Ghosts of Halloweens Past

I expressed an interest in dressing up as Batgirl for Halloween because it seemed like the easiest homemade costume (minus the go-go boots), and because I thought my nephews would get a kick out of it.  They're into superheroes like that.  So, I was really flattered one day when my 5 year old nephew presented me with a gift . . .

It was a Batgirl figurine.  This Batgirl already belonged to his and his brother's shared collection of superhero toys but he wanted me to have it.  Tender!  That sealed the deal.  Batgirl it is.  FYI, the other frontrunners were a pimp/suga-mamma and Uhura from Star Trek.  As far as the outfit, I think I can borrow the black cape from a neighbor and use a regular Batman mask, of which there are a plethora around this house.  My original idea of making a top and a skirt out of black GLAD garbage bags was promptly shot down by a group of girlfriends who obviously have no idea of the caliber of my Halloween costume home-making skills.  So what if it's my first time making a Halloween costume, I thought the garbage bags would give the outfit a nice pleather look (although I'm not sure nice and pleather should be used in the same sentence).  Taking my girlfriends' advice, I've decided on a black skirt, a black shirt and I'll probably print a Batman sign to tape on my chest.  The only problem is acquiring a pair of go-go boots.  I'm on it!

I thought I'd include some costumes from Halloweens past for your enjoyment.

1)  For Halloween 2007 I was an Egyptian princess and I loved it!

2)  For Halloween 2006 I was a soul sista from the sixties and obviously had a blast.

My personal favorite Halloween costume was one I wore to the Halloween Howl at Utah State one year when I was lion.  Given, the costume was really hot (especially for dancing), but it was the most authentic costume experience I've participated in.  Sorry there's not a pic for you but that was before digital cameras, folks.  In short, I'm determined to enjoy this Halloween as a crime-fighter and hope wherever you are and whomever you choose to be, you enjoy yours as well.  Happy Halloween!

Stretching

On Saturday morning after a short run I meandered into this yoga studio I had heard good things about.  Two classes were about to start.  I picked one of the classes thinking I could pay the drop-in fee after class and hoping there was no chanting involved.  In true Murphy's law fashion, the class started with the chanting of some Sanskrit mantra I was unfamiliar with and I thought to myself, "Oh brother, should I split now?"  My cramped neck and my aching lower back insisted that I stay.  Luckily, the chanting was brief but the situation went from bad to worse when the instructor told us to pick a partner and help "ground" them by placing our hands on their hip bones, pushing downward as they reached up.  First, I have never been in a yoga class where I had to partner with someone and second, I had just come from exercising and I was sweaty.  I did the only thing I could, I feigned interest in some trees out the window hoping I would end up being odd man out.  My efforts were fruitless.  The petite, middle-aged man right next to me in the back row asked to be partners.  What could I say?  "I'm sorry, I smell right now and you really shouldn't approach me without an air tank or, at the very least, a protective mask."  Believe me when I tell you I was in no position to be in such close proximity to a perfect stranger, much less one that was supposed to be crouched in front of me with their hands on my hips (plus, if you're gonna grab these hips at least offer dinner and a movie).  Nevertheless, I conceded to his request and tried to act like men have their hands on my hips everyday.  It was still awkward, but at the conclusion of the exercise I ended up appreciating the take-home message, "It's surprising how much higher we can reach when we are truly grounded."

I was relieved I had survived the entire debacle when, further into the class, we were working on balancing poses and the teacher wanted us to balance on one leg with the other leg out to our side at a 90 degree angle.  This is not so bad in itself except that he also wanted everyone in the class to simultaneously hold the foot of the person next to them up.  A brief word about my feet, they are the laughingstock of my entire family.  Diplomatically put, they could be more aesthetically pleasing.  My own brother-in-law (you know who you are) has insinuated that I could weed his entire lawn with my feet if I was seated on a skateboard to which he had given a good shove.  So, I am sorry to report that I did not participate in this particular yoga class exercise.  Mr. Middle-Aged-Man right next to me probably thought I didn't want to touch his feet.  Little did he know I had his best interests at heart.  Had I participated, I would have expected him to withdraw his hand immediately upon contact with my foot and pretend that acid had melted away his flesh as per family tradition.  I know, kids can be so cruel.  Although I did not participate fully in this exercise, the take home message resonated with me as I felt it was a life lesson I am still learning, "Success is easier if you can lean on those close to you for help and support."

I would tell you about spotting handstands and flailing legs at this point, but you get the general idea that this yoga experience was unlike any other I've had.  I was stretched in more ways than one, but I have to say I felt like rubber after that class (this is a good thing since I went in feeling like the Tin Man) and my minor physical ailments were resolved.  When I went to pay, I found out that the class was a 13-week series that had begun weeks ago.  Ooops!  I thanked the helpful gentleman next to me before I left and asked myself if I would do that again.  Believe it or not, I think I would. 

After a shower and a pedicure.

Out of Touch

When I performed my last massage in June of 2008, I was burned out and my body needed a rest, having given massages for the last four years.  The funny thing is, even though I have not given a massage in over a year, I still feel in my heart that I'm a massage therapist.  I can understand defining yourself by what you do, but defining yourself by what you don't do?  That's a little weird. 

