Thoughts on Soup and Spin Class on the Summer Solstice

It is the summer solstice, and I am making a wintry soup, a pot of broccoli cheddar cheese soup.  I had vegetables that weren't going to last much longer, and I love this soup.  Once I ate it year round.  Then I had it mainly when I went to Panera to meet friends.  Lately, I haven't had it at all.  So, today we'll have soup.

I saw a stunning sunrise this morning, which seemed appropriate for the morning of the summer solstice.  For the past 3 months, I've been walking almost every morning, and lately, I've been getting out a bit earlier.  I have always tried to time my walks so that I could see the sunrise, and now I want to get home shortly after sunrise.  It gets so hot and often steamy once the sun is up.

This week was the week where I cancelled my membership with the small gym that's part of the Wellness Center that's at Broward General Hospital.  I haven't been there since it closed on March 18.  It re-opened near the end of May, and classes resumed June 1.  But the classes were on a slightly different schedule, and now showers aren't available.  With my increasing temperature taking duties at school, it just seemed impossible.

But even had the scheduling worked out, I wouldn't be going back to spin class any time soon.  The class is in a very small room, and we're all sweating and breathing heavily.  In a time of a new virus that's transmitted when people are in a confined space and exposed to each other's respiratory droplets, it doesn't seem wise to go to spin class.

I'd been coming to this realization as I walked every morning for the last 3 months.  I'm a little surprised that classes are back, to be honest.  I hadn't expected classes to resume for many months yet.

I'm lucky, in many ways.  For most of my life, I've exercised on my own.  I don't need fancy equipment.  I don't need an instructor to tell me how to maximize my workout.  I understand all the various theories around exercise and how to maximize the benefits.  I have a lovely neighborhood where it's safe to take a walk.  Yes, I'm lucky.

It still feels strange to realize that an era has ended for me.  Realistically, I'm not likely to return to the Wellness Center.  When I first started going there, it was on my way to and from work.  Now it's out of the way, and during this shut down, I realized how much gas and travel time it takes to get there.

I'll miss the community that was there, but that community may no longer be there.  I was one of the younger ones who went to spin class, and I'm about to turn 55.  I'll miss the support and the camaraderie.

I do love a good spin class.  I love that I show up, and the instructor has made all the decisions about when we'll speed up and when we'll do jumps, and someone else has chosen the music.  I do love that I can get a vigorous workout that's low impact.  I do love a good spin class, but it's not safe right now.

I don't think of goodbyes this way.  I'm used to being the one who moves away.  I'm also used to a more gradual drifting away.  A crashing down of a wall between before and after because of a huge national/global event (as opposed to a huge personal event, like moving)--that type of ending still feels strange to me.

A Week Ago and Today

A week ago, I'd have been doing this:

Yes, that's me, in a rainbow wig, on a spin bike.  I rode during the 80's Hair Bands segment, and at the beginning, those of us who were willing put on wigs and spun for a bit while people snapped pictures.

Eventually, I got too hot and put the wig on the front of the bike.  And then it fell off, and eventually someone added it to the pile of wigs.  I wonder if they just got thrown away--it seems a shame, but I wouldn't wear the one that wasn't mine.  I had planned to take mine home, but in the end, I didn't protest when one of the helpers took it away.  I already have many props, as befits a former drama nerd.

I am running out of storage space.

This morning, I am late to posting because we've been shopping online sales for patio furniture.  Yes, it is amazing what ships to our door these days--and for free.  Had I planned to do online shopping?  No, I thought we might go to a place where we could actually try out the furniture.  But we're finding some amazing deals.

I have been wanting to get our patio into some sort of enjoyable shape for years now.  I am going to take advantage of Presidents' Day sales and a willing spouse.  I also hope to get our taxes done this week-end--all sorts of patriotic stuff happening in our South Florida homestead!

First Spinathon

I did not go to the first annual spinathon last year.  I wasn't sure I wanted to make the sacrifice of time or money.  I said, "Why should I pay $25, when I've already paid for a gym membership so that I can take all the classes I want?"

But as I heard everyone talk about how much fun they had, I found myself wishing that I had gone.  After all, the money was for a good cause--to support the very gym where I took spin classes.

This year, we had a competition:  the people who went to the most spin classes in January would win 1 of 4 spots on a spin bike in the spinathon.  It was great motivation, and I'm happy to say that I won one of the spots on the bike, the 11-noon 80's Hair Bands ride.

At 9:50 yesterday morning, I got to the hospital grounds where the outdoor spinathon was held.  I wanted time to check out all the other stuff, but I ended up never getting the free massage--as you probably would suspect, the waiting list for a free massage is always long.  I did eat several fruit cups, a delicious mix of melon chunks, pineapple chunks, strawberry slices, and grapes.  I tucked away a few granola bars for later.  I got my free T-shirt.  I watched the kids having their faces painted and meeting the police dogs and horses.

My time on the bike was both fun and grueling.  I knew that we would win as a bike team if we covered the most miles, so I wanted to do my share.  I don't know the results, but I know that I'm sore this morning (feet, hips, and lower back)--the kind of sore of having pushed myself.

It was fun to spin in a much bigger group, although several times people checked to make sure I was O.K.  I turn bright red when I'm working out hard, but in a normal spin class, in a dark room, people don't see that.  We were under a tent, which was fortunate, since I didn't bring sunscreen for the sunny times or rain gear for the showers that swept through every so often.

Here's a picture that someone else took:

As I drove home, I thought about how the spinathon reminded me of the road races of my youth.  It was fun to be in a big group with such a mix of ages and abilities. 

But it was also different--someone had to move all those bikes.  I'd like to do a spinathon more often, but I won't because there aren't that many.  The logistics are much more complicated than putting together a road race.

I'm glad that I participated in the second annual spinathon.  What if I had waited until the 15th annual spinathon?  I'd be sad at how many opportunities I had already lost.

It's a life lesson, I suspect.  I know that I say "no" to opportunities too often--and that I often say "yes" even when it may not be the wisest idea.  I'm prone to think about what other people want, not what I want.  I tend to consider all sorts of angles when it comes to decisions about how to spend my time, which means I may not put myself as a high enough priority, especially for opportunities which don't really take a lot of time or money.

