Flowtation Devices

The good ol’ days of flip-flip-flip and jingle-jangle-jingle

Monday, July 18, 2011 in General Ruminations, Senses, Sentimental | 4 comments

This past weekend I went to the bank to deposit a check and get some cash.

I gave the teller my check, the deposit slip, and requested my $50 back in tens.

Click, click, click went his computer, and in seconds he was presenting me a handful of five $10 bills.

I paused, furrowed my brow. What the…? The transaction was over way too quickly, and I felt uncomfortable by the way he just magically produced my cash and handed it over without counting it. Every teller counts your money! Several times, in fact! That’s why they wear those plastic finger condoms, so they can whip through those bills like a blackjack dealer. The nerve of this teller, to just assume he produced the correct amount of money…

…and then reality hit me. I saw the black printer-like machine next to the teller–a money computer. Just days ago, this teller would have opened a drawer, pulled out some tens, and flip, flip, flipped through the wad to give me the correct amount. But now all he has to do is click in some code that translates to $50 = tens, and with a yawn he reaches down, grabs the cash, and ho-humly passes it over to me like a bored CVS clerk giving me my receipt for a bottle of water.

Technology, 1; Things That Make Life Exciting, 0.

Sure, counting money the old-fashioned way must be time consuming when paired with a robot that does the math for you, but there is something fascinating about watching a bank teller whip through a stack of new, freshly cut bills with cheetah-like speed: 10-20-30-40-50. Re-stack. 10-20-30-40-50. Re-stack. 10-20-30-40-50. All yours! Have a great day! It’s a sensory experience of watching the teller flash through the the money, hearing the flip-flip-flip of the paper against the person’s hands. It adds some color to the otherwise mundane task of going to the bank, a little magic trick of sorts to make that 10-minute wait in line seem not so bad in the end. And, jeez, at least it gives the teller a little dignity! Going from bank lobby pseudo-magician to robot peon can’t be good for self-esteem.

The bank encounter reminded me of other sensory experiences being silenced in place of technology, one of which is the old time board at Orlando International Airport.

Image source

I nicknamed this behemoth the “flippy screen,” because any time a plane departed, arrived, or was delayed, the line in question spun like the numbers on a slot machine until the new designation was listed. At times several lines would flip at once, making the sound of a card dealer on speed. It was fun to witness, too, a bit mesmerizing, like watching little old ladies in a casino pull their slot machine lever over and over and over again. Lucky 7s? Flight to Philadelphia on time?

So you can imagine my disappointment when, several years ago, my beloved flippy screen became a victim of technology and was replaced with several flat-panel televisions. They’re boring. They just sit there. When a flight status changes, in just a blink of an eye, the wording goes from “Boarding” to “Departed.” Like that! No sound, no anticipation of where the flippy board will end. It’s like getting a scratch-off lottery ticket and finding that the numbers appear by themselves without you having to grind a penny into the card and brush the metallic crumbs off your kitchen counter. Yes, it’s quicker, but what’s the fun in that?

We have eyes and ears and a nose for a reason. We’re sensory creatures!

Now, I dislike the traffic that builds up around toll booths on bridges and expressways, but I’m not looking forward to the day these guys go extinct:

Image source

True, true, these coin baskets can sometimes be a great cause of anxiety on the road (“Do I have exact cash?” “Is my car too far away from the basket?” “What if I have awful aim and the coin misses?!”), but again, it’s a sensory experience. There’s the satisfaction off “gettin’ the coins in” (c’mon, we’ve all at least once compared ourselves to some sports hero when all the money reaches its destination), the jingle-jingle as the money funnels to the bottom of the basket, and the final nod of approval from the monitor that has counted all of our coins and gives us permission to pass through the gate.

There are plans underway to make many of the roads in South Jersey all under the control of EZ-Pass, eliminating not only these delightful sounds of quarters and dimes tap dancing in a plastic bucket but most of the physical, human people who serve as toll collectors as well. No matter how many times I tell my husband the story of the charming toll collector on the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge who flirted with my grandmother every Friday when she crossed into Philly to visit her siblings, he firmly stands by fiscal responsibility and eliminating unnecessary jobs and doesn’t care about jingle-jangles or romantic glances from overpaid toll collectors. I totally see his point, and my brain agrees–it’s my eyes, ears, fingers, and heart that struggle to make peace with all of this sensory-stealing technology.

Vested interests

Sunday, July 17, 2011 in Exercise, Walking | 4 comments

Maybe it’s because Bryan and I have been watching 24 for months on end and I have a secret desire to be Jack (Jackie?) Bauer, or maybe it’s just because I needed to spice up my workouts, but, as I mentioned previously, I went out and got myself a weighted vest from Reebok. I’m not sure how I appear to strangers; I suppose I look like (a) either a very dedicated aerobic walker or (b) a 30-something girl training for the FBI and taking my new Kevlar vest for a spin around the parks of South Jersey.

To be honest, although I am harboring a secret desire to be Jack Bauer’s next female sidekick, I was also looking for a way to add some oomph to my walking workouts. There are only so many things you can do to jazz up walking, and I’ve done most of them: add speed intervals, stick to hilly routes, go out for looooong walks (5-6 miles), trek around the park with invisible skis (a.k.a., Nordic walking poles), or climb a steep set of steps every 3 minutes (thanks to the path at Red Bank Battlefield Park).

I used to make the mistake of carrying small hand weights or even strapping ankle weights onto my legs, but afterward my joints would always feel awful. No wonder! More and more sports articles are pointing out the injuries caused by use of such weights while walking or running. Swinging weights back and forth totally throws the body off center, and I can’t even imagine the damage I was doing to my poor hip trying to walk with weights strapped to my feet. I already have enough problems with uneven hips and one leg that’s slightly shorter than the other, and I’m sure adding a weighted pendulum motion to my walk wasn’t helping!

