn't play it safe; she gives it everything.
How many of us can say the same?
Last week a guy asked me about deadlifts. He loves doing them, he says, but he often throws his back out and has to sit out a few weeks. I checked his form--minus the bar, as he was still hurting--and aside from encouragement to keep his eyes up, he was good.
Instinct told me that maybe this man is prone to injury, the proportions of his leg bones prevent ideal technique, and maybe he needs to find something else to do. But my gut said to think outside the box. The man declared his love for deadlifts, and was almost wistful while telling me he'd had to go without. I needed to find an adequate substitute.
I demonstrated halo deadlifts and good mornings. He perked up and we got to talking.
"They deadlift in the Olympics, don't they?" he asked. "I figure the exercise must not be bad for you if it's in the Olympics."
"Well, powerlifters are prone to very particular injuries, such as spinal decompression," I said. "There are dangers in any sport. Look at football and the brain injury studies--the research hasn't stopped anyone from playing, or watching."
"Sometimes you just do what you love and accept the risks," I heard myself saying.
Because nothing is guaranteed in this world.
Yesterday's paper had an article on a 9-year-old girl with type 1 diabetes that wrestles on her school's team. The title was "Girl wrestles diabetes, against boys."
Indeed. The article was right in highlighting such a kid as inspiration. And as a mom of a type 1 diabetic, I could find even more in the situation than the writer knew to address.
Wrestling is one of the more challenging sports that a diabetic can undertake. Blood sugar can rise 200 points in the adrenaline rush of the short round; this is manageable but not ideal for the A1c "report card" of the blood.
Conversely, the blood sugar could drop; this kid has passed out on the mat more than once. It's my worst nightmare, and for the love of the game, this family takes the risks. (I trust they've put all the precautions in place, knowing that diabetes is simply beyond management, at times.)
"Sometimes, when my sugar is low, it's hard to wrestle," she says, "but I go my hardest."
In the face of danger, she doesn't play it safe; she gives it everything.
How many of us can say the same?
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Even In The Darkest Place [video]
Click over there on "prison theatre" for the back story on Even In The Darkest Place, a reading by former prisoners. I wrote--arranged, really, as these are all their words--and directed.
The videos are now online. Unfortunately, this isn't the original script, as one of the gentleman relapsed and went back to jail for a time. I cut out and/or delegated his lines for this particular performance.
A bit of a time commitment for you, but the stories are powerful. And true. Wait and see.
Find more on the "inside" church these men came from at http://www.celebrationfellowshipcrc.com/.
The videos are now online. Unfortunately, this isn't the original script, as one of the gentleman relapsed and went back to jail for a time. I cut out and/or delegated his lines for this particular performance.
A bit of a time commitment for you, but the stories are powerful. And true. Wait and see.
Find more on the "inside" church these men came from at http://www.celebrationfellowshipcrc.com/.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
A Conversation That Reveals What The Son Thinks of the Mother, Who Is Doing Her Best to be Normal
THEO (age 8): Mom! What day's Matt coming over?
ME: Saturday.
THEO: Oh good! Matt's a lot of fun.
ME: Yes he is. I like Matt.
THEO: You can even tell your jokes around him.
ME: What kind of jokes do you mean?
THEO: You know, the kind you usually tell--ones that are inappropriate.
ME: Saturday.
THEO: Oh good! Matt's a lot of fun.
ME: Yes he is. I like Matt.
THEO: You can even tell your jokes around him.
ME: What kind of jokes do you mean?
THEO: You know, the kind you usually tell--ones that are inappropriate.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Hands On Living
The brain, as recently reported in The New York Times, is unable to distinguish between reading about a thing and experiencing the thing itself. Reading produces a "vivid simulation of reality," to the point of lighting up the same neurological regions in both instances.
I don't know. I've read a lot about boxing, watched videos, went through scenarios in my head. But when I got hit hard for the first time, in my head, something in there went "Hmmm. So this is what boxing is about."
I'm convinced we live out experiences in order to understand a thing more deeply and then, it follows, to help others in the same neurological boat.