Let me remember the lessons of the spinathon!

Purgatory Project, Newsletter Articles and Spinathon

It's been a very long week at work, with a mix of good and bad.  On Monday, I wrote up 2 incident reports; I've been at this job since Halloween of 2016, and until Monday, I had never had to write up an incident report.  We had a student with an epileptic seizure on Monday morning, but it was a small seizure, which the teacher and class handled beautifully.  On Monday afternoon, we had an abusive boyfriend assault one of our students in the parking lot.

Yesterday was a quiet day at the office, which I greatly needed after the week of incident reports and meetings, lots of meetings.  I needed to write some articles for the school newsletter. I don't mind doing it, but it's rather involved: each small article needs at least one picture and one caption. The caption must be submitted in a Word document that's separate from the article. Everything for the article must be included in one e-mail, one e-mail per article, and each campus is supposed to submit 3-4 articles.

Luckily, I can write them fairly easily, and I submit a lot of stuff to the social media coordinator week by week, so I can recycle some of that into the newsletter articles. It was good to get them done.

Last night I arrived home exhausted, and my spouse was worn out too.  He'd had a tough day at the dentist, as we will probably spend the rest of our days trying to save his mouth from his impoverished adolescence which meant that he didn't have dental care. He was worn out and falling asleep by 6. We watched TV with him nodding off. Then he actually fell asleep at 7, and I read for another hour. I was asleep by 8, which means I woke up very early.

Readers of this blog know that I don't mind this strange sleep cycle.  I get lots of writing done.  This morning, I returned to the Purgatory Project (go here for details).  I wrote in the voice of God's registrar.  It was a delight.

Today I go to a spinathon. I won a spot on the bike by going to the most classes in January. It's a $25 value, so I'll go. I didn't go last year, and it sounds like people had a really good time. I was glad to win a spot, although I planned to participate, even if I hadn't won. There will be about 200 participants, and it's like a giant spin class, but with more bikes, more participants, and lasting several hours. It's to raise money for the wellness center.

In addition to participating, there's a goodie bag with a T-shirt, coupons and freebie offers. There will be breakfast food until it runs out, water, tea, snacks--and massages. So I'll get there at 10, in case I need to do something to register, and also to see it all. There are raffles and silent auctions and give aways. I'm expecting a festival-like atmosphere.

It's also held outside, so I'm not sure what to expect in terms of the weather. And I'm not sure when I'll be done and when I'll be home. It's going to be an unusual day, but it should be fun. It will be good exercise, if nothing else.

Tonight I was supposed to go to a cookie exchange.  A friend has been having a Christmas cookie exchange for years, but this year she had to move it to February.  It was supposed to be tonight, but she had to cancel.  Happily, she made that call before I made dozens of cookies to exchange.  I love seeing the people, but this year, making the cookies was going to be tough with my close to non-existent kitchen.  I had decided that I could pull off 2 batches of bar cookies and that would be it.

While I will miss the chance to see everyone and catch up, I'm glad that I didn't have to spend last night making cookies.  My weight is up a bit, so I'm also glad that I won't have dozens of cookies to eat after the event.

What Should We Do with Our Gifts?

This morning, I went to an extra early spin class--5:30-6:00 a.m.  We did an 80's video ride.  How strange to see the Beastie Boys yelling at us to fight for our right to party.  How strange to reflect on their later fight to free Tibet.  I would give them credit for raising the consciousness of a generation of listeners on that issue. 

Is Tibet free?  No, but more of us are paying attention.  I'd call that a success.

I had already been thinking these thoughts, after a Facebook friend talked about Jeff Bezos and which multimillionaires do the most for their communities.  She talked about watching the movie Paris Was a Woman and realizing how much change a woman with some money in the arts world could make happen. 

I wrote, "I have often said that if I won the lottery or came into a sum of money, I'd have a great time funding various presses and groups that supported the work of women and others who haven't yet seen full representation. I don't daydream so much of having a press of my own, but of being a benefactor."

When I was much younger, I could have given you a specific list of those groups.  As the years went on, and it's become clearer that I'm not becoming rich in an overnight way, I've let the list lapse in my mind.

I'm also thinking of the newly sworn in Congress folks, some of whom must still be surprised to be there.  Do they have plans?  I assume so.

Here, too, once when I was young, I could have told you exactly what those new legislators should address, and in what order.   I might have been thinking about how to write the legislation.  Now my imagination feels as gridlocked as the current Congress.

It's time to shutter our imaginations.  I've been sending out my book length manuscripts, which has made me feel surprisingly hopeful--and that hope spreads to a variety of other arenas, not just my writing life.

In this season of self-improvement (or at least the season that is these first few weeks of January), let me also remember this nugget of wisdom in a Richard Rohr quote--I found it in Joyce Rupp's Open the Door:  "The goal isn't to get somewhere.  The goal isn't about forcing something to happen.  The goal is to be in harmony with the gifts that are already given."

If only it could be that easy--but that would mean we've discerned what gifts we have.  And of course, that we know how to be in harmony with them.

Still, in times like these first few weeks of January, when people's thoughts turn to self-improvement, it's interesting to think in terms of already having what we need.  How would our lives changed if, instead of wishing we had different gifts, we learned how to best utilize the gifts that we have.

Notice that I'm still using self-improvement language:  "learn how to utilize."  The phrase "being in harmony" suggests something different to me, a gentler, wiser approach.  That language of being in harmony brings to mind sitting with a friend, a pot of tea, and some delicious scones.

Here's a sketch I made when I first read the quote.  I should probably keep it out to remind me that I'd like to harmonize with my gifts:

Ash Wednesday New Year's Week

This week has been up and down for me, as the first week of January often is.  I feel the sadness of the holidays leaving us, along with the sadness of the zooming of the years.  It's an Ash Wednesday kind of mood:  we are dust and to dust we shall return, and faster than many of us are aware.

I no longer castigate myself for all I have not accomplished.  Making it through the day to day grinding aspects of the past 2 years has seemed accomplishment enough:  the larger perilous times we seem to have tumbled into, coupled with hurricane repairs, and some family health issues.