Enter the weighted vest, a way of getting your body to exert a little more energy while walking without compromising your form. This particular one from Reebok has four pockets (2 in the front, 2 in the back) that can hold up to 10 1-pound sandbags. Drawstrings on the side allow you to cinch the vest close to your chest so it’s not flapping in the wind, and it hugs you right at the core so your arms and legs can swing freely. (The Velcro pockets are also perfect for stashing your keys or cash, for those days when you’re otherwise pocket-less.) The most weight I’ve used so far has only been 4 pounds, and–let me tell you–that’s perfectly enough for now! I feel it after a 3- or 4-mile walk, and if I ever bump up the weight, my walk will definitely not be as long. Or at least not in mid-July. 🙂

Of course, one of the downsides to the weighted vest is the dork factor. I’m a little white girl with glasses, not some beefy linebacker who needs to bulk up in time for football season. Also, because it really does kind of look like a bulletproof vest, I think some people get nervous that there’s a sting operation going down or that I’m tracking some kind of terrorist activity (which is why choosing the park right across the river from the international airport to wear the vest was probably not the best idea).

For those reasons, I think my vest and I will stick to Cooper River, the Ellis Island of exercisers (“We’ll take your tired, your poor, your weighted vests and sweatsuits in mid-summer…”). One of the things I love about Cooper River, aside from its spaciousness and terrific view of the Philly skyline, is the people. There are so many shapes, colors, faces, and ability levels trekking around that river that no one ever really looks silly or stupid. At Cooper River, ankle weights, wrist weights, dumbbells…all welcome. I’ve seen dudes walk around the river carrying 10-pound weights in each hand, some while wearing weighted vests too. Some hard-core guys wear those vinyl trashbag-like sweat suits in the summer sun. The cyclists wear their sleek shirts and oh-so-tight shorts, some ladies wear giant fanny packs with dangly keychains. One morning I saw an older woman use a short, thick tree branch as a weighted bar, lifting it overhead as she walked. Another woman carried two frozen water bottles, pumping them as weights. Older men do tortoise-paced jogs around the river, and some woman think flip-flops are sensible walking shoes. I once saw an Asian women do tai chi on the grass, and sometimes there is a guy who does some other form of slow-motion Asian martial arts, complete with a boombox playing windchime music and informational brochures on display. In short, anything goes at Cooper River.

What out-of-the-ordinary things do you do at the park or while working out? Like, for example, do you pretend you’re an airplane?

Bakin’

Thursday, July 14, 2011 in Food | 4 comments

Confession: There was a slight deviation in last night’s dinner preparation.

It started so innocently with whole wheat naan pizza. Toppings: tomato sauce, shredded mozzarella cheese, spinach, sundried tomatoes, pineapple…and bacon.

Crispy, salty turkey bacon.

Hmm. What if…?

Yeah? Yeah.
I went there.

Verdict: Now I understand what all the hype is about. Chocolate-covered bacon is the panacea to women’s monthly woes, but next time I’m upgrading to 85% cacao and calling it gourmet.

The stuff that summer is made of

Wednesday, July 13, 2011 in 5Rhythms, Adventures, Food, Friends, Summer, Walking, Weekend | 8 comments

I don’t know about everyone else, but I always feel like I do a bajillion more things in the summer than I ever do any other time of year. In the winter, my calendar will experience weeks of nothingness; on the contrary, ever since Independence Day, my weekends have been full of here-there-and-everywhere, punctuated by a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

I already wrote about the emotional afternoon I spent saying farewell to my family’s Philly rowhome; well, right before I danced in the living room, I was actually dancing across the city in West Philadelphia, at an afternoon 5Rhythms class.

Dancing the 5 Rhythms right before embarking on an emotionally taxing adventure was a good decision. It got me past the junky layer of my mind to a place of stillness and mindfulness. I really needed that, especially because I had to drive across the city to get to my aunt’s place. I am not the most experienced out-of-state driver and get really nervous when I have to take new and unfamiliar roads. That afternoon I had to take three of my most dreaded highways; it was the great Nervous Driving Trifecta. Thankfully, 2.5 hours of 5Rhythms beforehand stripped away my outer terror, and I made it just fine.

That same evening, I met up with my former coworker Sara for a summer evening dinner of Cuban food at Casona. I was touched when she agreed to order a guacamole appetizer whose cilantro status was uncertain. Sara hates cilantro but loves guac, and she totally put her taste buds on the line. It was such a bold move! Our entrees were both awesome, as was the milky cake dessert (tres leches) we shared afterward.

Sara's just happy the iffy cilantro experience is over.

Vegetable paella, which I managed to split into four separate meals.

We strolled the main drag for a while and ended up having to stop at my parents’ house to use the bathroom. Weird! Then Sara gave me some corn from her family farm because she knows I love corn.

Saluting a corn statue in the Magic Kingdom

As everyone else headed to the beach for the holiday, Bryan and I spent July 3 at our fake shore, Red Bank Battlefield Park, which borders the Delaware River. Not exactly the Atlantic Ocean, but it’s relaxing, peaceful, and a place where shellfish don’t feel threatened.

On Independence Day, Bryan ~~pretended he didn’t know me during~~ joined me for a walk around Cooper River. I was wearing my new weighted vest from Reebok, which pretty much looks like a bulletproof Kevlar vest. It looks silly, but Cooper River Park is home to work-out weirdos. A weighted vest is nothing next to a 200-pound dude walking around on a 90-degree day in one those trashbag-like sweatsuits.

Of course, the evening ended with fireworks. It was a ridiculously long show of nearly 30 minutes, but it was nice to see a fireworks display that didn’t reduce me to tears like Wishes at the Magic Kingdom does.

