seven years ago today...

seven years ago today, i said i love you to my dad for the last time. i told him not to be scared, that everything would be okay.

just the day before i'd been laid off and in just two weeks the twin towers would come down. i like to think my dad died that day in order to be where he needed to in order to help all the lost people coming from new york, the pentagon and pennsylvania.

nonetheless, i mark this day by remembering how awesome my dad was... and how incredibly horrendous lung cancer is. i think it's important to remember the fabulousness of my dad, but i can't forget his achilles heel. after all, i had only beaten smoking one year before he died.

most important on this day... is remembering his smile and the twinkle in his eye when he was chasing me around the house with a frozen trout or pulling me up on my head by my ankles or teasing me about eating brain sandwiches or making me kitty cocktails or... so many things.

and i tell the people i care about that they are incredible, wonderful people. i never told dad that enough.

What happens when you try to tame a wild horse...

Sometimes I forget myself and fall off the horse. So after a bit of berating myself, I look up at my proverbial steed, dust myself off and clamor back on.

There is a ritual.

Pull together an outfit that says I’m my own wench with my own beat.
Open the sunroof and drive the steed fast down the highway.
Select the mantra song of the day and sing it like you mean it.

On the wind today with a little extra sass… Jess Klein… Sink my teeth in…

By the time I get to work, the urge to run has subsided and I've regained control of the reigns.

Whew, that was a close one.

My life before you meant nothing…

I have to say that I’m ridiculously lucky to have such fabulous dancers influence my life in so many ways.

Today, another muse entered my life. I took a workshop with Nissa, a St. Louis teacher that I’ve been a little intimidated by for some time. I’ve seen her dance, and she is impressive.

I didn’t realize that as a teacher her sheer level of enthusiasm for the dance would tap into and sync with my own. Today’s workshop was about layering, but I learned more about the instruments and moods of the music. As if I’d forgotten the most important part, something clicked today.

At one point, Nissa was talking about a song in which the singer’s lyrics basically said that she has met the man of her dreams and all of her life before now meant nothing. I immediately thought, oh that’s sweet. But, I would be wrong! There is a real sadness in the song about the wasted time before. And yes, this… I understand.

In one moment an entire dance had a whole new context, and I understood Nissa’s earlier comments about completing the dance by understanding what the singer is saying in the music. Now, I suddenly had empathy with the song and danced it understanding the sense of regret. I'm adamant about lyrics in all other music... for me it's the most important part! why not middle eastern lyrics?

Nissa’s workshop, followed by a fabulous performance by Belly Dance Mirage at the International Festival, made for one more incredible day full of dancing, joy and new friendships.

My life changed the day I walked into my first dance class. I only wish it had happened sooner.

killing crabs and hip checks

I started the day a little edgy. Killing crabs and second guessing myself. Finally, I threw open the doors swept out the regrets and went boldly forth.

And here’s a ticket for not having a current license plate. I love Maplewood, but they are picking at my carcass five dollars at a time, and they are relentless. Too far from the curb, too close to the curb… the current plate is on the front, but not the back because I can’t get the damn thing off! So much for the good attitude.

Now I’m frustrated and second guessing again.

Just as I got to the highway I saw this adorable older man take a step back and make a chivalrous bow to a pretty jogger crossing the bridge. In an instant, my whole day changed and I'm reminescing about the night before...

Life is full of hip checks, but not every one sends you into the boards.

Vintage Penguin and Pelican Books

i always like to take note when my first love joins forces with my second. i used to have a ton of these books, and i still love sticking my nose in them for a super sniff... yes, i know, my designer friends are making faces. (it's all about the fresh printed materials with them.) nonetheless... i found a little inspiration in the color palettes today. happy girl!

(click the title!)

ChiCago

Train to Chicago

Tornado sirens
Say I can’t board
One... now two hours late
Milk duds and whoppers
With a four dollar beer.
Storms fill the spaces
Between forgotten places.
Towns built around bars
Called the Track Shack
Springfield at twilight
Where the sun goes to die.


I took this absolutely awesome whirlwind trip to Chi-Town in June. Click the title to get the first day of pics...

a little help from a friend...

i'm admittedly a bit of a granola cruncher. my idea of fighting off illness starts with 6,0000mgs of vitamin C followed by the barrage of silver and goldenseal and just plain sweating it out. but, sometimes, you need a little extra help. "it's viral, you don't need antibiotics." i heard that a few times. so, i did some sweet talking. this morning was the first in ten days that i woke up and didn't need extra strength tylenol just to hit the shower. i feel freaking spectacular! ahhh yes, sometimes you need the navy seal biotics to help get the job done!

the girl is back...

