Sara Bareilles - She Used to Be Mine/Waitress

I simply can't recall ever waiting for a Broadway musical to open with as much anticipation as I have for Waitress with music and lyrics by the incomparable Sara Bareilles.  Based on the sweet (but not saccharine) movie of the same name, this show has been several years in the making and sold out in previews last month in Boston.



I hope it's a raging success.  Looking forward to seeing it.  Spring '16.  Can't wait.

Over The Edge

This was a crazy personal challenge--rappelling down the side of a 10-story building.  I'm sure for extreme sports enthusiasts, adrenaline junkies and regular practitioners of rappelling, 10 stories would be considered the "bunny slope."  But for someone who isn't any of the above, who never so much as zipped on a zip line, who loves amusements parks but doesn't ride the rides, it was a big deal.  A really big deal.

So why did I take a big leap 'way out of my comfort zone?  There were just too many reasons not to ...  First and foremost, my Girl Scout Council asked me to.  Well, not just me, of course--hopefully all of our adult members considered it a little.  I'm a real believer in the mission and goals of the Girl Scouts of Northern New Jersey.  I've been volunteering as a leader and in a variety of other positions for about 20 years.  I've learned so much, had so many fabulous opportunities, made so many friends, that when presented with the chance to help raise some money for our programs, it wasn't a hard sell.  I'd love for more girls to get the chance to challenge themselves, make lots of new friends and participate in exciting programs while learning all about themselves.  That's why I did it.

I understood that this rappel in the hands of a professional company that does nothing but travel the country helping non profits raise money in this unique way would be safe and controlled.  I'm not really afraid of heights but I have a healthy respect for edges, cliffs and slopes.  The company, Over the Edge has a great reputation (more about them later).  It was safe; I felt good about it.  That's why I did it.

I was ready for a personal challenge.  For lots of personal reasons.  It came at the right time for me and I was ready.  That's why I did it.

I have a troop of high school girls.  This is my second troop, my first troop having graduated high school in 2009.  So I'm a middle-aged leader of some pretty exceptional young women who are all such interesting individuals and spectacular as a group.  I thought it would be good for them to know that you're never too old to try something new.  That's why I did it.

Too many reasons not to go for it so and so I did.  But first, I had to raise a minimum of $1,000.  Because first and foremost, this was a fundraiser and an ambitious one at that.  But thanks to my family and very generous friends, within a couple of months, my first goal was achieved.  It's not easy for me to ask for money, no matter how good the cause, so fundraising also became a part of my challenge.  I'm so grateful to all the people who took the time to visit my little webpage and donate.  Every donation meant the world to me and I was truly humbled by the number of people who contributed.  It was exciting to watch the total grow.

Saturday morning dawned and I followed the rules getting dressed even though it was hot day:  long pants, long sleeved shirt.  No wall burns, please!  It was a short drive to the office building in Woodland Park where the rappelling and family festival was going on.  I checked in and was whisked away to the staging area where a confident person from Over the Edge got me all suited up with harness and carabiners, helmet, gloves and walkie talkie.  There were multiple check points and the equipment was scrutinized for anything that might be amiss--nothing was; the folks from Over the Edge know what they're doing.

The elevator ride to the roof was too short!  When the doors opened we walked through some of the building's HVAC equipment and out into the brilliant sun with miles of views of the gorgeous rolling hills of northern New Jersey.  It was breathtaking.  I have no pictures of the rooftop and the astounding panorama since we weren't allowed to bring phones or cameras with us.  There were four people working with Adam, the training guy.  I watched them learning how the apparatus works while standing on the roof and then a few feet off the ground, using a ladder.  While chatting with my fellow edgers, I realized I was very early for my assigned time slot.  Without my phone I had no idea if my family and friends had arrived yet so back down I went to wait until it was closer to my time.

Back in the staging area, the first people started arriving off the wall.  They were excited and exhilarated.  There were all types of people.  Some leaders and some Girl Scout supporters, all amazing people with great stories.  One woman spoke of the brain surgery she was to have within a couple of weeks.  I mean, how could I be scared of this adventure after hearing that?  Talk about brave.  Everyone was in the spirit of the day--adventurous, daring, happy to be there.

