I'm not going to lie - I have been feeling atop my proverbial game as of late. Life is quite busy, but I am handling incoming pressures with relative ease. I am performing well at work, continuing commitments, fancying friends, and rocking workouts. I am, in the inspirational words of Lauren Valentine, "Powerful beyond measure." It is times like these that God in his infinite wisdom takes a brief moment to toss me from my mental horse. For some reason, he sees fit to use my wardrobe.
Yesterday, though still riding the high of encouraging circumstances, I was tired. I left for work at 6 o'clock due to my car parked in a time sensitive spot*, grabbing workout clothes as I exited the apartment. I looked at the posted workout prior to leaving and was aware dead lifts were involved. The lower half of my legs already have bruises from rope climbs, sporadic knee push ups and failing to clear the jump rope. Since I do not want to appear a poster child for roommate abuse, I chose my trusty JCU tennis sweatpants to shield my chins.
The day proceeded, and I arrived at the gym, ready to dispel any frustrations by means of vigorous sweat. We began with handstands. Each time I approach the wall, I envision my legs kicking toward it as my body loses all sense of awareness and hands collapse, landing my head on the concrete floor - or the wall moves, resulting in the same pain. No, neither has happened in the gym's history, but surely I would pop that cherry. I am happy to say I conquered this fear and kicked my legs into a balanced handstand hold assisted by the reliable wall. I was even mildly impressed with my stamina throughout our box jump workout despite mental and physical exhaustion.
Onward! Changing lives*. This is a commitment I have rekindled in 2013 and am very glad to have done so. Tonight was a unique occasion as it was the only night since the club's inception we have had a man join. A pastor was speaking to the girls about the significance of Communion.
The gentleman arrived, and we gathered on the cozy couch, ready to glean insight from his knowledge. As I placed my hand on my cross-legged lap, I realized my finger was not resting on my sweat pants, but rather inside them. Indeed, there was a gaping hole where the inseam should ideally be stitched. I gasped in horror and laughed in amusement when the girls told me they had already noticed the hole, and I considered the number of times my legs had been separated as I stretched, kicked into handstands and bent over to complete dead lifts.
I do not know if anyone else noticed the inappropriately placed chasm; I am quite positive the pastor did. Whoever reads this post also knows, but as I ironically observed regarding another's embarrassing moment yesterday, "These gems are not funny unless shared with someone."
*I have taken to parking in time sensitive spots to spur my sleepy body into action. This sometimes proves effective and sometimes results in a twenty dollar parking ticket.
*A high school girl's youth group for those of you who do not religiously follow my blog.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
My Favorite Mardi Gras
Ash Wednesday was always an intriguing phenomenon to me. Having been raised in a Christian home, I saw value in observing Easter and Good Friday, but secretly assumed most sporting an ash laden forehead attended the Catholic service because doing so was a valid dismissal from fourth period*. For forty days thereafter, I would intermittently hear groanings regarding the disciplinary challenge of Lent. I do not want to make light of this and have a great amount of respect for people improving their relationship with God by means of fasting. In fact, I participated in Lent my freshman year of college. Confession: I gave up ice cream with the thought that I could shed superfluous pounds but caved less than a week into the season when Ben and Jerry's Half-baked pint beckoned.
It was not until my sophomore year of college that I was introduced to a Catholic tradition I could readily understand and embrace: Fat Tuesday. My roommate, Kate, had returned from studying abroad and joined me in our second floor Miller dorm. We met through tennis the year prior, and since neither of us had a roommate come that critical time housing decisions must be ascertained, we chose to live together. Although I missed the luxury of capering about the dorm nude, I was glad for her company second semester.
In early February, Kate shared with me the glorious traditions of Fat Tuesday. I was familiar with Mardi Gras beads, purple yellow, green, and Cajun style food, but she told me of others. The king cake housing a hidden, lucky baby Jesus. Okay, so the main tradition was king cake, but one cannot underestimate the power of dessert. In an ongoing effort to avoid any amount of work, we decided our dorm would host a Mardi Gras gala, and following another mildly exerting tennis practice, we gathered the necessary accessories.
1) King Cake. Unfortunately, the grocers had sold all variations thereof; not to be discouraged, we bought a pack of cinnamon rolls, a bit of frosting, and sprinkles.
2)Libations. Kate had recently tried coconut rum and sprite; since I was still bumming legal alcohol (in responsible quantities) from adults, I did not dispute. Plus, I consider myself an equal opportunist regarding mixed drinks.
3) Refreshments. In an effort to be outlandishly sophisticated, we provided an assortment of cheese, crackers and fruit.