A mantra clears the clutter,
A song focuses the mind,
A powerful thought emerges.

Holding the reigns of my destiny,
I stand before you naked and humble.


this is the result of waiting in the doctors office for two bloody hours!

somehow, it seems a fitting post upon my return...

much has changed... to pay homage to some of that, i've posted all my myspace blogs here for those of you wayward souls who are curious.

new girl... new day... let's do this!

still waters run shallow...

occasionally i wake up in the middle of the night underwater and in the dark. random thoughts on rapid fire and my wings are aching to spread wide. heavy weights of expectation and unreasonable goals attack the seedlings of self expression. i am lost in the wonder of our existence and amazed by our reactions to each other.

then i trip upon music and a song will capture and cradle my fears. it is then that i am reminded of the beauty of my life.

i'd like to introduce you to an old friend...

Supertramp – Lord Is It Mine

I know that there's a reason why I need to be alone
You show me there's a silent place that I can call my own
Is it mine, Oh! Lord is it mine?

You know I get so weary from the battles in this life
and as many times it seems that you're the only hope in sight
Is it mine, Oh! Lord is it mine?

When everything's dark and nothing seems right,
there's nothing to win, and there's no need to fight

I never cease to wonder at the cruelty of this land
but it seems a time of sadness is a time to understand
Is it mine, Oh! Lord is it mine?

When everything's dark and nothing seems right,
You don't have to win, and there's no need to fight

If only I could find a way
to feel your sweetness through the day
The love that shines around me could be mine.
So give us an answer, won't you,
We know what we have to do,
There must be a thousand voices trying to get through.

open your book to chapter nine

We're going deep boys and girls, so grab your gear.

I can feel myself reaching for the analogy-metaphor-hyper-drive, but I'll try to keep it to the straight and narrow.

As we know, I have a stupid range of interests. I'm a girl with a bucket list that includes storm chasing, racing open wheel, and swimming in a cage up close and personal with a great white. Probably, the great white is the one I want and am most terrified of at the same time—so you know I do have a tiny bit of common sense.

But as usual, I digress. The point is that I've dabbled in radio, the hotel industry, private investigations, advertising, feature writing, graphic design, directory publishing, billing, and collegiate and government administration. I'm also on the cusp of professional photography. And fortunately for anyone I work for, I can be the best damn Girl Friday you'll ever meet.

If you get me on the spot and ask me to blurt out what I want—I want to be a travel writer. I also want to stay in school. I miss English lit. I want to be able to travel and paint and do photography and of course, dance.

I do not like cubical land and I do not like giant bureaucracies. I could freelance; I have the discipline. Hell, sometimes I have enough discipline for you, too. I don't like being without insurance and I do like being around other people. I miss putting my face in a book. And I miss writing features.

I get a crazy warm and fuzzy feeling that sends me over the moon when school starts. My happiest moments have been spent in a group discussion of literary characters. One of the most profound experiences of my life was going to England and Ireland to stand and face the places I've studied and see the monuments of my dreams.

I love the north. I crave returning to Nantucket and there is still Bangor and Halifax on my list of dream destinations. Not to mention that voice in my head calling me back to London.

I do love my art classes and there is still much that I want to learn. I still want to take that damn art history class. It always goes back to school with me.

So… why not teach? I get all goose bumpy at the prospect of teaching high school or better yet college lit classes.

Yeah, I'm a freak.

So, I've got the paperwork for a Masters of Arts in English in front of me. I may be late to the party, but I always show up fashionably late anyway.

The questions is: Will I swim with the shark before or after I complete the program?

holly golightly

some mornings are just holly golightly mornings. i don't need the glasses for the world to be rose coloured, and there are six inches of cushy air between my toes and the floor. me and cat had a nice decadent morning stretched out in the sun with not a care in the world.

"Did I tell you how divinely and utterly happy I am?"

journalists on journalism

Many of you know how I feel about local news. For those of you who do not, I can't stand it. The only value I find in the local new is the weather guess and sports. I can check all the weather maps in the universe online (and i do), so beyond football season, the local news can take an extended vacation for all i care.