Soon it was time to head up to the roof again.  I was in a group of four people that Adam trained.  I went last and had the hardest time.  It took me a while to understand that I didn't have to hold my weight up, that the equipment would do that for me.  But Adam was really patient and caring.  He gave me a lot of confidence.  The people ahead of me and the people behind me in line were all making the descent as pairs.  I stood there waiting my turn and realized I'd be alone on that wall.  It occurred to me that I've done a lot of "firsts" by myself these last few years.  But those adventures weren't like this one.  This one was in a league of its own.

Photo credit:  GSNNJ

Then it was my turn.  Derek got me all attached to the rope I would travel down as well as a safety rope that was the backup and also prevent me from going too fast.  That wasn't a worry for me.  I was more afraid I'd be the slowest one they'd ever seen.  Getting over the wall that edged the roof proved to be the hardest part of the whole procedure.  I have a little trouble with arthritis and stepping up on the wall backwards just wasn't happening.  My hips would not cooperate with that big step.  So Derek said I would use the "getting in the pool" method.  I sat on the wall and swung my legs over.  He sort of caught me and got me in position, all the while reassuring me that I could do this.  I really wasn't afraid.  The height didn't bother me as I was literally "hanging out" there at the top.  It was more that I was worried I wouldn't remember all the things they'd so briefly taught me, that I wouldn't remember how to unlock the safety apparatus if it locked up, that I was by myself out there.  I kept asking Derek his name.  I'm really bad with names but I wanted to remember him.  Just before I started down, Derek said "You're why I really love my job."  I knew he meant he liked helping people get outside of their own boxes, facing a fear or achieving a goal.  Or, in my case, all of the above.

As I started my descent, another person from the Over the Edge team leaned over [the edge] and said "You're going to encounter some level changes as you go; it's okay."  What?  Well, it turned out the building was exactly straight.  The architecture had pockets for the windows.  Deep pockets.  Even though I wasn't on the "window" route the spaces between the windows, the route that I was traveling, were indented and angled so that each floor had a challenge I hadn't expected.  I'd thought I'd just walk down.  Like spiderman.  But I'd release the gadget (I'm sure there's a fancy rappelling term for that thing) that allowed me to travel down the rope with my feet against the wall and then the wall would disappear and I'd be bouncing around in the air.  I figured out how to grab the ledges with my toes and get stabilized on the wall again.  So there I was releasing myself down the rope, bouncing around my route on the wall and  wondering how the heck I'd gotten myself into this position in the first place.  I could hear people calling my name but little else.  I think someone was giving me instructions through the walkie but I couldn't make them out.  I was wearing a GoPro camera on my helmet but I didn't look around.  It took all my concentration to remember how to do what I was doing and limit my bouncing on the uneven wall.

Eventually I could tell I was getting close to the bottom.  I couldn't see it.  Because I really, really didn't take my eyes off that wall.  But the concrete of the top nine floors turned to brick when I hit the first floor and I soon felt someone holding on to help me find the solid ground again.  I turned around to see my son running over and got a big hug while they unhooked me.  More hugs and some official pictures for the Council and then I went back to the staging area to return the gear.  I was shaking.  I'm not sure why.  I really wasn't scared.  Honestly.  I knew how safe and controlled it was.  I can't say it was physically demanding because the harness did all the work of holding me up.  So it wasn't that.  I guess I was just relieved.  And happy.  A doctor came over and nonchalantly took my pulse, as if I wasn't paying attention.  He urged me to sit down and have some water.  And my friends who work for GSNNJ made sure that I did.  They thought of everything to make sure this was a safe process for everyone.

A bottle of water a cookie and a bagel later, I was feeling better but was still shaking.  I'm not exactly sure when I stopped but it was a while.  I was so grateful that my son and his girlfriend and my best friend were there.  I may have made the trip down the wall by myself but there were people waiting for me when I reached the destination.  And that's always a great feeling after a hard journey.