4)Decorations. Absconded from the cafeteria.
The evening's festivities commenced in our 15' x 20' room, hosting an intimate gathering, involving singing, dancing, and telling ourselves we would not eat another piece of king cake - then doing so. We would work off at least a tenth of the calories in tomorrow's lackadaisical tennis practice - the other 90% would be worked off on Malloy's dance floor*. Per usual, the night ended with us roaming to the university cafe, displaying our extremely bubbly selves to the more responsible parties of JCU.
It was by no means epic, nor did it possess the adventuresome qualities of other tales Kate and I enjoyed together*. But every Mardi Gras, I reminisce with the palatable taste of nostalgia. My introduction to King Cake is definitely a factor, but more than that, the day reminds me of Kate. Had we met at a random party or in passing through a mutual friend, we most likely would not have been instant kindred spirits. Because we met through an intimate setting forcing relationships that may not have otherwise blossomed, we bonded often over the frustrating politics of collegiate athletics. Still, it was not until our arrangement of convenience that we truly got to know one another, and I am so blessed to have had that opportunity.
For many, college years were insouciant, spent frolicking within an unrealistic social bubble, shielded from cruel realities. Kate was dealt circumstances few could handle with similar grace and maturity during this time. She was nurturing when others needed comfort, forgetting her own needs, but strong and fiery when disrespected. Her honesty with herself and others helped me address confrontation in my own life. Her laugh was contagious, whether it was in response to an outrageous story, a silly song, or an awkward encounter, all of which were plentiful in our cozy space.
It has been years since we lived together, and entirely too long since we have spoken. As with many relationships, time and distance make communication sparse. She still inspires me, though. After a particularly long day, I hear her voice reminding me that, "if she did not know where I was, she stepped outside our room and could reliably hear my voice echoing in song throughout the dorm halls." I then force myself to sing whatever melody comes to mind en route the apartment door, smiling. If she could smile so exuberantly through those years, I certainly could smile despite the real world's minor inconveniences. And every Mardi Gras, I fondly remember a wonderful friend.
*If I wanted to skip school, my mother simply wrote a note explaining I did not feel well - because who really feels well when they wake up at six o'clock?
**At least by me. Kate would probably do Pilates or yoga.
***This means I did not disappear.
It was not until my sophomore year of college that I was introduced to a Catholic tradition I could readily understand and embrace: Fat Tuesday. My roommate, Kate, had returned from studying abroad and joined me in our second floor Miller dorm. We met through tennis the year prior, and since neither of us had a roommate come that critical time housing decisions must be ascertained, we chose to live together. Although I missed the luxury of capering about the dorm nude, I was glad for her company second semester.
In early February, Kate shared with me the glorious traditions of Fat Tuesday. I was familiar with Mardi Gras beads, purple yellow, green, and Cajun style food, but she told me of others. The king cake housing a hidden, lucky baby Jesus. Okay, so the main tradition was king cake, but one cannot underestimate the power of dessert. In an ongoing effort to avoid any amount of work, we decided our dorm would host a Mardi Gras gala, and following another mildly exerting tennis practice, we gathered the necessary accessories.
1) King Cake. Unfortunately, the grocers had sold all variations thereof; not to be discouraged, we bought a pack of cinnamon rolls, a bit of frosting, and sprinkles.
2)Libations. Kate had recently tried coconut rum and sprite; since I was still bumming legal alcohol (in responsible quantities) from adults, I did not dispute. Plus, I consider myself an equal opportunist regarding mixed drinks.
3) Refreshments. In an effort to be outlandishly sophisticated, we provided an assortment of cheese, crackers and fruit.
4)Decorations. Absconded from the cafeteria.
The evening's festivities commenced in our 15' x 20' room, hosting an intimate gathering, involving singing, dancing, and telling ourselves we would not eat another piece of king cake - then doing so. We would work off at least a tenth of the calories in tomorrow's lackadaisical tennis practice - the other 90% would be worked off on Malloy's dance floor*. Per usual, the night ended with us roaming to the university cafe, displaying our extremely bubbly selves to the more responsible parties of JCU.
It was by no means epic, nor did it possess the adventuresome qualities of other tales Kate and I enjoyed together*. But every Mardi Gras, I reminisce with the palatable taste of nostalgia. My introduction to King Cake is definitely a factor, but more than that, the day reminds me of Kate. Had we met at a random party or in passing through a mutual friend, we most likely would not have been instant kindred spirits. Because we met through an intimate setting forcing relationships that may not have otherwise blossomed, we bonded often over the frustrating politics of collegiate athletics. Still, it was not until our arrangement of convenience that we truly got to know one another, and I am so blessed to have had that opportunity.