So, let me make a list, as I often do on one of the week-end days, of moments of the week that I want to capture:

--Last night I went out to socialize with a group from work.  I think it's the first time that I've done that in this new job, which is no longer a new job, since I've had it for 2 years.  We went out to celebrate one of our colleagues who is moving to the Ft. Lauderdale campus.  It was very pleasant, which doesn't surprise me.  My campus colleagues are very pleasant, which is a good thing, since we spend so much time together.

--I got home to find my spouse in the process of killing a roof rat that had gotten in the house.  Yes, we have a house that is more sealed up than it ever has been, and this is the time we get a rat in the house?  Insert a heavy sigh here.

--I think of all those pop songs where a lover declares something along the lines of "I would catch a grenade for you"--that's all well and good, but would you do the dishes for me?  Would you vacuum so that I didn't have to do it?  Last night--would you kill a rat in the house for me?  My spouse did.  And he cleaned up the mess from having to do it.

--I have a variety of ways that I evaluate humanity.  Last night was a shining moment for my spouse.  I have no idea what I'd have done if he hadn't been here to take care of it--leave the house and spend the night with a friend?  He showed me how to work the pellet gun, but I'm pretty sure I'm not a good enough shot to hit a small critter.

--After the rat killing we transformed the Christmas wreath:

Now it's a Valentine's wreath:

--It's been a week where I've seen more friends than usual.  That's both a plus and a minus.  It's great to catch up, of course.  It makes me sad to see/feel how far flung we all are, even though we still live in the same county.  It was much easier to maintain that closeness when we all worked at the same school, where we could eat our lunches together or take time for a cup of tea or coffee.

--My new approach to weekly goals (see this blog post for details) is working well. Hurrah!  I have written 2 new poems and sent out two packets--that might not seem significant, but those weekly goals were on my list, and I did them.  Having the log/list above my writing desk helps me stay focused each day.

--I am participating in this month's spin class challenge--the one who attends the most classes gets a free spot in the Feb. spinathon.  I have a real shot at winning, so I'm going to press that advantage now, before the traveling that comes later in the month takes over.  After the eating galas of December, I can use the opportunity to burn some extra calories.  I've only gained a pound or 2, but I need to reverse that trend.

--I've been exhilarated by all of the pictures of the women House members arriving and taking oaths and holding children and comforting each other.  We've got considerably more women now than when Nancy Pelosi was last Speaker of the House (same number of women in the Senate, however).  We still don't have parity.  But we have a transgender member now, and a bisexual member.  Those firsts feel VERY important to me.  I know that previously marginalized populations bring a very important perspective when they gain some power--it doesn't always work out perfectly, but it helps society lurch towards the arcing of history towards justice that MLK talked about.

Regular Life and Our Various Communities

I've been writing about returning to regular life, as if any part of life stays regular for very long.  I'm thinking of all the federal workers who remain without money because of the partial shut down.  Let us now offer up a quick prayer for all the governments that re-open today--and the federal agencies that remain closed because of the shutdown.  I cannot imagine being a brand new U.S. senator or representative arriving to Congress today--so much that needs to be done and so little will to do it.  I want to believe that people run for office because they have a vision of improving the world, not because they want to stonewall any movement at all.

I am about to head to a spin class that is a special option for January.  My wellness center is having a contest; the person who attends the most spin classes in January gets a spot at the spinathon in February, which is at least a $25 value.  I'll play along, even if it means going to a 5:30 a.m. spin class.

My friend posted on my Facebook timeline:  "It's 4:22 and I've made it to the last episode of Wolf Hall. You up? I'm guessing you're either baking or writing!"

I wrote back:  "I have been writing! Baking is much harder--I have a stove, but not much work space. Some day, it would be lovely to have small cottages/dwelling spaces near each other. We could devise a system of lights in the window. Twinkly lights would mean we're working/watching/not wanting to be disturbed. A solid shining light would mean the kettle is on and the scones are baking. Ahhhh, dreams of the future!"

I love that vision of a community close by, but not living under the same roof.  I still have this vision of a plot of land with little cottages and several communal spaces.

But as I've been writing and Internet zipping, I've been thinking about how Facebook/online life gives me a foretaste of the feast that may or may not come.  I love that my friends can reach out if we're both awake/free to communicate at the same time.  If I'm immersed in something else, I can wait before I answer.  Or we can have a discussion.

It's not as good as a pot of tea and fresh baked scones, but it's better than the more solitary life I once had as an artist back in the 90's.

Spin Class Challenge(s)

We are now close to halfway through our spin class challenge.  There are 2 ways to win the challenge:  most weight lost and most spin classes attended.  The gym has added lots of extra spin classes, but I don't expect to win that category, as I have very limited times that I can go.

However, I have been able to go to 2 additional classes a week, on Tuesday and Thursday morning--so I have been exercising vigorously for 5 days a week, a marked uptick.  I am the kind of person who does best when I get my exercise done in the morning.  I always used to say that no one ever calls a meeting for 6:30 in the morning, but it can be hard to get away for a 5:30 in the afternoon class.

Of course, I also do my best writing early in the morning.  If I could live my life however I wanted, I'd probably wake up at 3:00 or 4:00 a.m., work for a time, sleep for a time, and keep going in 2-3 hour cycles.  I think that would work, but would it really?  I'll probably have to wait until retirement, should that day come, to find out.

I am sleeping so much better in the past two weeks--is it because of the extra exercise?  This week, I also abstained from drinking for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday night, so that might play a role too.  Or maybe I've just been tired.

Yesterday we had an announcement in class:  someone had donated a pair of women's size 11 spin shoes--did anyone need them?   Could anyone use them?  Did anyone have that size foot?

I do, especially with my arthritis swelling.  Still, I felt somewhat guilty.  But the spin instructor/head of the Wellness program said that she'd made the announcement in class after class, and I was the first one who wanted the shoes.

I do feel a bit like Cinderella--Cinderella and her spin shoe.  I had been needing a new pair of spin shoes, and these might do the trick.  I can make them much wider than my regular spin shoes, which is no small thing these days, with my swollen feet.

