There`s a Place in the Sun

My dance partner is phenomenal. Everything he does is stunning. His technique is tight, his movements are exquisite, his choreographic ideas sometimes blow my mind. He is there for me 150%, has never dropped me or even let me fall. He walks me through the stuff I`ve never done, paints kinesiological pictures, explains the physics behind how it will actually work despite my misgivings and is never wrong. He has limitless patience with my weaknesses and carries the extra without complaint.

Yesterday after working with him for hours and being the biggest disappoinment since `Star Wars: Attack of the Clones` I bid goodbye to the cast, walked a few hundred meters, sat under a tree and cried.

I know that I am abominably frustrating. I don`t possess the strength needed to complete many of the movements. I`m uncomfortable with being manipulated, so much so that I anticipate what`s coming and seem to refuse direction. I trust he won`t let me fall; I don`t trust that I won`t fall anyway of my own volition. I am a stubbron soloist. I resist being led, I lock my joints, I refuse to flow with the motions and use him as a support out of a desire to be in control of myself. I haven`t let go. Nothing makes me feel worse than failing someone else.

I realize that I have only recently begun the journey back into full time dancing. I have been really focussed on school and patients and have been greatly rewarded for this (with awesome grades, awesome results, and awesome patients). I understand that these things take time; and I hate it. I want to be perfect, be the best at everything all the time. I am (arrogantly) self-aware enough to know that this is riduculous. However I am also simply arrogant enough to not care; I want to be perfect, and I want to be perfect right now.

Retention is the birthplace of injury (and cellulite for that matter). Letting go takes as much strength has hanging on and pushing through. If there`s hope for everyone, then there must be a little for me, too.

Pushing through...

Life Update

I have decided that I need to return to my former athletic state.

I years passed, I was a throrough-going professional dancer. I taught dance at 30hrs/week, I rehearsed for shows at least 5 more hours/week, I went to classes 2-8hrs/week depending on the week. I had piles of energy and only one day off each week.

I do not miss teaching. Not even a little. Wild horses couldn't drag me back into that overly-cold room full of too-many screaming 3 year olds, trying to teach them choreography and the difference between first and second positions, nevermind getting them to stand on their toes without falling over (often on purpose). I get it; you're three and you want to have fun. However, after three years I got tired of not being taken seriously (my oldest students were 6). It wasn't good for my sanity.

Having since left several jobs (because I didn't JUST teach dance for 30hrs, I also worked at a restaurant for 15, a clinic for 20, and a residential school for hours that varied all the time), I find that I am unsurprisingly unable to afford classes. This has cut my training into less than half its former glory. I still rehearse 3-4hrs/week, and I like to work out at home a few times a week for at least 30 mins, but that reduces me to... about 6 hours/week. Which is insane considering I used to do 6hrs/DAY! Albeit not as challenging as I make my current activities (you can only derive so much benefit from teaching the same class every 30mins or so), but the hours added up. The plies added up. The jumps added up. Also, the anorexia added up and made my "muscles" stand out more (quotationed because really, I didn't have THAT much more muscle tone than I do now; I was really all tendon and bone and it showed).

So with all this behind me I've decided to get back on track (training, not the other part). Keeping the 3.5hour rehearsals weekly, I've decided to add 1-2hrs 5days/week for the first two weeks. After this... July starts and I'm not sure how much free time I'll have during the month (working 70hrs/week), but at the very least I'll keep up the previous schedule.

In other more interesting news, my basil has started to flower:

I bought it at the Riverdale Farmer's Market (Tuesdays 3-7 at Riverdale Farm). Two weeks ago while there I heard a woman saying that one shouldn't let basil flower since it ruins the taste and makes it "woody." So, yesterday while perusing the herb stand, I asked Pablo the Herb Dude (yes Nat, Cute Herb Guy's name is Pablo) about this. Apparently this isn't exactly true. It doesn't change the taste; it kills the entire plant. Basically the flower is like a parasite which takes all the nutrients out of the leaves to support its own needs and ends up killing the host. Depressing. And scary. But so pretty.... none of my other plants have flowers right now and I miss flowers, yet I have the euthenize this one to save the plant.

I received a call yesterday from Fashion Crimes, the independent boutique making my wedding dress. They have a new Fitting Technician named Carrie who is calling all of the current order-ers to introduce herself and set appointments to make sure we have everything we need. Seems there are a few issues with my order: they don't carry brown tulle (which was to come out the bottom of the dress) and there was no specification regarding the size of the ribbon lacing the back of the dress. All very fixable things; I can move forward to white tulle comfortably and pick a ribbon size. I'm meeting her on July 9 to discuss our options and I'm so excited to get everything started.