For many, college years were insouciant, spent frolicking within an unrealistic social bubble, shielded from cruel realities. Kate was dealt circumstances few could handle with similar grace and maturity during this time. She was nurturing when others needed comfort, forgetting her own needs, but strong and fiery when disrespected. Her honesty with herself and others helped me address confrontation in my own life. Her laugh was contagious, whether it was in response to an outrageous story, a silly song, or an awkward encounter, all of which were plentiful in our cozy space.
It has been years since we lived together, and entirely too long since we have spoken. As with many relationships, time and distance make communication sparse. She still inspires me, though. After a particularly long day, I hear her voice reminding me that, "if she did not know where I was, she stepped outside our room and could reliably hear my voice echoing in song throughout the dorm halls." I then force myself to sing whatever melody comes to mind en route the apartment door, smiling. If she could smile so exuberantly through those years, I certainly could smile despite the real world's minor inconveniences. And every Mardi Gras, I fondly remember a wonderful friend.
*If I wanted to skip school, my mother simply wrote a note explaining I did not feel well - because who really feels well when they wake up at six o'clock?
**At least by me. Kate would probably do Pilates or yoga.
***This means I did not disappear.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
The Year of the Fruit Salad
Literally. In an effort to improve company camaraderie and team solidarity*, the merchandising department of Musictoday has instituted Friday breakfast club. Though I have yet to cook, I thoroughly enjoy beginning my morning with scrumptious treats. Last Friday, a co-worker's wife* prepared quiche, breakfast pizza, and a fruit salad. I noticed on my hourly trips to the bathroom one fruit was not diminishing in proportion to the others. I am sure we all know what this is - honeydew. No one has a strong yearning for the melon, but it is fairly inexpensive and enhances the size, ensuring its position as merely a placeholder in an otherwise satisfying salad.
I then indulged in a moment of self pity, lamenting the month of January which has been the honeydew of my year, mainly because I have spent most of it creating and re-creating annual reports a midst the usual workload. Naturally, I intermittently extended this metaphor to encapsulate the entire year. And here I am.
Before I begin presenting each month and its corresponding fruit, it is critical to understand that location does have a sizable impact on perspective. April, for example, has been my honeydew for years; the moment you cautiously believe winter is at its end, Chardon gets a four foot sleet storm on April 26. In Charlottesville, this is not so, rendering April a bit more tasty.
Honeydew - January, obviously. It is dark, cold, and I am skidding down a sharp descent from holiday highs, realizing those Christmas ales and cookies did, in fact, go to my hips. I think I can take a deep breath since Q4 has ended, but then clients want to know how they performed in Q4, rendering my workload doubled. The national championship is a slightly redeeming factor, but since college football refuses to instill a playoff system, these have been anti-climactic as of late. College basketball is not yet in the prime of its season, and while NFL playoffs are entertaining, there is always a tinge of remorse that the Browns fell short yet again. The only juice in this month is that men stroll the streets donning pea coats, scarves and beanies*. Fine, you can stay.
Cantaloupe - How did you weasel your way into the salad? Consistent with my thoughts on January are my thoughts on February. It is still cold and still dark. The year end reports are not completed, and deadlines are steadily creeping. Sports are still pretty uneventful, although there is the occasional top ten match up. I have not celebrated Valentine's Day since 2005, so the idea of chocolate, flowers, or a fine meal do not brighten my spirits any more than they do on a normal day. Since you are so short, you are a bit more tolerable than January, but overall, the salad would not miss you.
Blueberries - The hidden gem within the salad. March, though not a boisterous part of the year, adds much flavor in small doses. St. Patrick's Day. Although I did not fully appreciate its implications until attending an Irish Catholic university, I now eagerly embrace the holiday. Spring arrives March 20 and warm days are speckled throughout the month, foreshadowing weather to come. Most importantly, it is March Madness. Ten days of unadulterated passion and competition interspersed throughout the month adding a pop of flavor to the year.
Grapes - Affordable, simple, tasty. April is not a flashy month. There are no guaranteed vacation days, and it is not reliably warm or sunny. Yet, the tastes of spring are palpable. Blossoming flowers and the gracious spirit of Easter signify new beginnings. It is not quite the sweetness of a berry, but has much more flavor than melon, making it a lovely accoutrement.
Pineapple - The most refreshing accessory of the salad. May is a lovely transition between spring and summer. We have not yet reached the sweltering heat, but the chilly rainy days are far behind. After months without a government holiday, we take a day to memorialize those who have served - and cook burgers and drink beer. It is the beginning of summer concerts - and the marathon of NBA playoffs*.