True to most athletic shoes, they are a bit smaller than a real size 11, but my foot slid right in, so I'll try them in a spin class this morning.

I got my first pair of spin shoes--the pair I'm still using--from a spin class buddy who had been diagnosed with plantar fasciitis and so had to buy much larger shoes.  I bought them for 15 bucks and had to go to a cycle shop to have the clips put in.  Once they were loose on my feet, but I made them work.  Now they are not.  Sigh.

I am lucky that I can still do this exercise--it's the only vigorous exercise that I can still do consistently.  I never realized how much I bend my feet in a normal day until it became painful to do so.  And so much exercising involves an ability to bend the foot.

I thought I might be able to win the weight loss part of the challenge, but truth be told, I don't really care if I do or not.  I needed something to encourage me to eat differently--and to drink less.  So far, it's working, although I haven't made the radical changes I would need to make to lose the weight I would need to lose to win.

Unless . . . I suspect others are in the same boat.  And there's still 2 weeks.  Stay tuned!

Injecting Fitness into Regular Life

This morning, I did a little running as part of my morning walk to the marina to watch the sun rise.

Let me clarify.  I say running; you might watch me and beg to differ.  You might use a verb like jog or something that denotes an even slower speed.  Still, I haven't run much at all, much less at a sustained pace that lasts beyond a block, since 2015.  This morning, I did.  It felt great, until it started to feel painful.

I'm not planning to try to get back to my younger self who could run long distances.  I do miss that ability, but right now, I'm just trying to inject a bit more exercise into my days.  Lately in spin class, I've been thinking about "pushes," where we speed up for just 30 seconds, and I've thought about using that principle when I walk--because when I walk by myself, I'm rarely getting my heart rate up.

This morning, I could feel my pulse pounding--in a good way.

Before I started, my foot and back felt good, unlike some mornings where I can barely limp through my walk--on those mornings, I persevere because the movement helps loosen up the soreness.  This morning, perhaps because of the heavy pasta meal I ate last night, I felt raring to go.  And so, I let myself experiment with running a bit.  And it worked!

I've been trying to inject fitness into my days in other ways.  I work in an office that has energy saving lights that turn themselves off when there's no movement; often that happens when I'm still at my desk, since the motion sensor part of the light is in a strange spot.   So when the lights go out, I use it as a reminder to stretch.

I've thought of using a calendar reminder to stretch or to leave the desk--but I know how easy it is to ignore that, once I've got it set up.  The lights going out are harder to ignore.

I feel some of my fitness levels ebbing away as I sit at my desk day after day.  It's good to remember that I can reclaim parts of myself that I assumed might be lost forever--particularly as I'm dealing with foot pain and back pain.  It's good to remember what can be done, even when there's pain.  It's good to remember that midlife has it's challenges, but those challenges aren't the final word.

It's a good larger life lesson too.

This Particular, Highly Structured Season

Today I return to spin class after being away for just over 3 weeks.  In that time, I've had a sick spouse, a pulled back, 2 cars that needed maintenance (which required dropping a car off, driving back to the house, the spouse who was on spring break walking back to the Firestone shop, and the next day, doing it again for the other car), and some inability to get myself together and back to spin class.

In a way, it's been good.  I've realized that I do miss spin class, that I may want to keep going but maybe only once or twice a week.  The money question is still something I'm puzzling over.  Is it worth $44 a month?  I will ask if there are cheaper options.

There are days when I'd rather be walking.  There are days when even walking seems like too much effort.  I think of times in the past when I've been in a more athletic phase, and I wonder what is going on here.

Of course, many of those athletic times have come when I've had a less structured life, in terms of time--or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I had more pockets of free time throughout the week.  These days, I have only an hour or two of free time most work days.  I sacrifice sleep to get a bit more free time.

Many things that once came easily now seem more difficult--for example, I've been feeling distressed about how little I feel I am writing in terms of fiction and poetry.  I remind myself that I am writing, but it doesn't feel effortless, like it once did.  Again, it seemed more effortless in days when I had more unstructured time.

I know that at I am in a particular season right now, one that requires long hours in an office.  I know that at some point I will look back on this time.  Will I marvel at all that I was able to do?  Will I feel sorrowful at the opportunity costs that come when time is at a premium?  Will I miss that office? 

Yes.  In that future time, yes.

Last Weeks and Thin Spaces

It has been a strange and wonderful (and sad) week.  Let me record some of it:

--I have had some last lunches with workplace friends--and today, the final events, a lunch and a 4:00 gathering with my department.  I am not sure that I will have time for these kinds of lunches in my new job--at least, not at first.

--Wednesday, I left work early to go vote.  It didn't take as much time as I had budgeted for it.  We came home and made an autumnal salad with leftover candied butternut squash, pecans, apples, romaine lettuce and cheddar cheese--odds and ends in the fridge made into a delicious, nutritious meal.

--Wednesday night I dropped my spouse off at choir practice and kept heading west to the shopping center that has a shoe store and Trader Joe's.  Last week, I bought black shoes for my new job, and Wednesday, I found some pairs of brown shoes.  I'm now set to start my new job on Monday, at least in terms of shoes.  I've been wearing shabby sandals to work, but those won't work in my new job.

--I've had a chance to look over some accreditation documents for my new job.  The only thing that gives me pause is that I have not been on site, gathering the data that I will need.  Hopefully others have been collecting it.

--I've been to spin class--I plan to keep going to morning spin class, but I don't think I'll be able to make it to Tuesday and Thursday night spin class.  Last night, the instructor who has been teaching the longest was there.  She's taking a break too, to do some shoulder rehab.  I was glad to be able to say goodbye-for-awhile in person.

--We had a Halloween spin last night--what fun!  I thought about other instructors who have come and gone, and the rides that they created.  One year, we did spin class to one of the first zombie movies.  It was interesting, but not anything I'd want to repeat.

--It's been that kind of week--lots of memories of people who once were a larger part of my life--and of course, those memories are tinged with the knowledge that I'll soon be missing my work friends in that similar way too.

--I wrote to one of them:  "There’s an old Bob Dylan lyric, “You’re gonna make me lonesome when you go.” I am going to make me lonesome when I go. I will miss the AiFL people so much!"