Everyone has been asking me if I'd do it again.  My initial reaction was a solid no.  It wasn't easy for me ... not the fundraising nor the rappel.  But a lot of worthwhile things aren't easy.  And this was so worthwhile.  I actually think I would do it again.  Now that I understand the engineering behind the gear, now that I trust how the whole thing really works, I'd like to do it again.  I'll look around.  I'll try to relax.  I think I'll enjoy the journey more the next time.

Photo credit:  GSNNJ

I want to send massive amounts of thanks to my friends at Girl Scouts of Northern New Jersey for providing yet another opportunity to try something new.  Thank you to the staff from Over the Edge who were phenomenal.  My family and friends who supported the GSNNJ fundraiser and me blew me away.  I can't really properly express how much that meant to me.

Photo credit:  GSNNJ

Of Snowballs

See that snow-covered little tree next to the already white arbor?  That's my favorite plant.  That's why it's next to the back gate.  It's my personal welcome home every day and the last thing I see whenever I leave.  It's hard to see in this picture, between the snow, the fence and the trees across the street.  But trust me, it's special.  And what is it, you might be asking.  I'll tell you.

It's Viburnum Macrocephalum.  It's a deciduous shrub (in my area) that can grow to ten feet.  It doesn't mind shade and it blooms in the spring.  The viburnum family is pretty large and I like a lot of them.  I have two others, which I also am terribly fond of, but this one, Macrocephalum, is my favorite.

Common name:  Chinese Snowball.

Chinese because it is a native of China.  Snowball because in the spring, it is covered in bright white 8-inch round clusters of florets.

While out shoveling (yet again) today, I was struck by the humor or perhaps, irony, of my snowball bush up to its midsection in snow.  In a more typical March, I'd soon be noticing that the flower buds, that had already formed last year, beginning to swell, change color from dark to pale green to bright white.  It's stunning in full bloom.  I've actually had people come up to me when I'm out working in the garden to talk about it, admire it, ask for cuttings to take home.  Even though they aren't a suitable cut flower and it kills me to do it, I do share.  It's nice.  Someone knocked on my door once to tell me how much she loved seeing my Snowball in bloom--it reminded her of her grandmother's house.

An aside ... this is one of the benefits of living "downtown" and close to the street ... people interactions and chance conversations.

There was a Snowball in my Mom's garden at our first house in Windsor.  It was in a corner of the perennial borders that outlined our backyard.  Because it's such a large shrub with more of a tree-like shape to it, I remember I used to squeeze in behind it, hiding out (or so I thought) between the branches and the fence.  It was my little hiding spot.  In the spring, when the air is slightly damp and heady with all sorts of fragrances from spring blooms to fresh mulch, there was nowhere else I'd rather be than out in our backyard.  I remember once as my Mom was making her way around the garden doing the constant chores that all gardeners are familiar with, she shook the branches and the Snowball actually "snowed" its flowers down all around and on me.  It was entrancing ... magical.

My grandmother (from whom, I suspect, both my mom and I inherited our gardening genes) had a Snowball also.  She had a really large yard compared to her neighbors' yards and it was filled with roses, hydrangeas, vegetables and two cherry trees.  She also had a real "little house" in her backyard but that's a story for another time.  The snowball was in a side bed and somewhat overshadowed by the large old cherry trees.  Her well-established and carefully tended garden had that effortless look of having been there for ages.  My mom's place has that look too.  And maybe mine will too, one day.  It has pretty good bones.

I know this seemingly never-ending winter will, indeed, actually end one day soon.  And things will turn green again.  I will see the grass that has been hidden since early January.  And my Snowball will bloom along with the other viburnums and azaleas and peonies and daffodils and tulips and irises.  It's just a little hard to picture it today.  But I do have these to help me:

Viburnum Macrocephalum, May 24, 2014

Snowball "snow," June 4, 2014

Rink

For John.

I was a French major in college.  I was also a Music major.  I don't recommend double majoring to anyone; I'm not sure I got really good at either thing.  That's a story for another time ... And I digress.  Again.

