GET OUTTA MY WAY!

That's how my turbo-kick class started; its theme song, if you will. Yes, you read that correctly. After about 6 months of watching from afar (a.k.a. the elliptical), I decided to bite the bullet and try the cardio-kickboxing class offered by my neighborhood gym. It looked intense, but seemed to require slightly less coordination than the confounding zumba classes I attended with a friend in the fall. And besides, with all the resolutioners clogging up the gyms this time of year, this would be as good a time as any to start, because surely there'd be other first-timers there. And with so many newbies, they'd have to explain some of the moves, right?

Wrong. I listened to the Pilates instructor give the class before mine a five-minute lecture on how to properly stretch out your hamstring, but as soon as the mats were rolled up and we took our places on the over-crowded floor, the music started blasting and away we went. In a matter of seconds, I found myself frantically trying to mimic the seriously buff (and overly aggressive) instructor; kicking, punching, and weaving my way through one seriously high-energy workout.

She was calling out instructions: "Hook! Jab, cut!" and "Kick it back! Knee it up!" and I had no idea what any of it meant. I was all: monkey-see, monkey-do. When the percussive song "Get outta my way" (with lyrics along the same vein) came on, she roared, "Windmill!", and began flailing her arms and legs, kicking and punching and hitting whatever imaginary obstacle was in her way. While she looked formidable, I looked like a damn fool.

I came home and immediately looked up the different punches. I'm doing my homework on this because I plan on going back tomorrow (and because I don't want to hurt myself). The workout was hard but fun; I can see how people swear it's addicting, but I can also see how the numbers of participants will thin out dramatically in the next few weeks. I'm in pretty good shape (even though I don't look it right now) and was able to hang; I didn't get all of the moves, but I was able to keep moving. I can't say the same for the gaggle of wheezing, middle-aged Hispanic ladies behind me; one was halfheartedly punching the air while trying to talk on her cell phone, and another disappeared into the locker room after about 10 minutes.

Is this something new and different for me? Most definitely. Was I sore the next day? You betcha. Will I stick with it? Schedule permitting, yes! And next time, all you insincere resolutioners, you had better GET OUTTA MY WAY, cuz I'm kicking butts and taking names!

My New-Found Resolve

As people around the country are making their 2010 resolutions (and making every effort not to break them in the first week of this shiny new decade), I've decided to broaden my scope. Sure, I'd love to lose weight and make more money and find love and get out of debt; that's nothing new. And to place so many expectations on something as arbitrary as the dawn of a new year seems a little ludicrous-- I think I'd only be setting myself up for failure. So I've instead resolved to change my circumstances, by making smaller changes that will (hopefully) have a larger impact, in hopes of striking a better balance in my life. The plan is simple enough, and I have a sneaking suspicion that, once this balance is achieved, all my hopes and dreams will just fall into place behind it, like ducks in a row.

For starters, I hope to strike a better balance between work and play. I won't beat myself up for not managing to cross off everything on my ambitious to-do lists at the end of each day, because all work and no play makes... well, you know. Once I know all my commitments for spring semester, I plan to schedule one day of rest, and quit trying to work around the clock-- even God took a day off now and then! Some of the specific things I plan to strive for in my quest for this balance include:

• Practicing and/or working out six days a week. There aren't always enough hours in the day to do both, and that's not my fault! See above for my plans for day seven.
• Make more time for social activities. That one will be easy and fun! I've already got a number of things planned for this month, so I'm off to a good start.
• Write more. I want to update my blogs once a week (at least) and submit more articles for possible publication. You can help me on this one-- keep reading, and I'll keep writing!
• Read one book a month. I used to read voraciously, and got out of the habit in grad school (a.k.a. when I started trying to build Rome in a day)... I miss it, and think one book a month is a completely reasonable goal.
• Continue with my recipe-a-week resolution from 2009. Not all of the recipes I tried were winners, but I enjoyed it enough that I'd like to continue filling my recipe box!

The other area of my life that needs reconciling is the way I interact with others, or (more specifically) the experiences and encounters I have with (and because of) the people around me. I need to get better at holding my ground without backing down or losing my temper, and to rid my life of the people and relationships that are weighing me down (literally and figuratively). To accomplish this, I plan to surround myself with more positive people and experiences by:

• Reconnecting with good friends who I've lost touch with over the years.
• Letting go of past hurts and old grudges.
• Distancing myself from people who drag me down.
• Stop investing time and effort into one-sided friendships.
• Learning to say "no" more often. (I've already gotten a good jump on this one, too!)

