Category: Mom

Gravity is a Cruel, Cruel Mistress

As I was growing up, my mom, bless her soul, had some pretty strong aspirations for her daughters. Mainly, she wanted both my sister and me to be strong, healthy and graceful girls.

This is an admirable wish.

So to that end, both my sissy and I attended dance classes regularly, learning ballet, tap and jazz (yes, I learned how to make perfect jazz hands).

Blessed from an early age with sturdy thighs and broad German hips, I was what might be called “stocky.” This whole dancing thing was a bit tougher for me than it was for the lithe little girls who also attended the dance classes.

That said, I danced and it was not so bad. I was a damn fine tap dancer in my day, actually. I could shuffle-off-to-buffalo like nobody’s business! (Google it, that’s actually a tap dancing term)

At some point, I don’t know how it came about, but it was agreed that I would start taking gymnastics classes at the local YMCA.

Well, this was quite a step up in the game. Gymnastics! Whoa!

Ok, let’s go back to the sturdy thighs and broad German hips thing…my center of gravity is rather low. This is a good thing for lifting things and staying on the planet.

However, that “staying on the planet” aspect is quite the hindrance to the goal of gymnastics activities which often involve leaving the ground.

In hindsight, I did ok on balance beam. I was actually not that bad on the uneven bars.

But the floor routines were another story entirely.

Cartwheels? Yes!

Backbends. Sure. I’m all over them.

Flips? Er. Not so much.

I’d come thundering down the mat, do the hop, attempt to flip forward and wind up lying on the mat in a tangled mess of limbs and lycra spandex.

Next I’d try to do that big hop and tuck to make a back flip work, and would end up in a similar state.

A back flip on the balance beam? Oh please, I never even tried.

It was kind of hard on the ol’ self esteem back then that all these other girls could flip through the air with the greatest of ease while I stayed firmly grounded.

Over the years I’ve become a bit more circumspect. Gravity is one of those laws that, unless you are an astronaut, you just can’t break. These days I tend to allow all due deference to that bitchy Mistress Gravity. She’s always going to win.






Today’s theme for Theme Thursday is flip.

Photo by Charlie Balch and used royalty free from stock.xchng.


An Oldie but a Goodie

This post first appeared on the blog in December 11, 2007. It’s one of my all time favorite posts. Fixed a few broken links, made some minor edits and away we go! Everything is still very true. Happy Holidays!

Top ten things I miss about Christmas in New Mexico

1) Annual shopping trip to Old Town. A mom and me tradition. Every year I’d get to pick out an ornament that was mine. I now have all those ornaments in a Thom McAnn shoebox that, yes, Sunday night I opened and hung them all on my tree. They are like a history of my life. I remember buying most of them and it gives me a good sense of continuity to have them on my tree.

2) Luminarias. I always was the one to make them at my house. My mom would drive me to an empty lot to dig up two buckets worth of dirt and I’d fold bags, place candles and light them. It was my job and I loved every folded bag and every candle and every small emergency when the bag caught on fire in the wind. I miss real luminarias.

3) The Bugg House, which, sadly, is no more. My sister lived over on Prospect and we’d go for a Christmas Eve walk in the evening to take a look at the outstanding display of holiday spirit. When I wwent to Winrock Mall to shop, I’d always swing by the Bugg house to take a look. No one does lights like the Buggs did.

4) Neighbors bringing over a plate of fresh made tamales as a Christmas gift. When there are three generations of Hispanic women in a kitchen with some masa and some shredded pork, magic happens. Yum! I also miss that people would bring tamales to work in a cooler and sell them to coworkers. I was always good for a dozen or more.

5) A ristra makes a good Christmas gift. I’ve given. I’ve received. I love ’em. They’d become a moldy mess here…and that makes me sad.

6) Biscochitos. My love for these is well documented.

7) Sixty-five degrees and warm on Christmas Day. Growin up, I think one year there was actually snow on the ground for the 25th. But it was melted by the end of the day. Oh Fair New Mexico, how I love your weather.

8) Christmas Eve midnight Mass in Spanish with the overpowering scent of frankincense filling up the overly warm church. Pure torture for a small child, but oh how I’d belt out the carols… And when we came home we could pick one present and open it. Gah! The torture of picking just one!

9) New Mexico piñon, gappy, scrawny Christmas trees that cost $15 at the Flea Market and were cut from the top of a larger tree just that morning. Look, to my mind, it ain’t a tree unless you are using low hanging ornaments to fill the obvious gaps. These fluffy overly full trees just ain’t my bag. If you aren’t turning the ‘bad spot’ to the wall, you paid too much for your tree.

10) Green chile stew for Christmas Eve dinner and posole for New Year’s. My mouth waters. It’s weep worthy. I can taste the nice soft potatoes in the stew, the chicken broth flavored just right…ouch! And posole to bring you luck with red chile and hunks of pork. Yeah……

*sigh* Now I’m homesick.

Which is not to say I don’t have happy holidays where I live now…but sometimes I feel melancholy. And that’s what the holidays are for, right?

Image via.

Weeee Represent the Lollipop Guild

I’m what they call a robust gal. Hardy. Big boned. The word “petite” doesn’t apply to any of the assets I embody. I’m broad of shoulder and sturdy in the hips and thanks to a mom who told me to stand up straight, I own every one of my five feet and almost eight inches.

I had to stand in the back row for class photos. I long ago gave over to the knowledge that with these thighs, corduroy was not an option.

Back in college, I danced with short cowboys and took many a brim of a cowboy hat to the bridge of my nose.