Blackberries - Delicious, but get stuck in your teeth. One is capitalizing upon the long days and warm nights throughout June. It seems harmless to indulge in late night patio libations or midweek concerts. With that pleasure comes the risk of those nights getting stuck in your teeth, lingering as you struggle to recover from physical and mental exhaustion.
Pear - When ripe, the juiciest of the fruits. July has a lot of potential, which it may or may not fulfill. The month can be very disappointing should the heat be too sweltering. It is also an ideal time for trips to the beach, exotic vacations and backyard BBQs. If you cut the month of July correctly, it will be quite satisfying.
Kiwi - When I was younger, my mother would cut kiwis in half, the skin acting as a small bowl. August, I would be okay if you were cut in half. I no longer relish the dogged days and am tired of wearing only tank tops as these do not offer much wardrobe versatility. The long days and longer nights are beginning to wear on me, and the sports world is fairly inactive, save a PGA golf tournament, preseason football, and the never ending baseball season. Also, I am running out of fruits and this one needs to be used.
Watermelon - An essential element of a fruit salad; arguably, it's foundation. September has always been the foundation of my year - after all, it is the month marking my birth. Crisp winds and changing seasons offer fresh outlooks on the year. Sounds of collegiate bands fill sports bars, pumpkin lattes and muffins become a staple at coffee shops, and I am able to once again utilize different styles, be it loose layers or form fitting jeans complimented by boots. I could eat September all day and never tire of it.
Apple - In a bowl of soft, juicy textures, these add a welcome crunch. First, October is a prime month for apple picking, so the association is natural. It also harkens thoughts of hikes through crunching leaves and the great array of colors both above and below. As all colors of apples are delicious, so a clear and overcast day can be equally enjoyable.
Bananas - Help balance the flavor. November is a very cozy month and one of my favorites. It is not overtly sweet, but Thanksgiving certainly adds the perfect hint of sugar. I am not compelled to go out every night and am satisfied cuddling with a blanket, watching college football as cold winds bellow outside. Bananas are the one fruit that can be tasty rotten or ripe; similarly, I do not mind terrible weather in November, as I have not yet grown tired of the shorter days and nippy nights.
Strawberries - The most decadent in flavor. December is decidedly the richest month. Swanky holiday parties, glitz and glam, luxurious meals and desserts, hemorrhaging money for siblings' gifts. It is certainly delicious, but one is glad there are other flavors to balance the extravagance of the season.
This post stretched my creativity as I went through the months. January was such an obvious honeydew, but the others were not so apparent. Hopefully my office does not start doing lunch, because then I will have to compare the days of the week to sandwich elements. Wednesday would be lettuce...
*I did not need to use both terms, but I cannot turn down an opportunity to incorporate corporate jargon.
*I point out that his wife cooked to defend the fact that I have yet to bring in breakfast. If I had a wife cooking for me, I would be more than happy to provide breakfast every week. Heck, I would do it twice a week.
*Obviously the beanie is not always worn in congruence with the pea coat and scarf. Sometimes, a beanie is better suited for a hooded sweatshirt. Sophisticated, educated adult vs snugly, burly athlete.
*But seriously, Noah took less time to build an ark.
I then indulged in a moment of self pity, lamenting the month of January which has been the honeydew of my year, mainly because I have spent most of it creating and re-creating annual reports a midst the usual workload. Naturally, I intermittently extended this metaphor to encapsulate the entire year. And here I am.
Before I begin presenting each month and its corresponding fruit, it is critical to understand that location does have a sizable impact on perspective. April, for example, has been my honeydew for years; the moment you cautiously believe winter is at its end, Chardon gets a four foot sleet storm on April 26. In Charlottesville, this is not so, rendering April a bit more tasty.
Honeydew - January, obviously. It is dark, cold, and I am skidding down a sharp descent from holiday highs, realizing those Christmas ales and cookies did, in fact, go to my hips. I think I can take a deep breath since Q4 has ended, but then clients want to know how they performed in Q4, rendering my workload doubled. The national championship is a slightly redeeming factor, but since college football refuses to instill a playoff system, these have been anti-climactic as of late. College basketball is not yet in the prime of its season, and while NFL playoffs are entertaining, there is always a tinge of remorse that the Browns fell short yet again. The only juice in this month is that men stroll the streets donning pea coats, scarves and beanies*. Fine, you can stay.