So there you have it. My new-found resolve. Is it an ambitious list? Of course! Can I accomplish everything I'm setting out to do? Only time will tell. But for now, I'm leaving the messes of 2009 in the past where they belong, and looking ahead to a bright new year, where the misadventures of my life are yet to be written. Happy new year one and all!

The Mutant Santa Brigade

I enjoy Christmas decorations, I really do. I'm not wild about the decorating part, but once they're up, I find the decor to be quite enjoyable. However, while I was in high school, I began to notice a disturbing trend among the Santa Claus ornaments and figurines that adorned our house. These aren't just your run-of-the-mill Santas... many of them are missing appendages, and some are in compromising positions. Some of them creep me out, while others just cause me to scratch my head. The collection has grown considerably over the years, and I am amazed that there is actually a market for mutant Santa Clauses out there. I'd like to introduce you to a few of these St. Nicks, and let you form your own opinions about them. Above we have the cheer leading (nutcracker?) Santas, and pictured below, from left to right, we have:

1. Leprechaun Claus ... he's clearly got his holidays mixed up ... what do you suppose he's packing in that shamrock bag of his?

2.Two-faced Santa ... It's no wonder the guy's omniscient-- he's got more than just eyes in the back of his head, he's got a whole other face!

3. Crossing-Guard, Dunce-Cap Santa (a.k.a. Jingle Crotch the Second. Alas, the original Jingle Crotch now resides in Kansas City, so he's not pictured here...)

4. The Willy Wonka-fied Santa ... Somebody turned the poor sap into a conglomerate of peppermints! And where are his arms?!?
5. No-Neck, Windmill-Arms, Astrology Santa ... This is one of those head scratchers ... I'm just not sure what to make of him! Ho-Ho-Huh?
6. And I don't really know what to call this guy ... Nazi Claus seems a bit too harsh. But it looks like he escaped a from craft fair and immediately joined the North Korean Army. Weird.




7. En-pointe, Peg-Leg Santa ... maybe it's easier for him to get down the chimney that way?
8. Red Riding Hood Santa and his Mini-me. And those toes-- gross! Why toes?!? Can't these guys have some arms or something instead? And forget about being pear shaped ... these two are square shaped!
9. Not sure if this is a Santa or not, or just a twisted, frosty icicle with a moustache and a fuzzy red hat (and two eyes made out of coal ...)

And last, but not least, we have the newest member of this macabre menagerie... the Go-Go-Gadget-Legs Albino Claus! (Scroll down to see where those gams finally end.) This one's got all of his appendages, though, so at least he's got that going for him...

So there you have it, folks. The mutant Santa brigade. What do you think ... are these guys cool or creepy? If you do like them for some reason, just don't come asking me where to find a mutant Santa of your own-- I wouldn't even know where to begin looking for something like this, nor would I want to!

Merry belated Christmas!

Do You See What I See?

When it comes to those oft-overlooked, longtime Tree House residents, I've often wondered: If everyone could "see what I see" in them, would all of these great cats have been snatched up long ago? Well, I was inspired by a carol I recently performed (the title of which poses the same question), and in the spirit of the season I have decided to share some of my insider's knowledge in verse form. I hope that by setting this information to the lyrics of a familiar and catchy tune, people will remember some of the great qualities these cats possess the next (or first!) time they meet. Should you be lucky enough to cross paths with any of these felines, I would love to know:

Do you see what I see?

Says the counselor, "It's a holiday miracle!"

Do you see what I see?

Big King Friday is no longer a feral!

Do you see what I see?

Suddenly, on our attention he insists,

"Pet me Please!" he says, and how can we resist?

To catch him up on all the cuddling he's missed!

Says the volunteer who knows why Wanda squeaks,

Do you hear what I hear?

That patch tabby who chirps instead of speaks,

Do you hear what I hear?

Yes, I know, she is awkward and quirky,

Although even when she shies away from me,

She's still craving attention, desperately.

Says one gal who helped to socialize Mookey,

Do you know what I know?

The sweet old girl curled up in a cat tree,

Do you know what I know?

She was quite shy, and still is not real bold,

But she loves pets (and brushing, so I'm told!)

Scratch her head and watch her sweet nature unfold.

Then says Janus to adopters everywhere,

Listen to what I say!

I'm a great big tom with energy to spare,

Listen to what I say!

I love people, though I don't realize my might,

But my purr is much stronger than my bite...

Take me home and everything will be alright!