I had a dream earlier this week about getting bodywork and being outraged at the unprofessionalism of my massage therapist.  I remember yelling at her that it was therapists like her that gave all of us all a bad name.  The point is that I used the word "us."  When people ask me what I do, my first instinct is to tell them I'm a massage therapist, but after mentally correcting myself I tell them "I study."  There are a lot of things I can do, and much fewer I can do well, fewer still the things that I can do well and I truly enjoy doing.  Massage is one of these and I miss it.  It was something that made me feel I was making a contribution that was uniquely me.  I mean, where else can you contact (literally) another human being without having to talk?  Priceless.  I think that there are many more factors involved in a massage than just mere physical contact.  While the art of healing is still such uncharted territory, I feel there are few limits to the power of touch.

So folks, here's the 4-1-1.  I'm going to get nationally recertified (which you should know is a semi-arduous process), but I am super excited to have this part of me back!  Maybe I just have a case of distance makes the heart grow fonder, but I'm about to find out.  And to all of you with headaches, low back pain, cramps, etc., I quote the wise words of Vanilla Ice when he said, "If you got a problem, yo I'll solve it."  Physical problems that is, but you would be surprised to know how it's all connected.  In short, go get some bodywork!  If I'm in a reasonable radius, feel free to ask me for some.

Restraining Order

I've got a stalker.  Umm, he's one years, excuse me, one year old and he has ruined all my dreams in life.  He's my nephew and I live with him so there are some logistical issues at hand if I do decide to involve the police, but he follows me everywhere.  Even when I close my bedroom door I hear a teeny tiny knock followed by a demanding wail which obviously means "Let me in!!"  I ask you, how is an aunt supposed to resist?  I will tell you how.  The last time I let him have free reign in my bedroom he began pounding on my scientific calculator and I couldn't graph a thing once I got to Calculus.  I realize I may seem selfish and callous, but you have not heard the rest of the story.  Allow me . . .

I have a vision board.  It's just a regular poster board you can get at a grocery store down the school supply aisle, but I've turned it into a collage of elements I want to incorporate into my life.  For instance, there are pictures of women doctors, lots of happy little families, a romantic wedding and places I would love to visit one day.  I cut the various pictures out of magazines and glued them on the vision board.  I have also images of people engaging in various recreational activities like running, biking and snowshoeing.  I like to look at my vision board and be reminded of what I want out of life, where I wish to go and what I want to do.  It helps me visualize and plus, it's fun to pretend to be a little creative.  Anywho, I entered my room one day to find the pictures torn from my vision board, the shredded pieces of my dreams lying in disarray on my floor.  I was in absolute dismay.  I immediately knew who the culprit was and I'll have you know that I hunted him down with the intent to strangle his little neck, but when those big sad eyes looked at me fringed with the longest eyelashes I have ever seen, my violent intentions simmered down to muttered threats.

I spent a couple of hours one Sunday repairing my vision board meticulously, adding lots of new and beautiful images.  It was the best version of my vision board yet.  I was delighted by my handiwork, and to prevent such disasters as had previously befallen my dreams in life, I faithfully closed my bedroom door when I was not at home and charged admission when I was.  Nevertheless, one day I came home from school, opened my door and found that my dreams were once again destroyed.  The first time it was my dream of one day having a family that he attacked.  This time it was the corner in which I had the pictures of all the doctors, especially one small article that included a picture of a female physician who traveled to third world countries providing medical care.  My heart was broken and I was simultaneously outraged.  I mean, how dare he?!  It's a good thing God made kids so cute because this one would have never made it to the ripe old age of two!  I'm sure he does not realize how lucky he is to be alive at this moment.

Working on in despair, I taped the picture of my favorite doctor back as best I could and tried to patch up the rest.  You would think I would have learned by this time to not have any dreams in life or to place my vision board higher than two feet off the ground.  I learned neither and it happened once more.  To this day, I am too disparaged to even look at the sorry sham that used to display my fondest wishes and plans for myself.  A restraining order does not seem like such a desperate measure now, does it?  He's going down!  If he thinks he can treat me in such a deplorable manner and get one sippy cup of kindness from me--he's wrong!  It's on like Donkey Kong.  The gauntlet has been thrown down, the glove has officially slapped me across the face.  Little does he know that I rise to such challenges and I refuse to be bested by a one year old.  I'll cut the feet off of his pajamas, I'll water down his apple juice beyond recognition,  I'm crazy like that.  He don't know me.

I'm open to any other suggestions that could potentially terrorize a one year old despot.

HBCU vs BYU

For those of you who don't know, and HBCU is a historically Black College or University.  Some popular ones you might have heard of are Spelman and Morehouse.  I am currently attending a much smaller HBCU to get a 2nd bachelor's degree in Chemistry.  Seeing as how my last classroom experience was at BYU, I've noticed quite a few differences in comparison.