I also got the items and price list from the potter being commissioned to make everything I adore. I've put together the ideal setting of a mug, a soup bowl, lunch plate, dinner plate and side plate (96$ for the set). There are also smaller items for those of us still on student budgets (teapots, tumblers, platters, serving bowls that sort of thing). In any colour the buyer thinks is appropriate. Jim and I are heading out on Saturday to create the "other" registry of such things like towels and sheets. We're also going to scour some pawn shops to see if we can find wedding rings we like for less than what we would pay retail. A mostly window-shopping excursion which I am looking forward to.

Finally, in some sad news, I had to cut my hair. Not all of it, thank god, but quite a bit more than I expected. The split ends were becoming way too much for me to abide, so I bought some pro scissors and Lisa did the honours. If I haven't seen you in a while: my hair had previously fallen to about my waist (see profile photo). It now falls just below my shoulders, sort of mid-blade, which I guess is somewhere around 4-6inches. It needed to happen for the health of my hair, but I'm sad nonetheless. It's weird to comb my fingers through it and come up to the stop before I feel I should. Strange to wrap it into a twist and run out; I have to place the clip in a different spot. I fully plan on growing it again, but taking better care to moisturize it more, to prevent splits, watch for damage, not overwash. It really does look much better now.

Poncho Stuff

I have finished the poncho, in somewhat record time; probably about 10 hours. Here it is from the front:
It's all asymmetrical and fun, and will happily go with everything I have ever owned.
And the back:
Jim suggested to me while I was making this one (in good time) that I should invest in a good amount of yarn, get an etsy account, and basically be my own little poncho sweat shop. Since I got this gorgeous yarn at a discount (about 30$ for four skeins), and paying myself about 10$/hour, this would run about 150$ including shipping and taxes.
Poll: Would you pay 150$ for a handmade, warm, comfortable, beautiful poncho? Let me know in the comments!

Days go By

Yesterday I had a pie date with my oldest friend; that is the friend I have had for most of my life, not who is oldest in years. Before our forray into pie, I stopped by my favourite yarn boutique and found my bane: the 30% off basket.
Four skeins of 100% peruvian wool. The picture doesn't do justice to how much varigation there is in the colour, but it is mostly brown with a little red and green twisted in for excitement. Plus the added fun of seeming to carry Sideshow Bob in my sack all evening.
Here they are, four little yarn skeins all in a row, waiting to become this:
I made one for my mother for Christmas and liked the pattern so much I'm making one for myself for the fall (and for cool summer days, and for classes because there's a lot of air conditioning, and for wearing over my winter coat...).
This is what it starts out looking like. Last time, I used very lumpy yarn (it came with the kit) and didn't look like this. I think I like this more, but I can't decide.

Thoughts?

The View from Here

From the balcony I see...
Yesterday I got in touch with the pottery dude, who agreed to take comissions from friends and family members to create a dining set for me. He is a delightfully laid-back, soft spoken artisan of few words. He's going to send me price listings sometime today or tomorrow. He asked about my colour choices, to which I replied that I love all colours and will allow the commissioners to decide what they think is appropriate. From the price list/piece description I will put together what I think constitutes a resonable "place setting" and go from there. I'm super excited.

These past few weeks, alongside baking and cooking more, I've also been sleeping a LOT. Long ago in the land of full-time university I would feel guilty for having naps, for not staying up all night cramming or writing papers (which isn't to say that I didn't do these things; I just felt guilty when I slept). Normally I have a hard time waking in bad weather. Who is motivated to get out of a warm cozy bed when it's snowing and blowing and freezing and awful? However, usually by the time June rolls around I'm getting up at 7am (sometimes 8) and lasting happily all day like a sunflower. It's almost like my sleep-debt is being called in. If I have the opportunity, I sleep til 10, but I still go to bed between 12-1. Often I'll even nap around 2-3pm (in a sunbeam with a kitty; who can resist?). What I cannot seem to figure out is WHY this is happening. What is the reason behind all this sleepiness? I'm not sick (at least I dont' think so), I shouldn't be terribly stressed out (besides wedding planning and a silly job and some financial messiness I'm pretty good), I should be recovered from all the exam stress by now... why am I still so sleepy?