Post-Wishes "I'm-so-sad-it's-over" face

Speaking of pyrotechnics, one of the games I like to play during the summer is the “Thunder or Fireworks?” game (and actually, with our house being so close to the airport, some nights it’s the “Thunder, Fireworks, or Descending Airplane?” game). Well, this past Friday night, it was definitely THUNDER. I usually like summer t-storms, but Friday’s felt like the apocalypse, and it wreaked havoc on the area. The onslaught of rain closed down my only two routes home from work, and I ended up being stuck at the office until 7:30.

By the time Saturday rolled around, (aside from tree limbs scattered all over the neighborhood) you’d never know there was a problem. I set out on a long and sweaty walk to the farmer’s market and was blasted with sun and humidity. And then I took the long way home, because I get overambitious like that.

That’s why when Bryan and I hit the road to go down to Atlantic City for the night, Starbucks was one of our first stops on the boardwalk. We had tickets for a 9 p.m. comedy show, and there was no way I could stay awake without the help of the green siren.

Caffeine queen!

We don’t gamble or anything, but I love the energetic atmosphere of Atlantic City. I am oddly fascinated with casinos and the people within, everyone from the gray-haired grandmas in velour tracksuits to, well, young adult hipsters in their velour tracksuits. Greasy, grimy, glamorous, glitzy … AC has it all!

Dolled up weirdo in orthopedic walking sandals, because I respect my feet!

Sculpture of couple playing tag on beach that looks like dancers at the right angle

Mr. and Mrs. Shades

After admiring the ocean for a while, we drove over to the marina area of the city. We were seeing Jim Gaffigan (of Hot Pockets fame) at the Borgata. We were hoping he’d resurrect his manatee bit, but his new sea creature to ridicule was the whale. But at least he ended with a Hot Pockets extended remix.

When we set out to go home, I couldn’t help staring with fascination at the sparkling city behind us. I think it’s so cool that the casinos are always “on”! It’s like a whole separate universe just an hour away from home.

Not my picture, but you get the point. Photo credit: NJ.com

Sunday was all about the walking. I walked about a mile to a local coffee shop to meet up with Old Lady Friend Carrol, then walked 4 miles two towns over for an arts and crafts festival, then walked another 2 miles around the actual show. It was in the 90s, and I was hot, but I like when I can combine outdoor activity and exercise. You don’t get to see guys like this at the gym:

Tater the happy pug

At the festival, I was excited to see that the vendor (At-the-Beach America) from whom Bryan and I bought matching lobster t-shirts last year was now selling the same print on tank tops, and in black. When Bryan saw that I had bought a new color, he insisted on getting the black version, too. 🙂

Wearing our original shirts at a Phillies game. The Kanji symbol means "Happiness."

The weekend wrapped up with a stop at ~~Sprinkles~~ Kiwi, a self-serve frozen yogurt joint. Bryan and I call it “Sprinkles” because that was its original name when it opened, but due to copyright issues it later changed to “Kiwi.” Whatever. For us, it will always and forever be Sprinkles. Our tradition is to take our dessert around the corner and sit on the bench outside Cranky’s handbag boutique. It has become “our” bench, and only a handful of times it has already been taken (which totally throws us off). See those buildings in the reflection? When we first started our Sprinkles visits, those buildings weren’t even there! (And how appropriate that I’m sitting right under the Cranky’s logo? ‘Cause usually that’s what I am before being placated by the sweetness of Sprinkles.)

Bryan's base flavor: cookies 'n' cream; Mine: vanilla & peanut butter. Favorite toppings: Reese's Pieces, mochi (me), sprinkles (duh!)

More to come this summer, including kayaking, more 5Rhythms and yoga, another drum circle of two, and a kundalini workshop!

A fantasyland of food

Friday, July 8, 2011 in Disney, Food | Tags: pic post | 6 comments

Now that we’ve booked our trip to Walt Disney World, I have to work harder than ever to really live in the moment and not to get caught up in that giddy “I can’t wait!” anticipation of an upcoming vacation. There are less than 2 months to go before we board our Southwest jet to Florida, but that time frame is both agonizingly long (I want to see Goofy NOW!) and also painfully short (we return from our trip just a few weeks shy of the start of FALL!). Summer is my absolute favorite season of the year, and I don’t want to spend every gorgeous 90-degree day wishing that it was September, because once fall arrives I’ll just wish that it was summer again! You can see how this unnecessary cycle of longing just causes suffering, and you’d think after all these years of yoga and going to Tibet and pouring over Buddhist texts that I’d get the point, but the truth is–it’s a work in progress.

But the point of this post is not meant to be about Eastern philosophy; rather, Western gluttony. I’m talking about FOOD, and lots of it.

Breakfast at 'Ohana (Polynesian Resort)

I love pixie dust, nightly fireworks, Mickey Mouse, and a hotel with a geyser that erupts every hour on the hour, but one of the best parts of a Disney vacation is the eats, especially when you get your meals for free (thanks to the free dining plan offer we received as part of our package). Bryan and I love sitting down beforehand and mapping out which restaurants we want to try/return to/skip and how they all match up with which park we need to be on which day. For example, if we’re planning to see the Main Street Electrical Parade on Tuesday, then we best be eating dinner in the Magic Kingdom area that night!

The dining plan includes per person, per night: a snack, a counter service meal, and a sit-down restaurant meal.

Snacks include basic things like an espresso, popcorn, and soda, but also way more fun treats like:

… a chocolate-chip covered Mickey pretzel

… a famous Kringla sweet pretzel from Kringla Bakeri Og Kafe in Norway

… an iconic chocolate-coated ice cream Mickey or “crisped rice” Mickey

… or a “Hey, it’s kinda healthy” chocolate-and-nut covered frozen banana.

Counter service meals at WDW are plentiful, with many food options (the same cannot be said for Disneyland, unfortunately). Some of our favorite, standby quick-service places include:

… Sunshine Seasons, located in The Land pavilion at Epcot, which has four different food stations with lots of options

Quick-service meals usually come with a choice of dessert, but many places have fruit options that you can sub. Here, I opted for the apple and Bryan stuck with the brownie.