--I'm also intrigued by the announcement that one of the Corporate highest of the higher ups will be on the campus of my current school on Tuesday.  I wrote this e-mail to the only 2 colleague friends who would understand:

"I bet I'm the only one in the whole organization who has noticed that the Corporate guy is visiting on the feast of All Saints.

 

Oh, I will have fun with this!  I'm already crafting a short story . . ."

 

--And I am having fun with it--the main character will teach Animation, and I can have fun with the idea of what animates and what deadens.  I thought about starting it this morning, but it still needs time to marinate.

 

--Yesterday I had my exit interview with HR.  It went well.  I did discover that if I had waited to have my last day be Nov. 1, my insurances would have lasted through the whole month.  What an expensive mistake on my part.  I won't have health insurance at my new job until I've been there 2 months, so I'll be using COBRA, I think.  The extra month of insurance would have been much cheaper, if I had just known.  I thought my insurance ended with my last day of employment.  Grr.

 

--Of course, it might not have been possible to start any later, even if I had known.  My new job would have had me start even earlier if I could have--there were hurricane delays and the necessity of giving my current job 2 weeks notice.  I'm trying not to beat myself up over this insurance thing.  There's never the perfect time to make an exit.

 

--After finding out about my insurance misunderstanding, I went to the hospital for spin class in the hospital's wellness center.  I listened to the conversations that swirled around:  patients dying, family members weeping, stubborn physical problems, the constant presence of pain.  It was a potent reminder that having to pay a lot extra for health insurance is not the worst calamity that one can endure.

 

--But like the rest of the nation, I am more and more irritated by our health care system and the way we pay for it.  I am also deeply aware that I'm lucky to have insurance offered by my employer.  After church choir rehearsal, upon hearing about my upcoming job move, one of my friends said, "You'll be salaried, and you'll have benefits?  You have hit the jackpot!" 

 

--It's interesting to move through this week, as the daylight grows shorter, and the holidays of Halloween, All Saints, and All Souls draw closer.  This time period always feels like one of those thin spaces to me, when the boundaries between this life and the afterlife and all sorts of other lives feels thinner.

 

--This year, it seems thinner still.

Short Stories that Wake Me from Sound Sleep

This morning, I spent over 80 minutes waiting for the automatic updates to my computer to be finished. While I have no doubt that those updates are important, I'd have liked to have known ahead of time that the next time I turned on my computer, I'd need to build in 80 minutes for these updates. If Microsoft can set up updates to come to me automatically, the company could give me a heads-up about how long it would take.

What upset me most is that I have short stories that I'm burning to write--and then I had to cool my heels.  I tried to write a poem and then to revise.  I looked through old poetry notebooks to determine what should be typed into the computer--if I was ever allowed to use it again.

But let me focus on the wonder of having short stories that appeal to me so much that I get out of bed burning to write--my plan was to write first, do blogging and Internet noodling.  And then I had to wait . . . and wait and wait and wait.

The first short story came to me whole on Thursday night during spin class, and I wrote part of it yesterday.  It's part of the collection that I'm thinking of as the activists at age 50 series.  So the stories are linked because all of the characters work at the same type of for-profit artsy/techy/designy school, and they've all had some type of social activism in their past--some have worked to overthrow apartheid, while some just built Habitat houses.

 

So, in the current story, a Photography teacher who has a certain physical and fashion similarity to me (specifically, a bit larger and a bit frumpier--OK, actually more than a bit--than the usual fashionista) has just been asked to take over the Fashion department--but she has an interesting secret in her past which may come to haunt her.

 

I've had elements of the other story bubbling around in my head for weeks now, but I wasn't sure how to weave them together.  Earlier in the week, I read a story in The Washington Post (which I can no longer find) about how to prepare your house/household for possible disasters.  It asked you to imagine camping in a tent in your front yard--possibly for weeks--what would you need?

 

Yesterday I went back to the Survivalist posts, a great series that Slate did in 2006.  I remember when I first read them, I wanted to stock up on some of the supplies mentioned.  I kept lots of bottled water in the bathtub in case terrorists attacked the water.  I kept a couple of gallons of water in the trunk of my car in case I needed to evacuate quickly--not from a hurricane, but from some other kind of disaster.

 

I was still traumatized from the disastrous hurricane season of 2005, and so I started to prepare for every possible catastrophe.  Now I am less traumatized--and less prepared. 

 

I thought of all the disasters I've prepared for in the past--keeping my 76 Monte Carlo a few years longer than advisable because the ignition would survive the electromagnetic pulse that would come with a nuclear blast.  I've prepared for terrorist attacks, keeping a supply of food and water in my office, just in case I can't leave the building and get home.  I'm somewhat prepared for hurricanes--and it would only take me a day of picking up last minute supplies and filling water containers to get prepared.

 

But then I think of all the disasters that have surprised me: friends dying from cancer, my mother-in-law's death by medical-industrial complex, various addictions roaring up decades after we might expect them to affect us, on and on I could go.  Rarely a week goes by that I don't say, "Wait, I was preparing for a different disaster, not this one."

 

Yesterday, during yet a different spin class, I figured out how to weave it all together into a story that will fit with the collection.

 

The short stories feel important, in the way that the work I was creating in undergraduate school felt important--a way of documenting facets of 20th and 21st century life that haven't been done yet.  The stories wake me out of a sound sleep.  And even when the computer isn't cooperating, my mood remains up--ah, the joys of stories that have come again!

Spinning to the Cold War

Last night, I wrote this Facebook post:

"We had an awesome spin class tonight, put together by our totally tubular (that's a compliment, right?) instructor Debra LeComte. We made those spin bike wheels go right round, like a record baby! We were maniacs, maniacs! And now it's time to relax--no more cracking that whip."

I wasn't surprised by how happy the music made me--much of the music was stuff that I liked when I was hearing it for the first time.  The pippy-poppy beat kept me going at a glorious pace--it was a great work out.