In order to motivate myself somewhat, I took a good long look at what I have, what I see every day and take enjoyment in.
These are some of my plants. There's the foliage of what used to be orange gerbera daisies, orange-mint, thyme, and two giant basil plants in two giant pots because I heard basil likes to be roomy. And these are beautiful basils if there ever was beautiful basil.
Check him out, in all his magesty.
This is my butterfly bush, which will bloom apparently some time in July (when I'll be at my busiest, but that's okay). I don't know what colour the flowers will be, but I don't think it matters. The purpose of the bush is to attract butterflies (duh). It's perennial so I won't have to replant it every year, either. This fills me with glee.
This is... an ikea plant? I bought it a few weeks ago at Ikea for 1.99 and it was labelled as "Mixed Tropical." The dots on it range from happy yellow, to orange, to a delightful almost fuschia. Any ideas of what its actual genus might be would be appreciated. However, even having no idea how to take care of it, it seems to be doing well.
This is ZsaZsa. I have named her so for two reasons:
1. She is actually an offshoot of a spider plant once owned by ZsaZsa Gabor. This is probably a great-grandbaby of the original plant.
2. She's a raging drama queen of a plant. If I don't water her at a particular time, her ends start to brown. If I don't feed her coffee grinds every week, she starts to wilt, just a little. If she isn't given exactly proper sunlight, she throws a planty fit. Spider plants are supposed to be easy; not this one. Oddly, she doesn't seem to mind too much when the cats nibble on her.
This is my neighbour's balcony, or what little of it I can see. Note the poofy flowers and fake butterfly. I like her a lot.
This is the view from the office. On breezy days the leaves on this tree lull me into that sleep I ranted about earlier.
This is the view inside the office: Jim in his jammies, working. Sometimes there's even a kitty on his lap.
It appears we live a charm'ed life. I certainly don't want to sleep through it all.

Adventures in Chocolate

Lately I have been cooking more than usual. I've never really considered myself to be much of a cook. although I have on occasion been known to create a killer quiche or toss a good curry, and I have some fail-safe recipes that are ALL MINE. However, I tend to faire simple when it comes to the kitchen. I have a history of burning rice, of forgetting ingredients, of not reading a recipe the whole way through to discover that I'm lacking the utensils or materials for the final steps. My entire lineage is British, so I grew up on all things boiled or broiled, sometimes pan fried, barbeque when it's in season. My parents are not terribly adventurous in the kitchen. My grandmothers, though both wonderful at creating large meals which are tasty and fulfulling, do tend toward their fail-safe recipes most of the time. Growing up, we had a weekly schedule: Monday is Beef, Tuesday is Chicken, Wednesday is Pasta, Thursday is Pork, Friday is leftovers, Saturday is pizza, Sunday is fish. Repeat. With little variation. And, for my part, little satisfaction as I stopped eating meat at age ten.
I have, however, always been a decent baker. Again, I rarely ventured out of the safety zone, sticking to boxed cake ingredients, store-bought pie shells (pastry is HARD), that sort of thing. In the past few years I've learned to make truffles, cakes from scratch, pie fillings (but still not the pastry) and a variety of other tasties. Plus, I've ALWAYS made cookies from scratch.
This past week I've been reading "French Women for All Seaons" by Mireille Guiliano; I read "French Women Don't Get Fat" a few years ago and enjoyed a few recipes from this book. Upon completion of the most recent, I have scores of new recipes and have made a few with good success: Blanched asparagus with home-made mayonnaise (which is harder than it sounds, but fully worth it), rhubarb-strawberry compote (pie filling without the pie), and yesterday I ventured into the flourless chocolate cake.
Now, anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE carbs. It's a serious problem. I've been making a solid effort to reduce carbs in favour of adding protein (not Atkins because that's ridiculous and unhealthy), mostly because vegetarians in general do not get enough and compensate with grains. Thus, the concept of a chocoalte cake without flour is marvellous. Plus chocolate: awesome. Having borrowed a spring-form pan from the great Graham, I was set to go (I used to have one, but gave it away many years ago since I had never once used it and did not foresee a use for it in the reasonable future). As with all first-time recipes, there was beauty, pain, disaster, and a final product (which I will not discuss so as not to spoil the ending).

Somehow I didn't think of taking pictures of the beautifully melted chocolate, the delightfully creamed butter, the fluffy eggs or anything like that. I didn't think of photo documenting anything until the carnage began:

This is the recently-emptied mixing bowl which at different times housed melted chocolate with butter, eggs with sugar, orange liqueur, and finally all three mixed together. I tried using a separate mixing bowl in the mixer, but since it didn't fit, it made a horrible noise, rattled about terribly, and frightened the cats. Instead, I transfered all the mixtures around a few times in order to properly blend. This bowl and spatula got a serious work out.