However, these brief verses barely scratch the surface (no pun intended!) of the wealth of information that my fellow volunteers and Tree House staff members have about these cats. I didn't want to rattle on too long (though it would be easy to do!) about all the great cats I know, but I invite you to pass this info along to anyone who's looking for a feline companion, and feel free to add a verse or two of your own. Happy holidays!

*Written as a contribution to The Scratching Post*

The Three Tenors

I play in a number of holiday concerts this time of year, and for the past three or four years, my holiday gigs have included two sing-a-long Messiah concerts at two different churches. Even though these performances only happen once a year, there are familiar faces and memorable personalities at each locale. I am most impressed with the tenors that I've encountered at these concerts, which is surprising to me, because I'm generally not a tenor kind of girl. I don't have anything against them, but they tend to come across to me as being guy sopranos, or the divas of the male vocal world. It's just not my thing.

That said, the first stop in my holiday concert cycle is at a beautiful old church down by Soldier Field. The fact that the Bears are always in town the week that we perform there makes the parking situation nightmarish, to say the least, but the atmosphere inside the church is much warmer. Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with sing-a-long Messiahs, they are performances for churches and organizations on a shoestring budget. They hire a bare-bones orchestra and vocal soloists. The audience assumes the part of the choir.

I'm not sure whose bright idea this was, as the four-part harmonies in the choruses are hard-- I'm a musician and I struggle with the vocal parts; I couldn't imagine trying to sing it as a non-musician! People seem to have a blast doing it, but soprano (melody) parts always seem to outweigh the lower (harmony) parts. Not at this church, though; these two little old ladies--dressed to the nines and cute as can be-- sit in the front row of the tenor section and whale. They know those parts by heart, every last note. And since the rest of the tenor section has a strong lead to follow, they're usually able to keep up better than most of the other audience choruses I've heard in these do-it-yourself numbers. I look forward to seeing them every year; just thinking about them bellowing "King of Kings..." makes me smile!

The following week I play an identical performance at a gorgeous, historical church in the near west suburbs. The format of this concert differs slightly, though, in that there is an "intermission" of sorts as the pastor talks about the many services the church provides for the homeless, and a free-will offering is taken. Instead of doing this offering during the Pastoral Symphony (the instrumental interlude mid-way through the performance) like most churches do, they instead have the tenor soloist sing a hymn with organ accompaniment. And let me tell you, this guy is good. He's sung "O, Holy Night" for the past two years, and when he first opened his mouth, I didn't know whether I was going to wet myself, cry, or both. Thankfully, I did neither. I did turn to my stand partner, though, and mouthed, "Oh, holy CRAP!" It was all I could muster at the time.

I remember looking the tenor up on Facebook after the concert last year and being amazed that he was just a graduate student; it's extremely rare to hear a voice so rich come from a performer so young. The clarity, resonance, and emotion he infuses into each and every phrase is astounding. This year, as he gave a repeat performance (for which he got a standing ovation-- in the middle of the service-- might I add), I turned to my stand partner once again, and asked, "can I keep him?" "Go introduce yourself this time!" she hissed. "I can't!" I lamented, "we still have to play Part the Second!" Since we didn't do any of the tenor arias on the second half of the concert, he slipped out after his offertory solo. Drats.

If we're both back for a repeat performance next December, though, I think I will introduce myself. I'm not looking to rob the cradle or anything, but it's so rare to hear such impressive musicality in such an unlikely place. It's a real treat, in fact. I don't want to turn the guy into a male diva or anything, but I would like to tell him that his voice is the highlight of my Christmas-gigging season! Hopefully, I won't be starstruck, or get all flustered and tongue-tied, or start giggling like a school girl... but I won't know unless I try!

Patty O' Catt

Yet another encounter with yet another crazy person has caused what I intended to be a good deed to go terribly, terribly wrong! How do these people continue to find me, and why am I always the last to realize just how crazy they are!?!

I spent the summer waiting tables on the patio of the small neighborhood restaurant where I work, and began noticing a small, rail-thin tortie cat who would show up at closing time each evening-- like clockwork-- scavenging for crumbs and any morsels of food that messy customers may have left behind. Being the animal lover that I am, I began saving little bits of chicken or steak for the tiny visitor, when it became apparent that she wasn't going to be leaving any time soon. She was quite skittish so I wasn't able to touch her, which is when I decided that I would rent a trap from the shelter where I volunteer to have her spayed and-- if it turns out she wasn't feral-- possibly admitted to the shelter.