One of the classics we read, of course, was Marcel Proust's À la recherche du temps perdu, or In Search of Lost Time.  It's not the easiest book to tackle in English, let alone in French.  I'm pretty sure there were Cliff Notes involved back then.  About the only thing I remember is the iconic passage of the book, that sets the stage for the rest of the storytelling, when the narrator indulges in the simple act of enjoying a madeleine (a cake-like cookie) and tea.  This prompts a flood of memories that unfold in the rest of the book.  Or something like that.  The madeleine was the trigger for a cascade of memories for him.


It was Saturday and I went for a walk in the cold but brilliant afternoon.  It was really a beautiful day and I opted for a slightly longer route than I'd been doing lately.  I headed over to Cedar Lake.  As the road turned toward the water, I could see boys skating behind the houses.  One sat on a dock, donning his skates.  There were nets and hockey sticks.  That was my "madeleine."

I grew up in Canada in a typical post-war subdivision neighborhood of mostly small ranch houses.  They were good times with lots of children and our most immediate neighbors were all families with similarly aged kids.  We grew up together until my family moved to New Jersey.  We played complicated games outside, using our imaginations to act out stories and we had lots of traditional outdoor toys.  We'd jump rope for hours.  There was a cherry tree in our back yard and in the summer, we'd move the jungle gym to beneath it and sit up high and eat enough cherries to spoil our dinners.  And in the winter, we skated.

It would have to snow enough and stay cold enough but if the conditions were right, our parents would bank up the snow in our backyards and use the hose to spray the area.  It took several night of spraying to build up ice thick enough to skate on.  

As I walked along with my thoughts shooting back over the decades, I came upon another space on the ice, cleared for skating.  I would pass by several more on my long walk through the lake.  It occurred to me how easy these parents had it.  The lakes here in town are small.  Many are man-made so not very deep.  They freeze pretty well all the way across.  We threw a fun skating party one New Year's Day when my ex-husband and I lived on one of them, many moons ago, before kids.  When the conditions are right, the ice is smooth and glassy without the need for hoses.

Now I wonder ... how did our parents stand out there, in the freezing cold, many nights in a row tending to those little rinks.  Because after a half a dozen or so kids skate on the little ovals, they'd need to sprayed down again.  No such thing as a backyard Zamboni.  Just dads in boots and hats with the hose in their gloved hands.  I think my mom took a lot of those shifts too and I'm sure it was she who shoveled the lawn into the shape of an ice rink and banked up the sides while my dad was at work.

I walked along, remembering all the fun we had.  I can recall playing "crack the whip" with the strongest skater at the front of the line, pulling the rest of us behind.  He'd take a sudden, sharp turn and we'd all let go and let the force of the turn send us flying across the ice.  There must have been some hockey going on but I can't picture it.  But hockey was played year 'round, ice or no ice, so there must have been.

Our parents took turns hosting these skating evenings.  That way, the ice that wasn't being used could be undergoing the respraying process.  The moms would make pitchers and pitchers of hot chocolate.  They would sit together in conversation, watching us whirl around.  I'm sure we must have been out there on school nights.  You wouldn't know how long the ice would last.  A huge snowfall or a couple warmish days in a row would doom your smooth sheets of  glassiness to pocked and cracked messes that were really impossible to bring back to their former usefulness.   You had to skate while the skating was good.

I bet we were actually not out there all that long--especially if it was a school night.  Our moms bundled us up to the enth degree, laced up our skates tightly, put mittens over mittens and tied our scarves in the back.  Then they'd make the hot chocolate.  It seems in my childhood memories as if we were out under the stars for a long time.  But I bet it was only an hour (or maybe even less).  What a lot of work it must have been for our folks.  