… Cosmic Ray’s Starlight Cafe in Tomorrowland, Magic Kingdom, where for the past 4 years I have stuck with my trusty veggie burger/Fixin’s Bar combo (I love fixins!)

… Pizzafari at Animal Kingdom and Pizza Planet at Hollywood Studios. At home I don’t like eating pizza more than once a month, but at WDW I’ll eat these babies 3 times a week:

The Junkyard Combo @ Pizza Planet (includes side salad, dessert, and drink)

… and finally, the Tangierine Cafe in the Morocco pavilion, Epcot.

Chicken wrap, couscous, lentil salad, and baklava.

The best part of the dining plan are the sit-down meals, of course, especially when you’re getting the plan for free. Meals can range anywhere from $20 an entree to $50 a plate (especially when you do a buffet), and the food is almost always spectacular.

From The Wave (Contemporary Resort): Salmon in a corn and edamame salad/stew topped with cilantro chutney.

'50s Prime Time Cafe (Hollywood Studios): Pepper stuffed with whole grains and ratatouille.

Prime Time's famous giant S'mores dessert.

Tusker House (Animal Kingdom)'s dessert buffet--and that's just half of it!

Because of the free dining plan offer, reservations at the hottest restaurants are being snatched up fast, especially because Disney opens online reservations 180 days in advance of your stay. Bryan and I booked our trip with only 2.5 months to spare, so it was our priority to get our meals in order. We’ll be staying at the resort for six nights, which means we have six formal restaurant options. After much debate and menu examining, we finally narrowed down our list and made our reservations.

Isn’t the suspense killing you? (or am I the only one who gets overly excited about Disney dining?)

Four of the restaurants are repeat visits. We’ve done ’em before, we love ’em, and we keep coming back:

1. Whispering Canyon Cafe, Wilderness Lodge (our resort!). The name is ironic, because this place is loud, boisterous, zany, wacky, and loads of fun. There are horse races, ketchup wars, and servers who throw straws at you.

All-you-can-eat Canyon Skillet aftermath. It started out as smoked pork ribs, pulled pork, oven-roasted chicken, beef brisket, mashed potatoes, cowboy beans, corn on the cob, mixed greens salad with apple vinaigrette, coleslaw, and cornbread. Oh, and refillable milkshakes, if that's how you roll.

2. Boma, Animal Kingdom Lodge. A generous buffet of African and African-inspired foods. Lots of flavors and textures, way beyond the traditional theme-park food. Be prepared to lengthen the belt a bit after eating here.

A little bit of everything, including nom-nom chicken curry soup.

No one leaves Boma without a Zebra Dome from the dessert buffet.

3. Kona Cafe, Polynesian Resort (mostly for the dessert).

The Kona Cone, which includes candy toppings and cotton candy, of course!

Kilahuea Torte (a.k.a., "Heaven")

It's what's on the inside the really matters.

Dinner isn't too shabby, either. Almond-crusted chicken with mixed greens.

4. Crystal Palace, Magic Kingdom. Another buffet, but this time with characters!

Pooh characters make the rounds as you eat.

Buffet overload!

Bryan loves the soft-serve bar.

Why did I ever think an apple would be a good dessert option?!

Our other two selections are new for us, but we’re looking forward to trying out:

5. Teppan Edo, in the Japan pavilion at Epcot; and
6. Yak & Yeti, Animal Kingdom.

Bryan and I never eat this much at home, but we’re able to do so in WDW because all we do all day is walk (in 90+ degree weather!). I wore a pedometer throughout our last trip, and our daily distances averaged between 8 and 10 miles. Plus, Disney food isn’t any old food–it’s fun! I watch my sugar intake at home, but it all goes out the window at Disney:

…Although I’ll admit, aside from being sad about leaving the Happiest Place on Earth, one of the hardest parts about coming home from WDW is going through some serious sugar withdrawal. And general food withdrawal, too! My stomach is always confused for the first few days after returning, wondering why I’m not eating 454879548 calories a day.

Just a little grander than my usual bowl of Kashi GoLean.

So with all that said, of course I am looking forward to going to Disney World and eating my brains out, but as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, now that all of our reservations are set and confirmed, the only thing I have to worry about now is enjoying the present moment, like the Jersey Devil tomato growing in our driveway:

...which tasted so divine with a dash of salt and pepper.

Time to savor the moment before it’s too late!

…and then there were none.

Monday, July 4, 2011 in 5Rhythms, Dancing, Family, Sentimental | Tags: pic post | 11 comments

When my great aunt died in March, two deaths actually occurred: hers, and the house in which she lived.

My aunt was the last person living in the Northeast Philly rowhome that had been part of the family since the 1930s, when my great-grandparents came to America from Poland. My great-grandfather died early, my grandmother got married and moved to New Jersey, and then for several years the house was occupied by my great-grandmother and her other three children–my Uncle Cas and my Aunts Adzia and Stasia.

By the time I came into the picture, my great-grandmother, Babcia, was very sick. Most of my memories of her involve her sitting in the corner chair in the living room, colostomy bag strapped to her side.

Her English was poor, and she spoke mostly in Polish. As a small child, a very old woman with a pee bag who spoke in a foreign tongue was somewhat frightening, and I hated when she’d scold my aunts for scratching my back and letting me watch the mini-series V.

I was 6 when Babcia died. I remember several events of that day, starting from being at home and my mom asking me if I wanted to go over to Babcia’s house for the afternoon. Of course! I said, because I knew either Adzia or Stasia would give me something cool, like a new coloring book or toy. My mom warned me that Babcia was very sick; I was OK with that. What I didn’t know then as a child was that Babcia was actually dying, and my mom had gotten a call that this was the end. By the time we crossed the bridge and got into Philly, Babcia had died. I was quickly ushered upstairs into Babcia’s old bedroom (which she hadn’t used in years; she had been sleeping in a hospital bed downstairs) and was told to stay on the left side of the bed, on the floor, and play with the Valentine’s puzzle I had just gotten. Everyone was crying and running around the house looking for papers, but I was content putting together my candy heart puzzle in the “purple room,” which until then I had never been allowed in.