As we spun, I thought about the underlying messages of the songs.  We listened to the song about the 99 red balloons:  what happy music, what distressing lyrics.  We heard that Der Kommisar is back in town, so we should be careful; I thought of all we have since learned about the East German secret police--did the songwriter know too, before we all learned that it was even worse than we thought that it was?

I thought about the fact that we spun to the music that would mark the end of the Cold War, although we didn't know it in the 80's when we first heard it.  I thought about the strange disconnect between the music that had such uplift and the lyrics which explored our collective dread.

And of course, I thought of my own project, the activists at 50 linked short stories.  I don't think I have a nuclear freeze activist created or planned--O.K. brain, you start working while I'm doing the work for pay that I need to do today.

And while I'm recording inspirations for my short stories, let me remember this interview with RuPaul:  lots of interesting insight about drag culture and about history.  Let me record this closing insight of RuPaul's:  "RuPaul is now 55 years old, and he's seen a lot of changes in the LGBT community. But he's wary about saying things are getting better. 'I've gotta tell you, you know, even in the late '70s we thought we were gonna be where we are now, we thought we were gonna be there then. But overnight, you know — disco sucks, and with the AIDS crisis, everything reverted back so fast. Your head — you'd get whiplash, it was so fast. So I'm very cautious when I talk about the changes and the advances we've made in such a short amount of time. Very cautious. Because in my lifetime I've seen that shift go completely backwards.'"

Try the Simple Approach

Several weeks ago, our spin class teacher had a very simple approach to our class.  We would climb for six minutes, go fast for 20 seconds, and then recover for three minutes.  Then we'd do it again, cycle after cycle, until class was over.

Some teachers have more complicated routines.  For example, we might climb switchback style, adding gears and pedaling for 30 seconds, taking off gears and pedaling, adding one here, taking off two there.  I like those routines because they keep calling me back to the moment, reminding me to be present.

But when we did our streamlined routine several weeks ago, I was reminded of the benefit of a simple approach.  When it was time to climb, I added as much gear as I could stand and pumped away.  When it was time to speed, I took much of the gear off and went as fast as I could.  We didn't worry about the music--although I like a routine matched to the beat of the music, the beat of any particular song seemed less important that day.

As I think about that approach and the satisfying workout that I had that day, I wonder if we could adopt a similar approach to other areas of life.  I think about my creative work, about all the various projects I have going at any given time.  Would I better off if I simply worked on poems?

I think of our approach to teaching Composition, which I've taught in a variety of ways.  I think one of the less successful ways is to say, "O.K. this week we're writing a process essay.  Next week, we'll write an argumentative essay.  Let's move on to a research essay."  I would rather have a stripped down approach:  tell me what's interesting to you this week.

Of course, the danger to this approach is that students don't always know how to approach that kind of essay.  Or they choose a topic that really needs research.  Or the choosing of the topic takes so much time that there's no time left to polish the writing.

The other lesson to come out of the simple approach to spin class is to remember that one single approach would never satisfy most of us for long.  It's a nice change of pace, but I wouldn't want it day after day.

It's a good tool to have in our toolboxes, as we approach much of life.  If I'm feeling frustrated, in teaching, in creative life, I'll try to remember to focus on just one aspect, for at least a little time.

That Last Piece of Pie

Last night as spin class, our instructor told us to increase our pace.  She said, "Aren't you sorry you had that last piece of pie?"

If we had been having a normal conversation, I'd have said, "No, I'm not.  The last piece of pie I ate was from an amazing sweet potato pie at church on Sunday.  It reminded me of my grandmother's sweet potato pie, and I wrote a poem I wouldn't have had otherwise on Tuesday morning because of that last piece of pie."

Maybe I'd have talked about the one and only time my grandmother made sweet potato pie.  When my grandmother was newly widowed, I was going to undergraduate school in Newberry, SC, 45 minutes away.  I tried to go see her once a month.  She'd make a wonderful meal, and send me home with cookies.  When one of my friends met my grandmother for the first time at my wedding, he said, "I've eaten a lot of your cookies."

I ate my grandmother's sweet potato pie and couldn't disguise my surprise, and yes, disappointment.  "I thought it was pumpkin!"

If you've only ever had store-bought sweet potato pie, you may be wondering how I could tell the difference.  My grandmother made her sweet potato pie from actual sweet potatoes that she mashed herself.  Her pumpkin pies were smooth and glossy.  The sweet potato pie had more fiber, less sweetness, a dark side of sorts.

I've always regretted my response.  My grandmother was the type of woman who remembered every disappointment, and years later, she would remind me of the time I turned up my nose at her sweet potato pie.  No amount of explaining could ease that memory.

I would pay serious money to go back in time to when she was a vigorous woman.  I would love to sit with her and chat and eat endless slices of her pies. 

I said none of that last night.  Since it was spin class, I said, "I didn't have that last piece of pie.  But I did have carrot cake every morning for breakfast over Thanksgiving break."

My spin class instructor and buddies reacted in mock (or real?) horror.  I said, "Hey, it was that or bacon.  And carrot cake has vegetables in it!"

Everyone laughed.  But I actually did eat a piece of carrot cake every day of Thanksgiving week-end, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.  It went so well with the black coffee.  So no sugar or milk in my coffee, but carrot cake for breakfast--it seemed a fair trade.

What I like about Thanksgiving is that I go away.  I indulge in bad habits away from my normal life.  There's a clear break between holiday indulgence and regular life.  In December, I don't have that experience.  If I'm not careful, I'll be eating Christmas cookies for breakfast well into January.

Friday Fragments

It's been a week of moments both surreal and serene.  Let me record some of them:

--Last night as I was driving home at dusk, which is late on these summer days, I saw a nun walking down my street.  There's a motherhouse (right term?) 7 or 8 blocks away, but they're not usually walking down my block.  I parked the car in my driveway and walked towards her.  We had a charming encounter.  For more, see this blog post on my theology blog. 

--A week ago,  I heard a colleague address the baby in a different colleague's womb.  I've been making a quilt for the wrong gender baby!  Or I should say, I've been making a quilt for a girl, and she's having a boy.  The fabric for the back is much too girly for a boy (pastel butterflies and a glittery sheen).  Happily, I have a different quilt top almost done.  After a quick trip to the fabric store, I now have fabric that's much better for a boy.