How idyllic were those winters ... Where I lived in southern Ontario, there could be a lot of snow ... or not.  My lakes (Erie and St. Clair) didn't really freeze--maybe in patches along the shoreline.  But those are lakes.  Real lakes.  The Detroit River used to freeze all the way across back when my parents were children.  That was before the river was deepened for the freighters that carry every sort of cargo you can imagine from Lake Superior all the way out through the St. Lawrence River.  I remember skating to school on one day after it rained and froze over the snow.  We skated there in the morning but walked home for lunch after the sun warmed up the lawns.  

There was no such thing as a "snow day."  We went to school in every kind of weather.  One year, there was so much snow on the roof of the gym that it collapsed under the weight.  No one was in it at the time, thank goodness.  But no one closed the school either.  We didn't have gym class while we waited for the repairs to be made.  We just went along with whatever the weather dealt us.

All these thoughts came rushing up from some deep well as I walked along under the brilliant blue sky.  How lucky we were ... simpler times with simple pleasures that our parents made happen.  We were blissfully secure in our neighborhood of families who were up for hours of frozen fun in the winter and porch sitting and catching fire flies in the summer.  Talk about being privileged.  It was pretty close to perfect.

The ice.  Those rinks.  Madeleines. 

O.P.

O.P.  On Program.

That what they called it when I attended Weight Watchers meetings during this slow journey (with ever so many detours) back to healthy living.  On Program.  Working the Program.  In other words, following the guidelines, journaling your food and exercise, making good decisions and being accountable for what you eat.

 O.P.

It also mean Off Program.

So essentially I've been O.P. or  O.P. for about 10 years, I think.  I lost 40 pounds the first go 'round on program.  I can't recall now what caused me to go off program but in the ensuing 5 years or so I'd go back On and Off and lose a few, gain a lot.  Classic.  Then I put myself in the care of a bariatric doctor but that involved shakes twice a day which didn't work for me at all--I need real food--plus she was quite ... well, mean.  Eventually I went back to WW but when my preferred meeting shut down and I'd heard everything they teach for the third time, I switched over to the electronic version where I've been either O.P. or O.P. for the last five years.  And yes, you still pay even when you don't attend meetings.  You're still getting the program.

In 2014 I struggled to stay on program.  Having been within 7 pounds of my goal (read: having lost over 100 pounds), a variety of circumstances (read: excuses) caused me to gain about half of that back, most in the last six months.  You see, intellectually I know how to work the program to stay on program and I'm really, really good at it when I'm on.  But when I'm off, I revert to the excuse-making, fast food junkie that let herself go in the first, second and third places.

It's hard to stay On Program.  I'm pretty busy ... cooking for one isn't always fun ... a bunch of arthritis crept in my joints, seemingly overnight, making exercise shaky.  Then there's stress.  I'm one of those people who can revert to "eating" or "feeding" the stress in a nano second.   I understand all my triggers; I know how I feel when living O.P., either way:  sluggish, depressed, temporarily fed or energetic, light-hearted and fully fed.  And both are choices.

The key is choosing.

And so, like many of you, this new year month of January, I'm choosing to live On Program again.  And, as I've experienced before, it's already working.  I'm as determined or more as I've ever been.  I wish I knew for sure whether I'm going to be able to go all the way this time.  I don't.  Just as with other addictions, the only thing I can do is take each day, one at a time.  But if I keep that in mind, that the only thing I have to do each day is stay On Program for that day or that meal, it seems doable.  Measurable goals.  Small steps.  Realizing that this continual struggle of my adulthood is likely to be life-long feels insurmountable; but recognizing that I don't have to deal with anything other than the day (or meal) before me makes the struggle somehow, not easier really, but less scary.

So, if, like me, you're resolving to get be your best self this year, I wish all success for you; be gentle with yourself and realize that every subsequent choice is a chance to get it right, whatever that means for you.  We've got this.  One day, one meal, at a time.

~~~

My go-to On Program playlist (because I couldn't do this without music):

Gavin DeGraw - Everything Will Change
Sara Bareilles - Brave
NKOTB - Remix (I Like The) ... don't judge me ... she owns it in this video and I love that.
Andry Grammer - Lunatic

Weight Watchers.  Your own real food, not out of a box or packet.  Check eTools here.