After Babcia died, my Aunt Adzia finally had a place to sleep. Until then, she had been sleeping on a mat in the middle of the living room (nevermind the fact that “purple room” remained vacant, but apparently it was viewed as some kind of shrine to Babcia). The front room of the house was eventually transformed into Adzia’s bedroom.

My Aunt Adzia crafted this dress from old curtains.

For years, the three siblings lived together in the house, and every Friday afternoon my mom, grandmom, and I (and eventually my sister) would drive over the bridge to visit them. We’d go out dinner, go shopping (usually at Ports of the World, which we termed “The Biggie” because of its massive size), and then have dessert back at the house in the kitchen.

My aunt would always have cupcakes or doughnuts prepared for us, and my uncle would let me pick his numbers for the lottery cards he bought each week.

My Uncle Cas was a man of mystery. He’d come home from work around 4:30, sleep till 8 or so, and then go out for the night with his fiancee Mary Ellen. I never understood how someone could just be going out for the night that late!

Even his bedroom was a mystery. The door was always closed, and I was warned over and over again not to go into Uncle Cas’ room. To this day, I still don’t know what made the room off-limits. Was it just plain old messy? Did he have girlie posters hanging? Was there porn stashed everywhere?

The first time in 31 years I looked into Uncle Cas' room.

Uncle Cas was the youngest but the first of the 4 siblings to die. He didn’t know it at the time, but when he came to my wedding in 2004 and had trouble eating the food, it was because he had colon cancer.

My Aunt Stasia, the second youngest and most religious of the siblings, was the next to pass away.

Her illness was drawn out for years. At first she refused to leave the house, then the upstairs, then her bedroom. My Aunt Adzia waited on hand and foot. Her bedroom, once a fancy “beauty parlor” in my young eyes, turned into a dark and depressing psychiatric ward. She died in 2007, after nearly 5 years of never leaving the house.

Stasia's drawers were full of colorful costume jewelry, and sitting at her vanity made me feel like a model.

My Aunt Adzia lived alone in the house for nearly 4 years after her sister’s death. Don’t ask me how an 80-something spinster who didn’t drive managed this property–located on a high-volume road just minutes from I-95–on her own. She hired someone to mow the lawn, and my mom and grandmom visited every other week to take her grocery shopping, but for the most part she kept the place spic and span with her own two hands.

The front porch, which was renovated in the '90s after a tractor trailer smashed into it.

Adzia's handicrafts decorated the front windows and rotated holiday to holiday.

Everything she wrote had to be on a straight line. She used a ruler on all of our Christmas and birthday cards, too.

Blast from the past bathroom

Eerie bathroom light

Don't all dining rooms have one of these in the corner?

Adzia was hospitalized at the end of November after collapsing in the basement bathroom.

During the initial stages of her hospitalization she was so concerned about the decorations in her windows–they were still Thanksgiving-themed, and it was time for the Christmas ones.

The deer in the backyard lost its head years ago; my aunt compensated for its loss by decorating the body with a wreath.

She died in March, after almost 4 months going back and forth between the hospital and rehab. She never returned home.

After she died, my mom and grandmom spent several days a week cleaning out the house to prepare it for the market. They removed all the clothes and valuables, but most of the furniture, linens, and appliances are being sold with the house. All the photos pictured thus far are how the house remains for the new owner.

New owner. It’s incredibly odd and profoundly sad to know that in three days this house–where my family lived after moving to America during the Great Depression–will no longer be part of the family. So much of my childhood was spent in that house, from those Friday night visits to weekend sleepovers when my aunts would take me out to breakfast or buy me sugary cereal like Count Chocula that was forbidden at home to late summer nights when I’d dance outside using their vast lawn as my stage. I’d color on the living room floor with the new coloring books Adzia bought for me every week, help my aunts pick out the ripe tomatoes and peppers from their garden, and eat Old London pizza at the kitchen table.

Descending into the basement, where my aunts would smoke their cigarettes and where I'd hang out with them, much to my mother's dismay.

No longer visible is the cloud of cigarette smoke lingering near the rafters or the row of hanging clothes bags against the left wall, where I'd hide from my aunts.

My Aunt Stasia continued to wash her hair in the basement sink, even though the bathroom upstairs had a shower.

My visit to the house this weekend was my first time there since last summer–and my last visit ever. It was so weird to walk through the door and not hear my Aunt Adzia calling, “Jennifer, dollbaby!” I couldn’t decide whether having the house furnished was a good or bad thing–seeing everything the way it’s been forever was comforting as opposed to seeing each room stripped of its familiarity, but at the same time it was so strange to see everything there, minus my aunt.

I wanted to honor the house in some way before I left, and I felt it was most appropriate to dance in the living room, like I always had anytime I visited. Since my childhood, the house had a giant mirror perched behind the sofa; it was like a dance studio! I’d always be practicing pirouettes or perfecting my arabesques, checking myself out. During my younger days, I’d bring my cassette tapes over to the house and perform my dance studio recital numbers in the living room for my aunts, who’d sit on the couch and be my captive audience.

And just like in 5Rhythms, the dance always ends with Stillness.

Sit down (yes, sit!) and dance

Wednesday, June 29, 2011 in 5Rhythms, Dancing | Tags: 5rhythms, Nia | 7 comments

Every so often I’ll pass a flier for a Zumba or Jazzercise class and think, “Hmm, I should try that.” I love to dance, I love groovy music, and I’m always looking for new avenues of fun fitness.

But here’s the problem: 5Rhythms has completely altered my perspective about dance. It’s changed my whole approach to dancing, even though the kind of movement done in 5Rhythms class is what my body has always been asking for.