--I've been loving the pictures of Pluto and Pluto's moons.  It seems more complex than it once did.  Will we promote it back to planetary status?

--A colleague and I were brainstorming about writing a self-help book, a Who Moved My Cheese?--but without any animals.  We're both tired of animal metaphors being used to explain humans-in-office-captivity behavior.  I suggested:  Who Demoted My Pluto?

--I've heard "Spirit in the Sky" several times.  What a great song!  When I start my mandolin punk band, that will be one of the first songs we will cover.

--I'm also hearing Billy Joel belt out "Piano Man" at every turn.  Why is this song playing so many places?  I used to love it, but now I'm growing weary.

--I am oddly sore this morning.  On Wednesday, we had a different kind of spin class.  We were on the bike for 8 minutes, then we did some light weight work for 8 minutes and then 20-40 push ups or planks.  Clearly, I should do this more often, judging by the soreness.  I'm not working these muscles much.

--It has been a week where I missed more spin classes than I attended.  On Monday, I went to a last breakfast at the beach with Mom and Dad.  On Tuesday, a meeting with Math faculty went long.  Last night, I went out to celebrate the career of a colleague who is retiring.  Next week I'll get back to a more disciplined exercise life.

--Speaking of spin class, it is time to get myself together and out the door.  Hard to believe that it's Friday already--and hard to believe we're almost to August.

Spinning a Title

--I've been working on getting my proposal for my memoir/book of essays ready to send to agents.  It occurs to me that I should settle on a title.

--My memoir looks at trying to balance my life as a creative person, my life as an administrator at a for-profit school, and my life as a church going Lutheran.  For a long time, I was loving the title "Monk or Marxist."

--Last summer, when I brainstormed book titles with a group of creative friends, however, they didn't like that title. I wrote about the experience in a blog post.  My friends came up with a different title:  "It's Hard to Be a Goddess in the Corporate World.  One of us thought that was too long and voted for Goddess in the Corporate World."

--But I'm not really a goddess.  And to me, that's a different book.  I would pick it  up expecting a book about pagan spirituality.  Or maybe something fluffier, like make-up, hair, and fashion tips for women with corporate jobs.

--Gods of Corporate Academe?

--Let me take a classic approach to titling a book; let me look at chapter titles.  Here are some which seem possible:
       --Incubating the Improbable (probably too many big words for a catchy title?)
      --Ministries of Interruptions
      --Mac and Cheese Eucharist (would people expect a motherhood memoir?)
     --Setting Sail in Tiny Boats

--Of those title possibilities, I'm pulled to Ministries of Interruptions.  It's clear and it gives a sense of the book.  The words are familiar.  I would pick up that book and read it.

--Would others be pulled to that title?

--Over the week-end, I'll flip through the manuscript and see if anything leaps out at me.  And soon I'm off to spin class.  I often get solutions when I'm spinning away in the dark.

--Spinning in the Dark.  Now there's a title!  A title for a different book, alas.

Looking Like an English Teacher

Yesterday a student stopped me on the landing to ask me what I teach.  When I told her that I was an English teacher, she said, "I knew it!  You look like an English teacher."

I said, "I'm not sure that's a good thing."

She assured me that it was.  She said that she had planned to be an English major and that being an English teacher was her dream job.

So what does she plan to do?  Something with fashion.  Why did she change her direction?  She didn't go into much detail, but I got the sense that a mean-spirited English teacher along the way redirected her.

I decided to take her at her word and to believe that it was OK that I looked like an English teacher.  I also asked myself who I'd rather look like. A painter, perhaps.  A biologist who works in the wild, that Jane Goodall look--although I don't think I have the body to pull off that look.

But perhaps I'm wrong.  Earlier yesterday, a spin class buddy and I were comparing notes on different teacher.  I talked about our Friday teacher who loves sprints.  I hate sprints, which makes me think I should do more of them.

My spin class buddy said that there was no one in our class that he would rely on more than me.  He said, "Like if we were biking in the Grand Canyon, and I broke my leg, you're the one I would most depend on to get me out of there."  I assumed he meant my relentless cheer and can-do spirit.

But then he said, "You're a machine!"

Again, for a brief instant, I wondered whether to be insulted or complimented.  But he meant it as a compliment.

I don't see myself as a machine when it comes to working out.  Maybe I'd be a machine at an all-you-can-eat buffet.  I'm a machine when it comes to how much I can read in a given day--I can plow through a lot in a little time.

But I don't think of myself as an exercise machine--which is strange, when you consider how much exercise I do.

I thought of this again driving home last night after a church council meeting.  The classic rock radio station played several songs in a row that were popular during the autumn of my senior year of high school (like Rush's "Tom Sawyer" and U2's "New Year's Day").  The timeless Christmas decorations twinkled.  For a strange minute, I felt like I'd fallen through a hole in time.  Would I get out of the car to find out that it was 1982?

I thought of my dad who often enlisted my help as if I was a big, burley guy:  "Hey, Kris, come help me move this sleep sofa."  I've never been treated as a frail female, at least not by people who know me well.  Where did I get this idea of myself as a non-machine?

Part of it is my inner critic, that unrelenting voice that reminds me of all the ways I'm not good enough.  I'm grateful for the other voices who chime in to remind me otherwise.

All Sorts of Strength

Yesterday I headed out to spin class, only to find the elevators weren't working.  Luckily, I'm fit enough to take the stairs. 

You might say, "Of course you're fit enough.  That's why you go to spin class, right?"

Indeed.  But our gym that has the spin class is on the 8th floor of the doctor's office building that's attached to a downtown hospital.  Many of the people who come to that gym are recovering from some kind of acute health issue, like a heart attack or a diabetes diagnosis.  We're not all fit enough to take the stairs.

Even some of my fellow spin class members grumbled mightily.

It's been a tough week for our gym.  On Monday we showed up to find out that the air conditioning wasn't working.  It wasn't as hot as it was outside, but it was stuffy.  We did our spin class anyway.

I thought of the days of my wayward youth, where I'd go out in the heat of the day and run 6 miles.  Even in the middle of the hottest summers I did this.  I liked to sweat and sweat and sweat.  I felt purified at the end.