Cantaloupe - How did you weasel your way into the salad? Consistent with my thoughts on January are my thoughts on February. It is still cold and still dark. The year end reports are not completed, and deadlines are steadily creeping. Sports are still pretty uneventful, although there is the occasional top ten match up. I have not celebrated Valentine's Day since 2005, so the idea of chocolate, flowers, or a fine meal do not brighten my spirits any more than they do on a normal day. Since you are so short, you are a bit more tolerable than January, but overall, the salad would not miss you.
Blueberries - The hidden gem within the salad. March, though not a boisterous part of the year, adds much flavor in small doses. St. Patrick's Day. Although I did not fully appreciate its implications until attending an Irish Catholic university, I now eagerly embrace the holiday. Spring arrives March 20 and warm days are speckled throughout the month, foreshadowing weather to come. Most importantly, it is March Madness. Ten days of unadulterated passion and competition interspersed throughout the month adding a pop of flavor to the year.
Grapes - Affordable, simple, tasty. April is not a flashy month. There are no guaranteed vacation days, and it is not reliably warm or sunny. Yet, the tastes of spring are palpable. Blossoming flowers and the gracious spirit of Easter signify new beginnings. It is not quite the sweetness of a berry, but has much more flavor than melon, making it a lovely accoutrement.
Pineapple - The most refreshing accessory of the salad. May is a lovely transition between spring and summer. We have not yet reached the sweltering heat, but the chilly rainy days are far behind. After months without a government holiday, we take a day to memorialize those who have served - and cook burgers and drink beer. It is the beginning of summer concerts - and the marathon of NBA playoffs*.
Blackberries - Delicious, but get stuck in your teeth. One is capitalizing upon the long days and warm nights throughout June. It seems harmless to indulge in late night patio libations or midweek concerts. With that pleasure comes the risk of those nights getting stuck in your teeth, lingering as you struggle to recover from physical and mental exhaustion.
Pear - When ripe, the juiciest of the fruits. July has a lot of potential, which it may or may not fulfill. The month can be very disappointing should the heat be too sweltering. It is also an ideal time for trips to the beach, exotic vacations and backyard BBQs. If you cut the month of July correctly, it will be quite satisfying.
Kiwi - When I was younger, my mother would cut kiwis in half, the skin acting as a small bowl. August, I would be okay if you were cut in half. I no longer relish the dogged days and am tired of wearing only tank tops as these do not offer much wardrobe versatility. The long days and longer nights are beginning to wear on me, and the sports world is fairly inactive, save a PGA golf tournament, preseason football, and the never ending baseball season. Also, I am running out of fruits and this one needs to be used.
Watermelon - An essential element of a fruit salad; arguably, it's foundation. September has always been the foundation of my year - after all, it is the month marking my birth. Crisp winds and changing seasons offer fresh outlooks on the year. Sounds of collegiate bands fill sports bars, pumpkin lattes and muffins become a staple at coffee shops, and I am able to once again utilize different styles, be it loose layers or form fitting jeans complimented by boots. I could eat September all day and never tire of it.
Apple - In a bowl of soft, juicy textures, these add a welcome crunch. First, October is a prime month for apple picking, so the association is natural. It also harkens thoughts of hikes through crunching leaves and the great array of colors both above and below. As all colors of apples are delicious, so a clear and overcast day can be equally enjoyable.
Bananas - Help balance the flavor. November is a very cozy month and one of my favorites. It is not overtly sweet, but Thanksgiving certainly adds the perfect hint of sugar. I am not compelled to go out every night and am satisfied cuddling with a blanket, watching college football as cold winds bellow outside. Bananas are the one fruit that can be tasty rotten or ripe; similarly, I do not mind terrible weather in November, as I have not yet grown tired of the shorter days and nippy nights.
Strawberries - The most decadent in flavor. December is decidedly the richest month. Swanky holiday parties, glitz and glam, luxurious meals and desserts, hemorrhaging money for siblings' gifts. It is certainly delicious, but one is glad there are other flavors to balance the extravagance of the season.
This post stretched my creativity as I went through the months. January was such an obvious honeydew, but the others were not so apparent. Hopefully my office does not start doing lunch, because then I will have to compare the days of the week to sandwich elements. Wednesday would be lettuce...
*I did not need to use both terms, but I cannot turn down an opportunity to incorporate corporate jargon.
*I point out that his wife cooked to defend the fact that I have yet to bring in breakfast. If I had a wife cooking for me, I would be more than happy to provide breakfast every week. Heck, I would do it twice a week.
*Obviously the beanie is not always worn in congruence with the pea coat and scarf. Sometimes, a beanie is better suited for a hooded sweatshirt. Sophisticated, educated adult vs snugly, burly athlete.
*But seriously, Noah took less time to build an ark.
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