When a Zumba class starts, it starts. The music is thump-thump-thump-thump right away, and the body is pushed to go quickly from ahhhhh to AHHH! It reminds me of highway construction that shuts down merging lanes and replaces them with stop signs, so cars coming onto the road must come to a complete standstill and then gun it to 65 miles per hour in an effort not to get hit.

On the flip side, a typical 5 Rhythms class starts off with the rhythm of Flowing. Think Enya songs, music with an ebb and flow, neck and shoulder rolls, heavy sighs, aimless gliding around the room. Warming up the body, moving it naturally, like starting off a lazy Sunday morning drive down a country road.

Sure, Zumba classes are meant to be cardio-intense, but 5 Rhythms can be deceivingly just as heartpounding. Aerobic dance classes generally have a pattern of:

–++!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!++–

(that’s my way of denoting intensity through punctuation).

5Rhythms classes look more like:

~~++!!**__~~++!!**__~~++!!**__

It’s a bit like interval training, and the more Waves (Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical, Stillness) the class contains, the more the body is challenged. I get totally breathless at times during 5Rhythms, but when I leave a 2-hour class my body feels so at peace with itself rather than defeated. I took a 1-hour Zumba class last summer, didn’t get nearly as cardiovascularly challenged, and woke up the next morning with sore knees and joints.

Self-regulation–the freedom to take it easy/rest when the body calls for it–is a major component of 5Rhythms, the element that keeps drawing me back…and keeps steering me from Zumba or Jazzercise (and even at times from returning to studio classes like ballet or jazz). Now I know Zumba teachers aren’t boot camp drill sergeants and won’t push anyone to do something potentially injurious, but it’s the nature of the class to “Push it!” “Amp it up!” “C’mon, feel the burn!” A student who needs to take it down a notch may feel self-conscious if she has to stop shaking her hips with the rest of the class and stick only to arm movements.

Imagine loving to move and dance but living with a painful foot condition that made standing for long periods of time unbearable. One of my fellow students in last week’s 5 Rhythms class faced that challenge, but because of the self-regulating principles of the style she was still able to dance the entire time.

For a good portion of the class, the woman danced like this, from the floor. And it was absolutely beautiful. She sat cross-legged, she sat on her knees, she writhed and wiggled on her back. Her hands moved like feet; her arms shook and made circles and slithered like snakes; and some of her facial expressions were dances in themselves. I slid up to her at one point–she appeared open to partner work–and was surprised to see that her seated Chaos was just as powerful and passionate as those of us on our feet. Both of us now on our asses, we engaged in some of the wildest Chaos moves I have ever performed.

It very much reminded me of yet another style of meditative movement, Nia. A few summers ago I took a 6-week class series in which one of the students was a 20-something man in a motorized wheelchair. When the other students grapevined across the floor, he powered his chair along with us. When we kicked our legs like karate chops, he did the same movement with his arms. When we spun, he put one arm in the air and the other on his togglestick and circled around like everyone else.

How wonderful is it that these forms of movement exist, where people who are tired or sick or just need to sit down for a few minutes can still be a part of the dance, where flicking a finger or wrist can be as freeing as shaking the hips in a double-time samba?

I’m not discounting other forms of dance; hell, I just heard a dance studio was opening three blocks from my house and instantly thought, “Hmm, I hope they’ll offer adult classes!” Studio dance is a huge part of my life, and every now and then I just want to learn some awesome choreography and bust it out on a sprung floor. I love learning dance, I love watching dance (I’m actually watching So You Think You Can Dance as I type). But the truth of the matter is that sometimes my body just wants to stay in ahhhh even though others may be in AHHHH!, and it’s so nice to be in a place that supports listening to both the music and the body.

A 2-D experience: Disney & Dance

Monday, June 27, 2011 in 5Rhythms, Dancing, Disney | Tags: 5rhythms | 7 comments

I had to rush out to Staples this afternoon to buy a new planner because my current one only goes through July, and my schedule is already extending into September. 5Rhythms classes throughout the summer; a comedy show in July, a possible kayaking trip, a drum circle; in August, there are kundalini classes, a Phillies game, the return of Biodanza (!), my sister-in-law’s going away party; and in September–already marked on the kitchen calendar with Mickey heads and sunshines–is the impromptu Disney World trip Bryan and I booked last week.

This will be the fifth consecutive Disney trip that Bryan and I are taking together; since 2007, we’ve been going to Florida every September; last year we paid homage to Walt’s baby out in Anaheim; and now this year we’re headed back to Orlando for a week at the Wilderness Lodge. We hadn’t intended to do Disney this year; in fact, one of my New Year’s resolutions for 2011 was to back off on the Disney trips for a few years and wait until 2014 (our 10-year wedding anniversary) to return for a Disney Vow Renewal Extravaganza with our friends Zak and Cathy.

Instead, Bryan and I tried to discuss alternative vacation ideas. We talked about renting a shore house for a week. I was thinking about skittering off to Kripalu by myself for a few days. We briefly considered a cruise. We talked and pondered and hemmed and hawed, but nothing was getting penned in permanently on the calendar. There were no Mickey heads to draw into September’s squares.

The decision to return to Disney was drawn out over about a week’s time, with back-and-forth debates between Bryan and me a regular nightly occurrence. Then Disney announced the return of its free dining plan…and about 12 hours later, we were booked. I got to draw the Mickey heads on the kitchen calendar once again.

My reasons for being obsessed with Disney are beyond the scope of this post (it all dates back to my first trip in 1987), but, in short, it’s a place where–once we drive through that giant red and purple “Walt Disney World” gate–I am free. I am free to slow dance on the train platform with my husband after the evening’s fireworks show, with thousands of people surrounding us. I am free to wrap my arms around a life-sized Pooh bear, kiss him on the nose, and ask for his autograph. I am free to “Yo Ho” like a pirate in the middle of Adventureland, pretend to be asleep during the biggest drop on Expedition Everest so it gives me something to laugh about when I see the instant attraction photo, and get goosebumps when the character-filled steamboat rolls out during the end of Fantasmic!, even though I’ve seen the show well over a dozen times by now. Bryan and I are free to wear matching Wall•E shirts, I can wear Mickey ears in public, and it’s completely acceptable for a 30-year-old woman to join a conga line led by a giant blue alien.