I happened to mention my plans to a regular who lives in the neighborhood who told me she had also seen the cat and had the same idea. She told me not to rent a trap, that she could borrow one from her friend. Next thing I know, she has trapped the cat and taken her into the spay/neuter clinic. Turns out she wasn't feral at all; she had already been spayed and was likely an abandoned house cat. With the weather turning colder and patio season ending, she couldn't continue fending for herself outdoors. She asked me if I could keep the cat for a day or two, as she was planning to house the cat in her garage until she could be admitted into a shelter, but was having a garage sale that weekend. Of course I agrees, setting "patio cat" up in the bathroom of my 350 square-foot apartment. Well, days turned into weeks, and I still had this tiny, terrified cat in my bathroom while the lady who trapped her keeps changing her story as to why she can't take her, despite the fact that she has a house with locations such as the "guest room" and the "upstairs bathroom".

When it came time for me to leave for China, a spot still hadn't opened up in either of the shelters we were working with, so I told the lady that she had to take her. She said she'd be by the night before I left to pick her up, which turned out to be about an hour after I had planned to leave on the day of my trip; I had to cab it to the airport. Along with the cat, the trap, and the supplies, I handed this woman an envelope of money I had collected from my coworkers to cover the admission fee into one of the shelters, should she be placed before I got back.

To make a long, weird story as brief as possible, a spot finally opened up for Patty O' Catt the day after I returned. I called crazy lady to tell her that, which is when she told me that she already had an appointment to admit her to the other shelter and to cancel the appointment I had made. Also, she said she had $450 worth of extensive dental work done on the cat while I was gone, and anything more I was able to pitch in would be great. I freaked out at this point, because: a) because I had never agreed to pay for dental work, which I had told her (on multiple occasions) that b) my shelter friends would have done upon her admission.

The next day I get a call from my shelter, saying that they had gotten a nasty phone call from this lady ("I was really nasty", she later boasted to me, to which I could only respond, "why!?!"), saying that I should have never cancelled her admission appointment and that she had to get rid of Patty O'Catt right away. So my shelter friends rearranged their plans once again, and admitted the cat. When I came in to volunteer the next week, I was met with furious gazes from the admissions counselors. Turns out that a third person-- the lady who loaned us the trap-- had come forward, saying the cat was hers all along and that we had no right to admit it (um, nice try, but no). Then she says Patty O. was a feral cat that she was helping to socialize (not true), then she says that she has already found people to adopt her (also not true). At any rate, she had helped the other lady pay for the dental surgery and because she had vet records, they had to relinquish Patty O'Catt to this woman, who turned around and begged the shelter where she volunteers (who the other lady was also "really nasty" to over the phone) to admit the cat. I was horrified-- I thought the goal was to get the cat off the street before winter... wasn't the mission already accomplished?

I'm not sure what happened to Patty O'Catt, but I do hope she's better off now than she was on the patio. On the bright side, my shelter was then able to admit another deserving cat-- a pitiful creature found living in back of a strip club-- who has since been named Tassels. What I can't bring myself to ask is whether the shelter ever got the money I gave crazy lady for Patty O' Catt's admission... Once, she told me that she gave it to my shelter, but then she told me that she and her middle-aged frenemy (the one with the trap who was so insulting to my shelter friends) put it toward the cost of the dental surgery. I suspect the latter is true, but I don't have the heart to ask... She has since avoided coming into the restaurant on the nights I'm working. Will I live and learn? Maybe. If another stray cat needs my help getting off the street, I'm sure I will help, but next time, I hope I have enough sense to go it alone!

... Prosperity and Longevity

Beijing provided all the history, contrast and grandeur that I was expecting from one of the largest (and oldest!) cities in the world. A contact in Hong Kong helped to book us on an English-speaking tour of Beijing-- which, considering it included hotel, airfare, and food, was dirt cheap by American standards-- and I was relieved that I wasn't going to have to self-navigate my way through a sprawling city of 17+ million people. I've made my way through a number of foreign cities, but having no knowledge of Mandarin combined with the fact that, unlike Hong Kong, very few people speak English, Beijing was a little too foreign for me. And considering the traffic in Beijing makes even the most congested expressways in Chicago look desirable, I was thrilled to be chauffeured around the city. I was fully prepared to be on a bus full of old people, and was shocked to discover that we had been booked a private tour, and instead of geriatric travel companions, a tour bus, and brightly colored hats, we had a guide, a driver, and a black sedan.

Our guide, however, failed to meet us at the airport, so with the help of another guide we took a death-defying and interminable taxi ride to one of the nicest hotels I had ever seen, comparable only to the hotel where we stayed in Hong Kong-- stunning! My only complaint was that (like our Hong Kong hotel) the bathroom had glass walls. And unlike our Hong Kong hotel, the privacy shade was not opaque. Oy. Mom and I got closer in ways that we never intended. But it was at the hotel that we met our guide and our driver (a gruff, intimidating fellow who was quite possibly affiliated with the Chinese mafia), and they whisked us away to dinner, where we were served an absolute feast of Szechuan-style cuisine.