Even today, I like exercise because it's one of the few places where sweating is encouraged.  I suspect not everyone would agree with me.  The other night we were watching a Zumba class.  Now that is not an exercise for me.  It feels too sexualized.  I go to exercise class to get away from the relentless cultural pressure to have a super-sexy body.

I want to be strong.  If that seems super-sexy to some people, that's fine, but that's not why I'm at the gym.

I have begun to see the world as divided into Zumba women and women who hike the Appalachian Trail and those who hike the AT alone with only a canteen.  Maybe I'm just kidding about the last one--maybe not.

The other day I went with my friend to the post office, and I carried her tub of packages.  She said, "Let me carry the heaviest one." 

I said, "It's balanced this way.  And it's not very far."

She has physical issues so she parked in a handicapped space.  It was only 50 steps, if that.  If I can't carry a tub of packages that far, why do I work out with weights?

It's interesting to think about the ways that strength doesn't transfer to other tasks.  We've been doing a variety of home repairs during this year, and I'm amazed at the weight of a cordless drill.  I can't hold it up while also managing to drill a hole straight and true.

I used to joke that I don't have the upper body strength to do my hair.  I don't have that kind of upper body strength, the kind where I can hold my arms above my head for very long.  I can carry a heavy load--last week, I moved a 60 pound back of concrete/mortar mix from the car to the backyard.  Yet I can't hold my arms over my head.

It's probably like that in my writing life too.  I'm at a peculiar time where my writing friends are having success in the form of publishing contracts.  And I'm wondering what's wrong with me.  Why haven't I been chosen?

Luckily, I'm not going to live in a scarcity consciousness world.  It's great that I haven't been chosen at this point.  I can't imagine how to fit one more project into this busy time.  When I accepted the offer to teach not one, but two, online classes in 8 weeks, I knew that my writing would take a back seat.  Hopefully, only for 8 weeks.

I'm still getting writing done, just in smaller spurts.  And should a publisher call with an offer, I'd gladly figure out how to take advantage of the opportunity.

In some ways, my daily writing--the blogging, the thinking about my larger writing projects, the dribs and drabs of work on said projects--is the daily exercise class.  Should the 8 story stairwell of a publisher call with an offer, I have the training in place to allow me the strength to meet the challenge. 

Midlife Friends

I've been thinking about friends, about the kinds of friends I think I should have, the kinds of friends I wish I had, the kinds of friends I've had in the past, all the ways that friendships change.

Before we moved here in 1998, I hadn't lived in any place longer than 5 years.  And even during those 5 year stints, there were changes:  grad school years starting and ending, different houses, job variety, that kind of thing. So if friendships changed, it was easy to find apparent causes.

Now I've been in my current workplace for over 10 years, which means I've been friends with these people for a long time.  And yet, there have been changes:  health crises, the trajectory of children, the job itself, our creative interests.  It can be tough to navigate.

When I was young, my family moved a lot.  I felt like the outsider, always seeing other people who seemed to have deep and intricate friendships.  I wanted friendships like those.  I imagined that we would tell our deep, dark secrets.  I wanted to be known and loved despite of my shortcomings.  Those were the kinds of friendships that I saw depicted in books and movies too:  two people who commit to each other through thick or thin, who know each other in all sorts of ways, who stay together.

It sounds like marriage, doesn't it?  And like our unrealistic expectations of marriage, I think that our unrealistic expectations of friendships can doom us.

I've been thinking about the people in my life who are friends of sorts, yet my younger self might not have described them such.  For example, at my gym, I know all sorts of people.  I see some of them more regularly than I see most friends; some of them I see daily.  I often know about how they're feeling, about their recovery from various ailments, and I often hear about family members.  Yet I don't know everything about them.  I have no idea where they went to school, if they went to school, what kind of significant relationships they've had, or their view of spirituality.  And yet, in many ways, they are good friends.

Last night I got to spin class after work only to discover that I had packed two shirts, instead of a shirt and a pair of shorts.  I went back to the spin room to tell my teacher why I couldn't stay.  Not one, but two of my spinning friends offered to loan me an extra pair of shorts.

I said yes to one woman, even though I felt strange about borrowing her clothes.  It felt intimate in some way; I'd be sweating intensely.  When I said this to my friend, she shrugged and said, "You'll wash them."  I also worried about ruining her shorts in some way:  splitting a seam or stretching out the cloth beyond repair.  But it was only an hour, after all.

This generosity amazed me and touched me deeply.  On some level, I felt unworthy, like we didn't know each other well enough to be sharing clothes.  And yet, two days earlier, we'd gathered around this woman's  iPhone to see pictures of her granddaughter, a child not one year old, a child who is on a liver transplant list. I've spent the summer praying for this baby and her family, as have the rest of us who are praying people.  On Tuesday, we found out that the child's liver appears to be rejuvenating, although she'll stay on the transplant list just in case.

Maybe these are the kinds of friends one has at midlife.  I think back to my college friends, back when we lived in the same dorm or a no further away from each other than a quick walk across the Quad.  We spent lots of time together.  We had intense conversations.  We helped each other through all kinds of crises.

Once I'd have said I missed that level of intense friendship.  Now that life throws plenty of drama our way, I marvel at the manufactured drama of those college years:  why did we do that to ourselves?

Still, in having stayed planted in this place, there's a bittersweet nature to my longterm friendships, a memory of what we once had, a sadness at what's gone.  When did we all get so busy?  What happened to our good health?  How did we once create so much, and now it's hard to see any project to completion?

Is there abundant recompense, as Wordsworth might have phrased it?  I'm sure that there is, but it will take me time and distance to be clear about the nature of that recompense.

And in the meantime, there are all sorts of friendships that provide comfort and succor.  There are friends who notice my absence when I don't make it to the gym.  There are friends from past places who write e-mails and plan to meet me at retreats or monasteries.  There are friends at church, with whom I will unload pumpkins on Sunday.  Those kinds of projects cement us together in ways that late night philosophical conversations used to do for college friends.

I am rich in friends of all sorts, and on this Friday, I'm grateful for that.