After I moved to California, I wore flat shoes for years because I dated a guy not much taller than me. He once cooed over a friend who is teeny tiny, “you’re like a little doll!” he gushed. I never felt more elephantine than I did at that moment.

This is the hand I’ve got to play, dealt by my genetics. Honestly, I’ve become more sanguine about it over the years.

This brings us to the events of yesterday. I’d been invited to a status update meeting with a VP from my company and the CEO of a large multinational corporation.

In the morning, I dug around in my closet and put together a pretty nice outfit. A meeting like this is big doings, so I knew I had to up my game.

I got dressed and put on my favorite pair of three inch heels. The outfit looked great. Before leaving the house, I asked The Good Man if I was committing a work faux pas.

See…my boss is about 5’9″ on a good day, and his boss is maybe 5’6″ if the wind is right and he’s on the uphill side of an incline.

Is it bad form to tower over the people who pay my paycheck? The Good Man considered the question and decided the outfit worked, and thus all would be ok.

Off I went to work feeling pretty good. The meeting time rolled around and I stepped into the conference room. As I was the only woman in a roomful of nine men, they all rose and walked over to greet me.

Ok, so flatfooted I’m 5’8″ and now wearing three inch heels I’m 5’11”

There was only one person in the room who was taller than me. Just one. The rest of these #$%^ing Lilliputians scrambled around somewhere about my kneecaps.

*sigh*

At the end of the day, I was very glad to go home, kick off my tall shoes, stand on tippy toes, and kiss my 6’2″ husband.

Because that’s the best way to navigate through a day chock full of Oopma Loompa-ish men.

(I might also add that I was only one of two Americans in the room. We had a gent from Hong Kong, a Dutchman, an Aussie, a Swede, a Scotsman, a Russian, an Irishman, a Spaniard, an American from Phoenix…and me.)

When the Veil Thins

Tomorrow Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Dead is here again.

When all the plastic spiders and smashed pumpkins of Halloween have passed, I turn to this well known Latin American holiday to celebrate my friends and family who have passed on to the next journey.

Other cultures have similar holidays and traditions, the Bon Festival in Japan, All Saints Day in Europe, but it’s the Mexican version of Dia de los Muertos that resonates with me.

The belief, loosely, is that on this day the veil between the living and the dead is thin, and so offerings of favorite food, booze, decorations and memorabilia will be seen, enjoyed and appreciated by our deceased.

I think Dia de los Muertos appeals to me because it brings a sense of humor and fun to a painful, somber thing. It’s a chance for a community to come together and remember. To feel close to those we have lost.

Personally, just this past August, I withstood a very deep loss. Tomorrow I will remember my friend who died way too young.

I will remember my father who passed away almost six years ago. My mom will certainly remember her husband. Together, we keep his memory alive.

Grandparents, friends, family, people I hardly knew, famous people. We all deserve to be remembered by those we’ve left behind.

My grief is a slippery thing. Sometimes so overwhelming, I don’t know how I can sit up and walk through the world. Other days, it’s like a dull noise in the background. Remembering on a day like tomorrow helps keep me grounded. Keeps me sane.

What’s Your Go-To Remedy?

So yeah, it’s Tuesday and I’m still nice and sick.

This whole cold thing has settled deep into my chest. I have that raspy almost smokers cough sounding voice, and when I laugh, I get on a wheezing cough jag that doesn’t resolve until I see stars in my eyes and my ribs hurt.

Fun stuff.

And so as I do when I feel poorly, I begin to remember all the suggested home remedies that friends and family have provided over the years. Many of them do actually make me feel better.

Here’s my top five, in no particular order.

1. Pho Noodle Soup

This was the remedy I went with yesterday and it did help for a while. The uber hot beef broth cooking the thinly sliced meat paired with the yummy rice noodles. It just screams hydration and the protein in the soup is good nutrition.

The warm soup always makes me sleepy, and getting rest is good for my immunity.

Add a healthy dose of that Sriracha Rooster sauce, and it all just says to me “oh yeah…I’m on the mend.”

2. Sopa de Camaron

I don’t know what it is about Mexican shrimp soup, but it’s like a cure in a bowl. The veggies, the hot broth, the shrimps and a bit of avocado to smooth it all out.

Very satisfying, filling and warm. Again, it puts me right to sleep and gives me nice dreams.

3. Chicken Soup

Known colloquially as “Jewish Penicillin” there has actually been some research that suggests that chicken soup inhibits inflammation which helps a weary cold sufferer endure through the inevitable cycle of the common cold.

I’ll take chicken soup in all forms including with veggies, with noodles, or with a big beautiful Matzoh ball floating in there. It’s all good!

4. Pinto Bean water

This one is recommended by frequent commenter Ephraim. There have been times when, struggling to find something palatable to eat, I’ve dished up a bowl of beans and added a lot of the water that the beans were cooked in to make it more like a soup, thus easier for me to swallow with a sore throat.

Can’t deny it, it helps. And what’s not to like about bacon flavored bean water? Am I right? I think I am.

5. Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup, Dayquil, Sprite

Parodied in the South Park SARS episode, there is no denying the “middle class white man’s cure” is helpful.

I think with the addition of some saltines, this is the perfect comforting treat for when I am down on the couch with the crud.

It’s especially comforting when brought on a TV tray by a doting mom (or husband) who will check my temperature with closed lips applied to my forehead.

Really, at the end of the day, the best “cure” for the common cold is rest, hydration and managing the symptoms. All of the above help toward that end.

Meanwhile…*hack coff* I’m still in the middle of the indignities of this upper respiratory attack.

Bleah.