This is the bowl into which I transferred all of the "set aside" ingredients. It is also the bowl I attempted to use with the mixer and which proceded to make the aforementioned horrific noises. Note the various accoutrements (blending tool, wooden spoon, whisk, funnel). Clearly I was having fun.
This is my happy orange KitchenAid. Please note the very telling glob of chocolate on the rim. I am not the tidest of chefs. The mixer is probably the best Christmas present I have ever received; I showed it to my mother in the Williams-Sonoma and actually caressed it. I adore this mixer.

In my haste (and weak-wristed) desire to transfer the batter into the sprinform pan:
Big dollop of chocolate on the microwave. And:
a somewhat smaller one on the floor.
Flourless chocolate cake, in sprinform pan ready to be put in the oven. I was so excited at this point that I forgot about the precariously perched box of cornstarch...
It wasted no time attacking me when I opened the cupboard. I now understand why one uses an apron.
40 minutes later it's out of the oven and feeling fine.
Served with freshly whipped cream (unsweetened)
courtesy of Lisa, and strawberries

courtesy of Mother Earth.
The following afternoon, there was much enjoyment. We were too excited about eating to bother taking photos of our pieces. Instead:
Graham: lender of pans.
Jim: Enjoyer of treats.
Lisa: Demolisher of delicious.
My own piece had to rest on the table, what with my hands being full of camera.

We managed to make four slices of cake from 1/4 of the entire cake. It was glorious. I even used half the recommeded amount of sugar. Thusly, I packed up portions of cake and whipped cream for our guests to take home.

And of course included the recipe. There are no secrets among us.
This goes well served with espresso or coffee, or perhaps Grand Marnier. Strawberries may be substituted with raspberries (or omitted for the non-fruit lover).

The adventure was a great success, and definitely bears repeating (although infrequently as something like this should be kept as an anticipated indulgence, not a dietary staple).

Registry

My friend Natalie is a genius.

This Christmas I received gifts of gorgeous pottery from the One of a Kind Show. We had journeyed there together, Natalie, Gennie and I, and had all fallen in love with the work of an incredible artisan. The pieces I received as presents were perfect for me:
This bowl has held much fruit. Its colour screams "Delicious food goes here!"
The pitcher has held everything I could think of, and the cups are good for either hot or cold beverages.

I decided that I want them to be the prototype for my fine china choice. This decision was furthered while shopping for "traditional" china at various department stores with my mother and grandmother; nothing called to me the way this pottery does.

One day, as I was complaining to Natalie about this (she has been an absolute SAINT dealing with my whines), she suggested emailing the director of the show some pictures to see if perhaps she knows who it could belong to. After a brief "why didn't I think of this before?" moment, I got extremely excited and embarked on a mission to find the correct person to lead me to my destiny.

Today I finally found the email for the exhibitioner coodinator for the one of a kind show. Neither my friends nor I had thought to collect the business card of the artisan and had NO IDEA who s/he is. Lucky for me, the show coordinator is efficient and I had an answer by mid-day. I have since emailed the artisan to see if he is willing to take "commissions" from my friends and family and custom-create our "china" set. After all, who wouldn't love the idea of exquisite, one of a kind pottery decorating their table for special occasions? I have not yet received an answer, but I am optimistic about it. If I was a potter, I know I couldn't resist the idea of making an entire table outfit.

The rest of the registry (gag) is coming together. We've decided to look at sheet/towel options since I learned that people love to decorate the conjugal bed (regardless whether there had been previous conjugations or not). Plus, everyone needs more towels. Finally, just to be frivalous, I think we're going to register for a Wii and Wii Fit. Hey, just cuz you get married doesn't mean you can let yourself go, right? Of course, we haven't done any of this yet, and probably won't get around to it until mid-June when we both have a Saturday of together. This is also when we'll visit some pawn shops to find wedding bands. The Birks bands are beautiful, but also... diamond encrusted. Call me crazy, but too much of a good thing... makes my current good thing seem less special.

Coming up: In August, my 'maids and I are going shopping for dresses! Once the dress is made, I have to get some shoes to go with it. I will have to survive a wedding shower put on by my grandmother, mother, and sister to field the awkward "We weren't invited but we're buying you gifts" comments (the one blight in having a small wedding). See if I will be able to avoid murdering my husband-to-be for not yet acquiring a suit or a DJ/band (the ONLY taske he asked for). Watch as all the last-minute scramblings slowly and painfully either come together or crumble apart.

The anticipation: It kills me.