So it kind of made sense this past Friday when, as my 5Rhythms class drew to an end, I sat up from my final moment in Stillness, joined the group in a sharing circle, and compared 5Rhythms to Disney World.

“It’s a place I get giddy just thinking about. I count down the days to 5Rhythms the same way I do before we go to Florida. I go to Disney World, I can be free. I come to 5Rhythms, I am free. 5Rhythms is the Disney World of dance, a place where you can twirl, jump, and fly down the street without inhibition, a place where it’s OK to be goofy if that’s what calls, a place where magic transpires, dreams are realized, and a place you never want to leave.”

Bryan and I get teased a lot for continuing to return to a destination that’s “for kids.” I never received an official adult rulebook, but if it says that being married and having a mortgage mean that eating Mickey-shaped ice cream sandwiches while watching Tinkerbell fly out of Cinderella Castle is not for grown-ups, well, hell, just call me Peter Pan then. I don’t want to grow up if “adult” = “not allowed to crack a smile when 5-foot-tall Chip and Dale chipmunks fight over who gets to take me out to dinner.”

The same misconceptions are held about dance. As Meg from Spirit Moves Dance has pointed out, we are born dancing. We wiggle in our cribs, spin in circles on the lawn, bust out in toddler hip-hop when a cool song comes on the radio at the grocery store. Gradually–and sadly–this boldness begins to fade as adulthood approaches. It’s a condition called self-consciousness, and it’s what stops us from dancing in the park when the guy on the bench over there is playing a really cool song on his guitar, and man, I’d just like to groooove to that, but then everyone would look at me, and, well, kids can get away with that, but I’m an adult.

A fellow new to 5Rhythms understood my Disney/dance metaphor. He started the class somewhat reserved, simple swaying motions, cautiously moving here and there around the studio. Two hours later, he was running around the bamboo floor, arms spread wide open, smiling from ear to ear: “I look at my 3-year-old daughter. She does this all the time,” he shared afterward. “She just moves freely, twirling, spinning all over the place. I don’t even remember the last time I spun; it’s been forever. It felt great to spin again.”

Another question Bryan and I get about our vacation preference is “Well, is there anything different there this year?, as though there needs to be something spectacularly new to validate our trip. Sometimes there may be a new attraction or show, but we don’t book a week-long trip simply to try out the revamped Star Tours ride. Disney World trips are like snowflakes–no two are alike. When you look at the big picture, sure, it has the same foundation: a castle, a giant golf ball, a sparkly Sorcerer Mickey hat, a fiberglass Tree of Life. But when you focus in on the small things–really pay attention to the details–every experience is unique. Consider, for example, the costumed character Stitch (my favorite). In over the course of just one trip, Bryan and I witnessed him:

• play with my dangly earrings.
• lick his finger and write on my arm, pretending to sign his name in spit.
• embrace me a death grip and wouldn’t let go.

• cover Bryan’s face when the photographer went to take our picture.
• play with Bryan’s baseball cap.
• push Lilo away and kept me all to himself.
• emerge from his break with flowers in his giant ear and one on his head.
• try to take a Stitch backpack off a woman’s back.
• remove a Stitch keychain from someone’s purse and stick it in his ear.

A 5Rhythms class always starts off the same: gentle music, a warm-up to Flowing. Sometimes the instructor even plays a few of the same songs he played during last week’s class. It can be the same studio, same people, same music, but no two 5Rhythms classes are ever the same. Movement there is not choreographed: A tribal drum beat that had me flying from wall to wall last week may inspire me this week to slither on the floor. Last month all I wanted to do was dance differently from everyone else; during this past class, I got the urge to mimic others’ movement and do something of a “shadowing” dance behind their backs. One moment I am gliding across the studio to the Swan Lake score; 20 minutes later, I am thrashing my hair around to techno music.

I think my calendar speaks volumes about what I’m most passionate about. Of course I look forward to seeing comedian Jim Gaffigan in two weeks and taking a kundalini workshop at the end of July, but the things that get me giddy–the events for which I draw Mickey ears and exclamation points and count down the days in my planner–are the core of who I am and what makes me happy.

Disney World and 5Rhythms make me spin; what items on your calendar make you dizzy with anticipation?

Wing-it workouts

Saturday, June 25, 2011 in Dancing, Exercise, Follow the Flow, Swimming, Synchronicity, Yoga | Tags: heat, music, weather | 6 comments

Lately I’ve been discovering that some of my best workouts happen when I’m just winging it, when I leave the house for work in the morning with not a clue of what I’m going to do for that evening’s workout. I’ll always leave with a bag of random gear in hand–yoga mat, sneakers/socks, shorts, combination lock for the gym. Sometimes I use ’em, sometimes I don’t.

Don’t get me wrong, structure is great. In fact, it is somewhat scary for me NOT to have a solid plan, because I am normally a very.structured.person. I like to be home by 8 on weeknights, ensuring me enough time to stretch before bed, get the next day’s outfit together, prep the coffee maker, make tomorrow’s lunch. I wake up by 5:30 every morning so I can do my “routine”–more stretching, some breathing, a little yoga, a few hip exercises before hitting the shower. I have difficulties being spontaneous, because in my mind, I already have a plan.

When it comes to working out, though, I’ve been finding that I get discouraged if I start the day at 8 a.m. thinking, “OK, tonight you will ride the bike for 30 minutes and then do 10 minutes of abs and an upper-body workout.” My body doesn’t respond well to repetitive motion exercises like biking or the elliptical, so the instant I tell myself that’s what I have to do, I already start hating it. Nine times out of 10 I’ll still follow through with it, but I’ll leave the gym feeling meh instead of yeah!