Our pastor once took up a sermon series on the seven deadly sins. Perhaps he was holding back, but I had the distinct sense that he had encountered these vices mainly second hand. His examples came from books, and his insights didn't ring true. Surely the man's a sinner, but in comparison, I was the repugnant whore, having bedded at least half the list.
When you experience a thing, everywhere you look you'll see it, and someone else like you.
Someone once described the Honda CR-V make to me and said, "Just start looking for one, and you'll see: they're everywhere."
It never fails to happen that when I'm recovering from an injury, someone will come to me with questions on strengthening or rehabbing that same part, and I am able and enthusiastic about answering. They, in return, are grateful, which gives some value to the pain.
You can read about a thing, but experience it, and then you'll know.
The Times article went on to say that "in one respect novels go beyond simulating reality to give readers an experience unavailable off the page: the opportunity to enter fully into other people's thoughts and feelings."
I'll give them that. We can't experience everything, but we're charged with a directive to live, keep living, and open our eyes through books and media to that which we would never know a thing about.
And yet.
Theatre of the Oppressed--go click on the label at the right and read about it--is what its founder, Augusto Boal, called a "rehearsal for reality." Enter into a character's world through a book, yes, but now, can you step into the shoes of this person's husband? Speak his words? Fight the same fights? You can practice here. And you can be you with your wife, and try on possible solutions to a stressor.
A woman once told me a story of painting a picture. This was for an art therapy class, and she used lots of solid black lines, and some red, to symbolically represent her childhood. She was satisfied with what she expressed in the painting, she said; it captured the emotions well.
And then the teacher asked her to step in front of the painting and speak as that little girl, the one she was remembering.
The woman wept. As she embodied her younger self the raw feeling came through her as bold as her black lines, as fiery as her red paint, and more vivid than any stroke of a brush.
It's a vulnerable step, walking into your life's painting. And yet this is the only way we can truly know.
I don't know. I've read a lot about boxing, watched videos, went through scenarios in my head. But when I got hit hard for the first time, in my head, something in there went "Hmmm. So this is what boxing is about."
I'm convinced we live out experiences in order to understand a thing more deeply and then, it follows, to help others in the same neurological boat.
Our pastor once took up a sermon series on the seven deadly sins. Perhaps he was holding back, but I had the distinct sense that he had encountered these vices mainly second hand. His examples came from books, and his insights didn't ring true. Surely the man's a sinner, but in comparison, I was the repugnant whore, having bedded at least half the list.
When you experience a thing, everywhere you look you'll see it, and someone else like you.
Someone once described the Honda CR-V make to me and said, "Just start looking for one, and you'll see: they're everywhere."
It never fails to happen that when I'm recovering from an injury, someone will come to me with questions on strengthening or rehabbing that same part, and I am able and enthusiastic about answering. They, in return, are grateful, which gives some value to the pain.
You can read about a thing, but experience it, and then you'll know.
The Times article went on to say that "in one respect novels go beyond simulating reality to give readers an experience unavailable off the page: the opportunity to enter fully into other people's thoughts and feelings."
I'll give them that. We can't experience everything, but we're charged with a directive to live, keep living, and open our eyes through books and media to that which we would never know a thing about.
And yet.
Theatre of the Oppressed--go click on the label at the right and read about it--is what its founder, Augusto Boal, called a "rehearsal for reality." Enter into a character's world through a book, yes, but now, can you step into the shoes of this person's husband? Speak his words? Fight the same fights? You can practice here. And you can be you with your wife, and try on possible solutions to a stressor.
A woman once told me a story of painting a picture. This was for an art therapy class, and she used lots of solid black lines, and some red, to symbolically represent her childhood. She was satisfied with what she expressed in the painting, she said; it captured the emotions well.
And then the teacher asked her to step in front of the painting and speak as that little girl, the one she was remembering.
The woman wept. As she embodied her younger self the raw feeling came through her as bold as her black lines, as fiery as her red paint, and more vivid than any stroke of a brush.
It's a vulnerable step, walking into your life's painting. And yet this is the only way we can truly know.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
What I Did On Mother's Day
41 push-ups in 1 minute.
Can you top that, moms (and dads)? No half reps, either.
Can you top that, moms (and dads)? No half reps, either.
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