Our whirlwind tour began in earnest the next morning. We adhered to a very strict schedule, and were closely supervised. Even when our guide not with us, he was either at a table across the room or passed the responsibility of keeping tabs on us to another guide or a store clerk. I got the feeling that we saw exactly what they wanted us to see, and little else. Which was strange... what we saw was incredible, but it seemed that the poorer, urban, and less glitzy parts of the city were carefully hidden just out of our view. We shopped where they wanted us to shop, ate what they wanted us to eat (turns out that Chinese food is just called "food" over there), and did what they wanted us to do. Our only glimpses into what life was like for the majority of those who live in Beijing was when our guide and our driver pointed out where they lived... which, by comparison to what we saw and where we stayed, was pretty grim. Guess that's communism for ya!

We started our tour in the (infamous) Tiannamen Square, which is much more massive in person than anything I've ever seen in pictures. The big draw there is Chairman Mao; the guy who turned China into a communist country. I had never heard of him, as he died before I was born, but his body has been preserved and has been lying in state in one of the buildings on the square for more than thirty years. The Chinese love Chairman Mao, and many make a pilgrimage from the farthest reaches of China to see his carefully preserved corpse; it was all our guide could do to keep from slapping himself in the forehead when I (astutely) commented that he was the same guy that was on their currency. I spent most of that day (most of the trip, actually) listening as best I could to the volumes of information our guide recited to us, pausing to snap a few pictures, then dashing through the crowds to catch up to him and start the process all over again. I learned that, in addition to numbers, colors hold great significance to the Chinese. The color red, for example, is a symbol of prosperity and good fortune, which is why so many things in China boast this color. It turns out that the color was a significant part of Chinese culture for thousands of years before the birth of Karl Marx; the fact that it also symbolizes communism is just a happy coincidence. And the number 9 is tops in mainland China; it's the closest mortals can get to a perfect 10, which is reserved for the gods. Not even the emperors have things in multiples of 10!

From Tiannamen Square we ran through the Forbidden City and Prince Gong's Palace. I learned more than I'll ever be able to remember about Chinese culture; but mainly that the emperors had their own bridges and concubines and walkways and whatnot, and that every yin has a yang: male and female, circle and square, etc. etc. After a lunch at a government-approved restaurant (where they looped one Chinese Opera aria through the speakers, over and over... and over, thinking we tourists wouldn't notice) we took a pedicab ride (that's a rickshaw attached to a bike) through the Ho-Tung district to see how the "locals" live. We felt bad for the poor little pedicab guy for having to pedal the two "fat Americans" around the village... he was tipped handsomely afterwards.

The next day took us to the Great Wall, one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It was quite impressive, but not easy to climb. The ancient stairs were wildly uneven, and the railings (when there were any) were quite low. We climbed as high as we could in the time we were given, but didn't make it to the top of the mountain, which might have given us a better idea of its grandeur. From there we visited the Summer Palace, which was probably my favorite stop on the tour. An idyllic property built on a prime lake shore location, the sprawling buildings had a lovely backdrop of waterfront and willow trees. Because many of the buildings are still in use, one of the only places we were able to enter was the "four-star" bathroom, which turned out to be anything but.

Our final day was as cold, miserable, and snowy as the previous day had been sunny, warm, and beautiful. We visited both the Temple of Heaven and the Lama Temple. After learning more about the inner workings of the feudal system, with the emperors, castes, and human sacrifices and whatnot, I can almost see how Communism would be a welcome change for the Chinese-- yikes! Our guide had some terse, yet carefully worded comments about the Dalai Lama, too, and why Tibet shouldn't be autonomous.... I completely disagreed with him, but it was interesting to get such a different view on the matter.

All in all, I enjoyed my brief time in Beijing. I appreciated the efforts made by the people we encountered to speak our language and make us feel welcome. Just as I can't pronounce some of the phonemes in the Mandarin language, many of the people we encountered had trouble pronouncing some of the syllables commonly used in the English language; it took me the better part of the day to figure out that when our guide was saying "prorry", he meant "probably". Like I said, though, their English is much better than my Mandarin will ever be. Yet in the too-literally translated words of a store clerk from Beijing, I would like to say to the hospitable and welcoming people of China, "I hope we can keep touching!"