If you want to pull my chain, make me watch local news during sweeps. Baby in the dumpster news that never reports. I'm never satisfied with the story and spend a lot of time yelling about the people they choose to interview in a crisis and the ridiculous questions that they ask.

My feelings about the network aren't far off. Stunning sets, ideal appearances, drama, drama, drama. My life is dramatic enough, i don't need encouragement from Katie. And let's just thwap CNN in the head and get on with it.

So, imagine my delight and vigorous head nodding as i read the attached article. In fact, I highly recommend taking a gander at the attached article.

I only have one question. What are we going to do now that we know what isn't working for us?

warning! tmi!

Before you even start, know that this is from my point of view. This is not the case for every girl and it may indeed be more than you really want to know. Clear? Good.

Belly dancing just turned sexy. Yeah, yeah, I know. Alert the presses, slowpoke finally got on the bus. But wait. There is a reason for my recent discovery. Just hear me out.

I know what it means to dance sexy. In my twenties, every single night of the week ended with me dancing at the OZ or Pop's on the east side. Go ahead, gasp and get over it.

After work, at whatever hour, I'd put on some slinky clothes and hit the closest club. I'd dance till they turned out the lights and then I'd head for the east side and dance until seven in the morning. And yes, sometimes, I'd even dance in the cage at the OZ, if I was feeling particularly sexy, sweaty, and sassy. Some of you remember that, I know.

Anyway, the point was… dancing sexy. Out on the dance floor it was easy to see the audience was loaded with a variety of the men folk. It didn't matter to me if I was seeing someone or not. It didn't matter if I caught one of those fish or not. The point was that I was dancing and the fact that the guys were enjoying it, which you know they were, was just like whipped cream and a cherry on your sundae—just a little extra sugar.

But that's what makes a sundae a sundae, now isn't it? Otherwise you might as well hit the floor with your aerobics routine. It's all about peering out of the corner of your eye and spying some sharp looking man appreciating your moves. Hopefully, he's still sober enough to distinguish the boys from the girls, but I think we know what I'm talking about.

So, what exactly has this got to do with belly dancing? Nothing and quite a bit. I don't dance for men. I dance for myself. I love it and it makes me happy. For six years, that's all that I've needed. And I never knew anything different.

I've been in two relationships while I've been dancing. The first was quite cold fish about it. He was happy I was doing what I loved, thought I looked good, and was happy to support me. Did he ever tell me I looked sexy or ask me to dance for him? Nope. Not a mention.

The second relationship was strung too tight. I was doing something that made me happy, but he strongly disagreed with the possibility that I would dance in public and would have preferred I dress in a guinea sack to even a beledi dress. That was particularly hard because it felt like I was sneaking away to commit the evil deed.

So, I've been dancing for a while sans men and happy to go forth and shimmy. I've declared myself the giddy dancer and laughed uncontrollably when I was called on to dance sultry, or mysterious, or with nothing more than a straight face. It just isn't about dancing sexy, like when I was at the clubs.

Sometimes, when I'm trying to get a particularly slinky move, one of the other girls will say, "just imagine that you're dancing for your boyfriend." A statement that immediately causes me to burst into laughter. With my history? Are you for real?

BUT, I've met someone that has shifted my perspective. I don't know that he'll like that I'm dancing, that he will even like my dancing. This is so fresh, so new… there is no telling. However, there has been a shift in the force, Luke.

Tonight, I was working on a move and it just didn't have that umph I was looking for. Then, out of nowhere came the thought. "what if I were going to do this for (insert name)." And wham! I don't think I ever saw my body move that way intentionally.

Now, I've gone in to the studio, looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "Damn girl, that is one fine undulation you got there." But, this? This was completely different. This was taking it over the top and making it gooooood.

Let's be clear... I am stil not belly dancing for a man. So don't go wagging your finger at me. Because if you know me, you know that one of my primary points about the dance is that it's for the women. Men are an afterthought. Sorry guys.

But, maybe there is something to thinking about dancing for a man. Maybe now, I might be able to actually pull of thirty seconds of sultry before I burst into giggles. Who knows about tomorrow? But I do know that the next time I want to pull off that move, I'm not going to blow it off. I'm going to remember tonight and I'm going to remember that feeling. And I'm going to dance sexy.