First, there's a stripper in my calculus class.  She's not just any stripper.  She swears that our calculus teacher used to frequent her place of employment and when asked if she thinks he recognized her she replied, "Not with my clothes on!"  That's not a common occurence at a private school like BYU.  You get more return missionaries than strippers, really.  It's refreshing.

Second, at BYU we often times started class with a prayer and on the odd occasion sang a hymn.  At the HBCU I attend I hear a bit more colorful language than you would find in a prayer.  My chemistry teacher curses at least once a class, and you know what?  No one is surprised really--just me.  I try not to giggle, look around and say, "Oooooo, he just said a bad word!"

Going to a private school has made me a prude but now that I'm on the other end of the spectrum I seem to be enjoying myself.  One of the remarkable things about attending such a school is that I get to see people that look like me and make me laugh (even if they are swearing).  I am appreciating Black culture more and more.  Now I don't feel so bad when I'm late because people here are in my time zone, CPT (Colored People Time), or in other words at least half an hour late.  Combine CPT with being in the South and I count myself lucky that my teachers even show up!  I think this time zone ends when you step off campus, though. 

I also love being surronded by intelligent and articulate people.  I think society paints a picture for us of various ethnic groups and my favorite thing is seeing real live people break that mold.  I'm glad I get to see it often on campus and hope to be able to make a contribution to whichever community I belong to like many of instructors and students here have.

The Gateway to the West

I went to St. Louis for the wedding of a good friend and I got to stay with my beautiful cousin who lives in a wonderfully chic area of town and to tell the truth, I fell in love with St. Louis!  In retrospect, I think I just really enjoyed being with family and friends whom I haven't seen in ages.  However, on behalf of St. Louis, I would have to say that this city was an excellent backdrop for such festivities.

My cousin lives a block away from a little strip in St. Louis that has wonderful restaurants, shops and boutiques.  I enjoyed strolling down Washington Avenue and wandering into its charming nooks and crannys.  The wedding itself took place on 9/11, which I initially had some reservations about, but it turned out to be such a beautiful day.  The wedding was held outdoors at a vineyard on an open terrace and my girlfriend was the picture perfect bride.  She was literally glowing.  I have no idea what makes them glow like that!  My guess is MAC make-up, but I digress.

The day after the wedding we all went galavanting around St. Louis to see the sights.   We saw the St. Louis arch, the Eads bridge and went to the City Museum.  My cousin said the City Museum was unlike any other and to wear jeans and comfortable clothing.  I soon found out why.  The City Museum is a huge jungle jim.  There were slides, caves, tunnels and all sorts of adventures for both adults and children.  I went on this eight story slide that was shaped like the Guggenheim Museum in New York City.  Needless to say, I couldn't walk a straight line afterwards but thankfully, no one issued me a breathalyzer.  Then I went in some open air tunnels that were outdoors.  The only thing separating me from a drop that would at least severely injure me was some iron grating that I was crawling through on my hands and knees.  I almost died.  It was awesome!  I felt like I could see the entire city from up there (while I was praying really hard for the laws of physics to hold for just another minute).

I left for home the next day banged up and bruised from running around the city museum but glad that for a minute I felt like a kid again.  Two thumbs up for St. Louis.

33

Apparently 33 is an amazing number.  I had no idea that this number was special, until my birthday came and I actually turned 33 years old.  This revelation came to me via an old roommate in Maui that I revere and adore for her life experience.  I called her right before my birthday and told her how old I was gonna be, to which she replied in a very animated voice "That is best age ever!  You should be so excited!"  I rarely get that kind of response when I tell people my age.  Mostly people just nod their heads in somber silence as if already listening to my eulogy.  My Maui friend, however, seemed so darn excited about the number 33 that I decided to do some hard core research on the number 33.  Enter stage left, GOOGLE.

Turns out, 33 is the most influential of all numbers.  It combines 11, the most intuitive of all numbers and 22, the most powerful of all numbers.  Now listen, I don't really ascribe to tenets of numerology, whatever they may be, but I thought this little piece of information was motivating and I am rarely one to shun motivation.  "When expressed to the fullest, the 33 lacks all personal ambition, and instead focuses its considerable abilities toward the spiritual uplifting of mankind . . .This is shown in its determination to seek understanding and wisdom."  Well, I think it's safe to say that I am no way near lacking personal ambition but I love the idea of seeking understanding and wisdom which leads to the spiritual uplifting of mankind.  So here's my personal goal for the year 33, it's the Age of Enlightenment. 

It's been a little over a year since I started this blog and titled it Year of the Dragon.  It was a year of exploration and personal struggle, a year of regrouping and redirection.  I have renamed my blog to reflect my goals for the year 33.  I'm starting with peace.  In the words of Eckhart, "There is no one who does not want peace."  So, I am going to do the things that bring me peace and maybe my peace will bring the world more peace.  Some of the best advice I've ever recieved came from my Acupressure teacher who said, "If you want to stop war in the world, first stop the war within yourself."  In other words, if I want more peace in the world, I must first create peace within me.  It may sound cheesy but I've got a plan and I'm going to work it!  This will be a year of years and hopefully, I'll find myself closer to God at the end of it (and He'll forgive me for the brief stint in numerology).