As I mentioned in this previous post, sometimes just tossing a medicine ball for a few minutes sparks a spontaneous and exhilarating workout. So this week I’ve been making an effort to just wing it, or–to tie in with my blog’s mission statement–to go with the flow. Here’s what happened:

• I woke up early last Saturday because I thought I’d go swimming before my friend’s pool party later that evening (hey, what’s wrong with a little double dipping?). But as the morning wore on, it was clear that I was never going to get my butt to the gym; also, it was beautiful out that day, and I hate wasting sunny skies and summer weather by being inside. So instead of a bathing suit, I slipped into some shorts and sneakers and headed out for an aimless walk. Two bathroom stops, one organic juice purchase, a red iPod Nano on the fritz, and 7 miles later, I arrived back home, in just enough time to clean myself up and change into that bathing suit for my friend’s party. There, I played around with a kickboard in the pool and treaded water in the deep end for a bit. Long walk AND some light swimmy-swim. Score!

• With my hair still heavy with chlorine from the previous night’s party, on Sunday I headed back into the pool for a lap workout. But because I got a decent night’s sleep and had coffee recently infused in my system, my body was primed for anything but light swimmy-swim. A huge burst of energy came out of nowhere, and my normal ho-hum out-and-back lap routine turned into fast-forward, high-powered workout. In my workout log, I actually termed it the “Woah, Speed!” swim.

• Monday was probably the most satisfying of winging-it days. It was the day before the summer solstice, the weather was warm, the sun was brilliant. I felt like I had to honor this day and soak up as much daylight as possible (aaaah, the bittersweetness of summer solstice, the commencement of my favorite season yet also the beginning of the end of what feels like round-the-clock sunlight, happiness, and rainbows). I drove to the nearby Red Bank Battlefield, which is ever-so-gradually becoming my go-to spot whenever Mother Nature is dressed to the nines (Side note: It’s a national park, so there are rangers on site. Rangers, with government patches on their shirt sleeves, wide-brimmed ranger hats, and official-use golf carts to drive around the property. I love rangers! It makes the place feel so official. It reminds me of Ranger Rick magazine!) There, I threw together an impromptu workout of walking around the many winding pathways, climbing the steep steps several times, doing some triceps dips on park benches, and attempting to do a chin-up on a tree branch (FAIL, because the branch ended up being a lot higher than it looked).

The sun wasn’t ready to set yet, so I set up camp (plopped down my yoga mat) on the big lawn that faces the Delaware River.

I did some basic yoga stuff (lots of sun salutes), but I had on my iPod and the music was calling for me to dance. I did stand on my yoga mat and do a lot of dance-inspired asanas, but the sprawling lawn, glowing sun, sparkling river, and overall beauty of the day were just begging me to bust out some free-form moves. I’m ashamed to admit I was held back by fear of what others in the park would think of me, this girl dancing in the grass. My body ached to express itself in such a picturesque environment, and even though I felt insulated by the iPod ear buds that separated me from any passersby’s comments, I held back and did not dance how my body was requesting to. I moved and grooved with reservation; it was nice, but not 100% fulfilling. How come I think it’s acceptable for someone to sit on a park bench and play the guitar while singing along, but I fear that dancing is totally weird? Argh. Still, a pretty decent combination of random stuff that made me sweat and get my heart rate up.

• Tuesday morning, I was listening to my otherwise chill Grooveshark playlist as I did my morning stretches when Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” clicked on. Suddenly, I was on my feet and dancing. Hard. What was supposed to be a few minutes of gentle yoga postures turned into a spontaneous dance party, and by the end I really needed my morning shower. (Note: This happened again this morning as I was listening to Florence and the Machine’s album [Lungs] for the first time. Seriously, how can one NOT be moved to dance to “Cosmic Love”?! Note II: It’s the song they’re playing with the trailer for Elephants for Water.)

• Thursday night is supposed to be my non-negotiable hot vinyasa class. The studio is 2 minutes from my office, I love the teacher, and it’s one of the few studio class I get to take each week. I had my mat and change of clothes packed, but when I left the office I suddenly just didn’t want to go to class. It was insanely humid outside already. I wasn’t looking forward to getting home no earlier than 8:00 p.m., missing the group number of So You Think You Can Dance as I showered, and rushing to make dinner. I still wanted to do yoga, however, so instead I came home, took the laptop upstairs to my yoga room (which, given the weather, already felt like a hot yoga studio), and did a 75-minute Jivamukti podcast. I love that the classes are recorded live, so when I Om, other students are Omming along with me! (Many thanks to all the yoga teachers out there who record their classes and put them online; taking a “live” class is so much better than listening to someone speak into a microphone in a recording studio.) I still feel like I’m getting that community experience…plus it makes for a wild experience when the music the podcast teacher plays during savasana is the same as what my hot vinyasa teacher would have been playing at that time!

I was winging it, but that security blanket of familiarity was still rolled up under my knees, supporting me along the way.

Makin’ memories

Wednesday, June 22, 2011 in General Ruminations | Tags: pic post | 3 comments

I spent this weekend looking through a ton of old photo albums at my parents’ house and fell into a bit of a funk during my trip down memory lane. Instead of reminiscing with fondness and appreciation for what had been, I found myself longing to turn the present into the past.

Then Thais–so perfectly timed–wrote a post about her recent experiences taking yoga classes with top-notch teachers, which essentially boiled down to this message: “If you constantly wish the moment was different, you are only going to create a tense, unhappy life.”

I’m never again going to fit in a kiddie pool, believe in Santa Claus, or be held in my great aunt’s arms. That’s just the way it is. But for all those things that are no longer attainable, there are things today that are just as wonderful and deserved to be seen, acknowledged, and appreciated, things like: