THIN ICE!

I guess my "bravery" in going to Spa World (see previous post) has set off something in me.  Or maybe it's just having finished a book called My Year With Eleanor, by Noelle Hancock.  In it, a 29 year old woman (the author) decides to confront her fears with the help of the writings of Eleanor Roosevelt who famously said,  "You must do the thing you think you cannot do."  And many other wise sayings about facing fear. Eleanor, it seems, was an expert in the art of staring fear in the face.

Well, I love Eleanor, and I'm afraid of everything.  So I would have to say the book really inspired me.  However I'm not yet ready to do one thing every single day that scares me (like the author did).  And I'm not ready to go for the big stuff like she did. . . . like taking trapeze lessons on the top of a building in NYC, or jumping out of an airplane, or learning to dogfight in the sky, or climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro!  But heck, I went to a spa where I had to walk around naked!   So maybe I could scare myself again during the Thanksgiving holiday.

Back when I went to my first TEDx conference in Charlottesville a few weeks ago, I discovered the Main Street Arena at the end of the downtown mall.  We had lunch there.  But what I guess I didn't know is that it is an indoor ice arena.  

When I was a kid I LOVED to ice skate.  Most of our skating was done not in an ice rink, but on one of two bodies of water in Danville, Illinois.  Either Horseshoe Lake by the Lake View Hospital (which, notwithstanding the name, was more of a pond) or Lake Vermilion, which was walkable from the house where I lived as a teenager.  The thing about skating on lakes is that they are not smooth.  No Zamboni goes out every hour or so creating a smooth, flawless expanse of ice.  The lake was bumpy.  And it was large enough that if you ventured out into the middle, there was always the abject terror of hearing the ice moving around beneath you. . . . a sound of low cracking that made us feel that we were goners for sure, and sent us hurling ourselves back toward shore.  I've never been so freezing as I was when we would go down to the lake for the afternoon to skate.  Walking home, I could never feel anything from the waist down.

I was no Olympian. . . but I could get around on the ice both backward and forward.  I really loved to skate.

I haven't skated in probably 25 years. . . the last time being at a rink in Northern Virginia.  I remember that it all came back to me pretty quickly, but that the skates hurt and I was sore for days.

But still the siren of skating called to me. And I've been wanting to try it again.   But really. . . was I being stupid?  I mean, one fall and I could break something significant which would put an unacceptable damper on my lifestyle.  I work out hard three days a week,  swim 2 miles at a time 3 days a week, and walk Rudy every day.  I depend on my activity to help me keep my weight at a manageable place.  Was I willing to risk that?  This is the reason that I don't take up skiing, even though many of my friends, my age and older still ski.

But like I said. . . . the siren was calling.  I really wanted to skate.

So yesterday I got in the car and went to the rink.  It was kind of like going to the spa in my last story because I didn't have any idea what to expect.  It wasn't Mount Kilimanjaro, but frightening just the same.   But I bravely parked my car and marched into the rink about 10 minutes before the first "public skate" time slot was about to start.  I paid my money and was directed to the place where you get your skates.  I was handed a pair of blue plastic skates. . . they looked similar to ski boots.  What happened to the white figure skates of my childhood???

I found the lockers where I could stash my purse, and I had an experience similar to the dreaded hair conditioner episode from the spa.  I have used these lockers before.  You put your stuff in, deposit your quarters and the key comes out.   When you need your stuff back, you can open the locker, but not use it again without paying.  No sweat.  I put my purse into the locker, checking several times to make sure there was nothing I wanted before depositing my money.  Then I put in the 50 cents and locked the locker.  Then I sat down to put on my skates. . . . . realizing too late that I still had my shoes on and that they needed to go in the locker as well.   SHIT!!!!  The good news is that I will never make that mistake again.  I put on the skates, opened the locker, got out 50 cents more and closed it once my shoes were in.  What an idiot!!!!

As I hobbled across the rubber floor towards the entrance to the rink, the Zamboni was clearing off the ice after a practice session by figure skaters.  The first thing I noticed is that the plastic skates KILLED my legs and feet!  I did have the wherewithal to transfer my orthotics into the skates.  Oh yea . . . . I was a SENIOR CITIZEN skater!!!  Even with those, these were by far the most painful footwear I had ever had on.  I figured at this rate I would last about 1 minute on the ice.  By now the Zamboni was done, and little children, all dressed in skating garb were flinging themselves out on the ice, soaring to the middle of the rink where they were twirling and lutzing and leaping.  But there were others, like me, who were not so eager.  As a matter of fact, I hung back for a bit to decide if I wanted to do this at all!  What if I fell on my ass as I entered the ice???  Was I crazy?

Eventually, the ghost of Eleanor must have been in my ear, because the longer I watched everyone else, this was becoming a definite "thing I cannot do!"   And she was telling me, of course, that I MUST do it.   So, I gingerly stepped over the edge, off of the painful, yet stable rubber floor, and on to the freshly Zamboni-ed ice.  To say that I felt shaky would be the understatement of the century.  I immediately wondered why they didn't provide walkers for the seniors to push around.   Then I looked around and realized there were no seniors there. As a matter of fact, I was older than every other person on the ice by at least 20 years!  Somehow that made me proud, and gave me courage.

Now truth be told. . there wasn't that much to hang on to on the sides.  Just a little lip of a rim.  You couldn't grab on to it. . . . only run your hand along the small edge.  My first turn around the rink was gut wrenching.  I couldn't believe how shaky I was.  About a quarter of the way through lap one, I was just praying to get back around to the entrance so I could get the hell out of there.  And I had no choice but to keep going in order to get back to that opening.  On the plus side, the skates felt a lot better on the ice than they had on the rubber floor.

I was sweating bullets all the way around.  I was clinging to that little lip on the wall, and wondering when the old instincts were going to kick in.  As I reached the three quarters of a lap mark, I knew I had a decision to make.   I could quit now and forever close off ice skating from the rest of my life.   I could admit I was too old, and that this ship had sailed.  As I approached the opening I decided "What the hell?" and decided to go for another lap.   I pictured myself waking up in a hospital bed, casts on every visible limb and my body in traction, and saying to myself,  "OHHHH . . . you came so close to not having this happen!!!"   

But, in the words of Lewis and Clark, "I ventured on!"   About half way through lap two, I started realizing that there were other rail clingers out there. . . of all ages.  I was not alone in the "beginners' department.  Most of them were little kids.  And I enjoyed shouting encouragements to them as I came up behind them.  Two adorable little boys were flailing around in front of me.  They found an empty box to go into and I stopped to chat with them.   The littlest kid said,  "Did you see me????  I haven't forgotten what I learned last time!!!"  He was so excited.  The other kid, a chubby little fellow, about 9 years old with a red face had really struggled, and I could tell he was relieved to be able to stop and rest.   I told him I thought he was doing a great job.  He looked at me and said,  "Yea, but HOW do you skate?"  I thought that was so cute.  I told him he WAS skating, and that he just needed to give his brain a chance to figure out how it was suppose to feel. . . like riding a bike.   He smiled and decided to go out and try again.  

As I started my 3rd lap,  I eventually came up behind them again, and the chubby guy was still by the rail, but not touching it.  I gave him a thumbs up as I went by.  As an aside, I will say that I really miss these kind of interactions with kids.  That was always the best part about my job as a teacher.

All in all, I skated for a half hour.  I did not fall, although I came close a couple of times. I did manage to get my hands off the wall for brief periods.  And several times I even skated around other wall clingers.  I'm sure I would have been much braver if I had not been so keenly aware of the consequences of falling at my age.

After a half hour I decided to stop.   I didn't want to let getting fatigued put me in more jeopardy of falling.  And I wanted to see how my body responded to that amount of time.   I left the rink feeling a huge sense of triumph, and exhilaration for having done what I set out to do.

The upshot is that today I don't feel any discomfort at all from my skating!  I plan to go back next week and shoot for 45 minutes.  And I've looked online for "comfortable ice skates" and they actually make them!

So now I'm up to swimming 2 miles at a time, when last year at this time, I wasn't swimming at all.   Why can't I do that with skating as well?   

You know. . . . it's kind of a kick being the oldest person at the rink!!!

SPA WORLD

Today's story started with Facebook and a Groupon.   I've never purchased a Groupon.  But one of my FB friends put this one out there.  It was for something called Spa World, in Centreville, Va.  It was a regularly priced $48 experience for $24.   Then for an extra $24 you could add a regularly priced $50 foot massage.  What's not to like?  Spas.   Massages.  Never mind that the Spa World in question is 3 hours from my house.   Without much thought I plunked down my money and downloaded the Groupon App on my phone.  I'm nothing if not techno-savvy!

After the purchase, I checked out the website.  In the future, perhaps I'll do those two things in the reverse order.  But no matter.

On the front of the website was a perfectly heavenly looking, sparkling clean pool with "stations."  Like places for you to stop and have your body squirted in some random sequence at some random body part.  That looked pretty amazing.  I was all in!  

Then I read the fine print.   "Nudity required."

Huh??

Okay. . . about nudity.  I lived a very sheltered life.  I've never been around groups of naked people except for a couple of times when my book club went skinny dipping and discussed the book while hanging on to noodles in a lake.   And as a person who has struggled with weight all my life, if I was ever in a locker room situation, I was the person hiding behind the one dressing booth with a curtain, or the one trying to dress while keeping a towel on.  On the other hand, I have to say that more than once I have fantasized about going to a nude beach or something, and just seeing what it felt like to walk around naked and not care.  

So while my intial reaction to the nudity clause at Spa World was a gulp that could be heard 'round the world, eventually I warmed to the idea.   AS LONG AS I DIDN'T RUN INTO SOMEONE I KNOW!!!!  Or worse yet. . . . a former student!

It seems the nudity is required in the women's pool area.  It's the same for the men's pool area, but that didn't apply to me.  For the communal areas of the spa, you are issued little outfits: mustard yellow shorts and tops that make everyone, male and female, look like inmates.  That seemed doable.  I've never been to jail either.

The final decision was made the moment my oldest son, upon hearing that I had bought this Groupon, said, "MOM!   You CAN'T go there.  People run around naked!!!"  At that point I was sure I wanted to do this.

So several days ago I designed my adventure.  I would drop Rudy at her new doggie day care/boarding place (All Things Pawssible) so that she could acclimate herself for future visits, and I would drive to the Centreville, Virginia area where I would take my friend, Pat, out to lunch for her birthday, then drive the 5 minutes to Spa World for the afternoon, and then check myself into the La Quinta Inn -Manassas, to reflect on my day and maybe write about it.   Sounded like a plan.

I arrived at Spa World at about 2:30.  My admission allowed me to use the faciities for 12 hours!  Seriously, they used to let people come for 24 hours, but people were actually staying that long and it just became weird!  I had no idea how long I was going to stay.  I guess in the back of my mind it was possible I would go into the locker room, see all the naked women, and just turn around and go home.  I really didn't know!  I did know that since this was a Korean spa, that the bulk of people there would be Korean.  It was like a trip abroad without the plane!  For the record, apparently Russians love this place as well.

Well, I have to say the set-up is pretty amazing.  You walk into a large lobby and check in.  They give you a little wrist band with a key to a locker.  In the lobby is a small locker where you leave your shoes.  Once you get back into the locker room, the same key opens a bigger locker for your (gulp) clothes!

So I dive in, metaphorically.  I march up to my locker (dodging all the naked women) and promptly remove all my clothes.  Must. Not. Lose. Courage.   I am grateful for the sparcity of mirrors.  I grab the hand towel, the only towel you are allowed, and march into the pool area.  Wow!!!  A huge pool with the stations, waterfalls, jets, whirlpools, etc.  A hot pool of water with no jets.  A hot pool of water with jets.  A cold pool of water (not in a million years!).  A steam room.  And area partially hidden by a half wall where Korean women in black underwear are giving body scrubs to naked women.  And when I say "body scrubs" I can tell with just a perfunctory glance that the entire body is being scrubbed.  I'm uplifted by the fact that I don't hear any screams coming from that area.  But nothing could have enticed me to pay extra for that!   Then there is a section of low-sitting sinks and short stools.  A couple of naked women seem to be doing their laundry.   I have no idea what that is for.   

I have decided to wear my glasses so I can actually see to get to the various stations available.  And since I have my glasses on, I have no choice, while I'm sitting in the still hot tub, but to look at women's bodies.  So I just do!  And what a variety I see!  I'm suddenly feeling very glad about my recent 10 pound weight loss and the boob job I had when I turned 50.  But that's another story.

However, the steam is fogging up my glasses, so I emerge from the water, strut across the room in all my goddess-like splendor, and go to my locker and take off the glasses.  Returning to the pool room I decide to quit ogling and start trying out everything.  I go from one station to another.  I find another first-timer who is receiving valuable instruction from a Korean woman and I eavesdrop like crazy.   I make it through all the stations of the big pool where every inch of my body has been blasted with water.  Some of the blasting is so powerful that the stations have bars for you to hold on to so that you will not be shot across the pool into someone else's station.  By now I'm feeling totally acclimated to all of this, and as I emerge from the pool, I take my fuzzy eyesight and head towards the previously mentioned area with the short sinks and little stools.  I deduce that this is a place to scrub up your body.  Two large containers of products are available.  I pump the first container, which is not labeled, and a soothing creamy substance comes out, so I proceed to wash my whole body with it.   As I'm rinsing off with the hand-held shower attachment I begin to realize that this stuff is so creamy that it's entirely possible that I just "washed" myself with body lotion.   Hoping no one is watching, I try the other pump.  This substance lathers right up, so I give my body another going over and a good rinse.  Feeling very clean, I rise from the stool and see several other sinks behind me with similar double containers of the same products.  Only these are labeled.  It is then I realize that I have just washed my body with first. .  .hair conditioner, and second. . . shampoo!  These are hair washing stations.  I would be mortified but I'm almost 65 years old so who gives a flying fig anyway!  I hold my head up high and walk out of the area, squeaky clean and conditioned.   I never did determine what the ladies were doing who appeared to be washing their clothes!

I decide it is time to get into my prison garb and venture out into the coed areas prior to my 4:00 appointment for a foot massage.  I enter a large open area with mats on the floor, a snack bar at the end, and many doors around the perimeter.  On the mats people are sleeping (now I get how someone could be here for 12 hours), reading, resting, or buying snacks.  At the far side of the room is a doorway to a child care center and a full Korean restaurant.  And everyone is wearing mustard-colored pajama-like outfits.   The many doorways lead into various hot and cold treatment rooms.  Each one is designed to work on some process of the body.  The rooms are either sauna-hot, or there's the one ice room, the walls of which are literally covered with ice.   It's like a old-fashioned pre-defrosting refrigerator inside.  Many signs warn you to "not touch the ice" which is completely visible, about 5 inches thick on the walls.  It's a good thing they had the signs because the very first thing you want to do is touch the ice!  I'm overcome with the urge to put my tongue on it, but I'm still reeling from the whole hair conditioner debacle, so I resist!

After scoping out all the different "polstice rooms", I find an obscenely comfortable leather chair and settle in with a magazine to await my foot massage.  Since you can go to Spa World for 12 hours per admission, there's plenty of time to chill.   I get a magazine with an article about Julia Roberts commenting on her role in the upcoming film, August Osage County, also starring Meryl Streep.  I'm all about all things film.  So I truly enjoy sitting in my little convict's garb and reading this article.   I report for my foot massage about 20 minutes early.

The foot massage guy is tall, dark and handsome.  He claims he is "resting" between foot massages and asks that I wait until the appointed start time.  No problem.  I settle into another obscenely comfortable leather chair to wait.  When he's ready, I'm sorry he rested.   He proceeds to put me through the most bipolar foot massage in the history of the world.  He starts by tucking me into a blanket all the way up to my neck.  (Ahhhhhhh!).  Then after some preliminary rubbing of both legs, he settles into the main event.  Which is to drive his knuckles into the bottoms of my feet until I scream like a baby (AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!)   When he figures I've had enough, he starts again with the soothing long strokes (ahhhhhhhhhh) followed by more torture (AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!).   Seriously, I couldn't imagine that he was not literally breaking my feet given how he was bending and twisting them into impossible positions! A half hour later he was asking me how much of a tip I wanted to leave.   I wanted to tell him that my tip was that he should not torture his clients!   I must say, though, a day later, there is absolutely no soreness or bruising of my feet.  They must have needed whatever he did.

I found I actually could walk away from that experience, back down the stairs to the poultice room.  I decided to give the red clay balls room a shot.  You go into this sauna-like heated room, and immediately step down into small red clay balls the size of marbles.  Since I sensed a loss of balance almost at once, I settled into these hot clay marbles very close to the door.   They were very comfortable.  My feet felt great as I dug them into the marbles.  There were quite a few people in this room.   I settled in and decided to just lie back and relax.   After about 30 seconds there was the loud roar that sounded like a large dump truck of gravel being emptied out on a driveway.  This, as I discovered, was the sound of people getting back up to a standing position after being prone  in the marbles.  I started to have some anxiety about whether or not I would be able to actually get back up and out of this mess!   Which seriously affected my ability to relax.  Eventually I risked it, and though it was not pretty, I created my own dump-truck-unloading-gravel impression as I worked my way to all fours and then up to my feet.  My favorite room, but very iffy on the entry and exit!

I tried several other rooms (blue agate,  wood and charcoal, back to the ice room) and then went to the snack bar and bought a large cup full of cut up watermelon which really hit the spot.   I expect the cups full of watermelon was a nod to Caucasian clients.  Most of the selections at the snack bar and restaurant are Korean dishes.

By that time I was getting antsy to call it a day, so I made my way back to the locker room, changed back into my clothes, settled my account, and then was allowed to pick up my shoes and leave.

Would I go again?   Maybe.  Maybe not.   But am I glad I did it?   Absolutely.  For someone like me who doesn't really aspire to visiting exotic cultures and places, it was my peek into Korean culture and a new way of doing things.  All in all. . . fabulous!

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW???

Well, I've heard the cries of my legions of fans (3) and I will endeavor to satiate your need to hear All Things Ruthie and Rudy.

The two of us have returned from a lovely 4th of July walk around the grounds.  It seems someone upstairs (as in the Great Upstairs) spilled several million gallons of red, white and blue paint everywhere, since that is pretty much all the colors we have seen.   

To begin with, Rudy was pretty enamored with all the little flags in the ground.  So many targets for urination purposes.   I see decorations. . . Rudy sees the ladies room.  What can I say?  For the record, Rudy has begun to embrace the ecumenical nature of Chautauqua.  Whereas she used to pee on the Methodists every morning, yesterday she moved on to the Catholics.   

Of course the gardens are spectacular, and with the houses decked out for the holiday, and the ubiquitous child on a bike or scooter. . . . . well it's an explosion of Americana!

I know I've been crowing about the fact that you see so many children here, especially this week, and it seems that none of them are carrying a cell phone.  It's hard to handle a phone when you are on a bicycle, or playing frisbee, or being a thug on Thunder Bridge, or eating an ice cream cone.   Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the adults.  And in their defense, the lectures now begin not with an admonishment to "turn off your phones,"  but rather with the more current trend to "silence your phone, but tweet and FB post at will!"  

But being privy to private conversations will continue to unnerve me.   I've had many such situations since coming up here.  Two in particular stand out in my mind.   

Last week I marched myself down to the spa to get my toes done up for the summer.  If you have read my posts in previous years, you know I get the feet done for sandal weather.  And this year is no exception.  I went to the St. Elmo Spa.  Like every single other place on the grounds, it is a short walk from my house.  The section of the spa which accommodates manicures and pedicures is a smallish room that adjoins the reception area.  There are three pedicure "stations" and one table for manicures.  It's virtually impossible to have a "procedure" done without making conversation with others who are also there for a service.  Which is fine at Chautauqua.  And yes, you could bury your head in the latest Oprah magazine and everyone would probably leave you alone.  In fact, I was pretty engrossed in Oprah The Magazine when another woman came in to get her toes in.  Followed shortly thereafter by a woman getting her nails done.  We three, along with the women doing the work made for a pretty crowded room.  And then lady-getting-the-manicure's cell phone rings.   She takes the call.  And she doesn't say,  "I'm getting a manicure, can I call you back?"  No, she says,  "Oh sure I can talk, I'm only getting a manicure!"  Never mind how awkward this is for the manicurist who has to constantly ask her to switch her phone to the other hand.  Never mind that now the rest of us can no longer have a conversation amongst us, and we certainly can't concentrate on Oprah.  Never mind that I am finding out information about her family that she might not want me to know.   And then after she finishes this call . . she takes another one.   Granted the ladies in the spa should have told her to please save the calls for later.  But what really happened is that the rest of us just rolled our eyes at each other. . . including the manicurist who was sitting right in front of the woman, but was never noticed.    So, we've all been there.  And it's annoying.  Not earth shattering, nor life-changing if you're like me, you choose carefully those issues about which you want to have a major hissy.  But still. . . . . give me a break.

But then on another day I was walking down the street to a movie.  The street was pretty much deserted.  Probably around dinner time.  And a woman (young this time) behind me was on her cell phone.  And I could hear everything she was saying.  Apparently she was leaving a message for a friend she had been trying to reach.  And she was pouring out her heart in this message.  I was only a couple of feet in front of her, but she was oblivious to the fact that I might be able to hear her.   But this time, instead of being annoyed, I was really moved by the conversation I was hearing.  The girl on the phone was clearly telling her friend about her broken heart.

Now I'm going to digress for just a minute, but I guarantee I'll be back to this girl.  If you are a regular reader, you're probably surprised that it has taken me so long to digress!

One of my real passions up here is theater.  I have always loved theater.  I attend every single theater event that I can.  I have not seen the first play yet.  And I will explain later why I'm not going to write out the whole name of the play.  But suffice it to say that it was written by a certain Mr. Williams whose first name is the state in which I was born, and the play's title involves a feline who has sore feet from walking around on top of a house.  Hopefully that is not too cryptic for you all.   At any rate, the word out is that this play is terrific.  And I'm going to see it Saturday afternoon.  I chose that date because I wanted to attend the pre-play functions in order to prepare myself.  Those functions include a brown-bag lunch where we meet the cast and see the set.  Also a presentation about the author and the making of the production here.   Also, one of my favorite events, the evening where all the young actors in the company this year perform their audition monologues. They are fabulous and you really get a sense of these "kids."  The kids, by the way, are in the final stages of the top drama programs in the country:  Yale, Julliard, NYU, etc.  These "pre" events show us an incredibly accomplished and confident set of actors.  They have huge personalities and are fearless on stage.  If I had had the slightest bit of encouragement I would have studied theater instead of music.  But I had nowhere near that kind of confidence.   And then you find out the roles they are going to play.  And this first play. . . (you know, the one about the feline on the extremely warm, metal, top-part of a house?), has VERY strong characters in it.

Okay. . . back to girl on the phone.   So she is behind me and is leaving this message and the gist of it is that she has a crush on a guy and this guy's girlfriend is in town and she is feeling mighty blue about it.   That part is pretty normal in the scheme of things.  But then I hear the word "leading man."  And I slow down and pretend to look at some real estate listings and she passes me and yep. . . . . it's her!  The woman who will play a woman whose name is the nickname for Margaret in the play about the feline on the extremely warm. . . . . well, you know.  And I'm dumbfounded.  I have stumbled onto the fact that this unbelievably confident, outgoing future star of stage, screen and television, is, in fact, a normal girl who has fallen in love with her co-star and is sad about it.   That is SOOOOO Elizabeth Taylor!!!

So here's why I can't say the name of the play "out loud."  A couple of years ago you longtime readers may recall that I named a couple of performers that were appearing here.  I then proceeded to rant about their prima donna ways.  Only to find out that any schmuck who happens to be googling either of their names, might possibly be directed to my blog. . . . who knew???   So apparently that happened and I got a really nasty, profane response to my blog from a complete stranger!  Lesson learned.  In this case, I would be mortified if someone searching to find out about this play got my blog and found out about what I heard from her phone call.   Yes. . . chances are extremely remote.  But I'm not out to embarrass anyone for sure.  I just found that call very heart wrenching.  So hence the cryptic nature.

Choir is over for the evening and Rudy and I are chilling on the porch listening to the beginning of the pops concert in the amp across the way.  I admit that I'm going to sit here and drink wine, and then maybe open a bottle of local Virginia hard cider from Bold Rock that my son gave me and is in the freezer getting nice and cold.  And then I'm going to mosey on over to the amp for the finale. . . the 1812 Overture.  The crowd takes the part of the cannons.  We each get three small paper bags.  We blow them up and smash them on cue. . . . three different times.  The noise is deafening.  It could not be more schlocky or more fun.  I would not miss smashing my paper bags for all the money in the world.  Rudy will stay home and cower under the bed, like any respectable dog would do.

Happy July 4th everyone.

PS:  Desert Bunny:  this is as close to a "blog on demand" as you're ever likely to get!!  :)

CHAUTAUQUA THUGS!

I know.  I keep waxing poetic about the Utopian atmosphere that is Chautauqua.  And for the most part it is.  But there is a dark side, and Rudy and I ran into it yesterday as we took a long walk around half the perimeter of the grounds.

Actually I'll start with the previous day.  I love walking Rudy around here because there is an infinite number of combinations of walks to take.  Two days ago I decided it was time for Rudy to experience Thunder Bridge.  Built through a wooded area and over a ravine, Thunder Bridge is a narrow wooden structure that is famous for literally thundering when bicycles travel across the expanse.  I admit to having ridden my own bicycle across just for the thrill of it.  However, the noise is really loud.  I just wanted to walk Rudy across to get us into the south part of town.   It is a beautiful walk.  So as we approached the bridge I was pleased to see that we would be alone.  No chance of scaring the little mutt.   We gingerly crossed the bridge, only mildly aware of the movements in the planks that respond so dramatically when traversed by bicycles.  I was breathing a sigh of relief as we neared the end, only to be assaulted by a shrieking wail.  A man had stepped out on the porch of the first house on the far side of the bridge, and he was cranking up his bagpipes!  Only in Chautauqua would the threat of bagpipes be a potential risk factor in dog walking!  Rudy leaped a mile and immediately turned right headed away from the house.  No sooner had we gotten a safe distance but a group of about 8 children came thundering (literally) across the bridge.  I thought she was going to jump out of her skin.  Her ears were so low they practically dragged the ground.  To add insult to injury, ahead of us coming toward us was a woman with a large bulldog on a leash.  The bull dog commenced barking and pulling to get closer to us.  The woman kept a tight grip, but I'm afraid the damage had been done.  Rudy was destined to have PTSD from her sojourn across Thunder Bridge!

So yesterday I decided to venture toward Thunder Bridge again. . . completely willing to turn back if there were bikes in the area, or men in kilts on porches.  I wanted to help dispel the previous day's trauma for Rudy.  After all. . . Thunder Bridge is the main drag to South Chautauqua and the road which parallels the lake shore.  She didn't seem to mind as we drew near.  Her memory isn't that great, apparently.

There was a group of young boys. . . maybe ages 7-9 gathered in the middle of the bridge.   Oh yea. . . . .the thugs.  Groups of young boys. . . that can't be a good thing.  As we got closer to them we realized just what those little scamps were up to.  They had walkie-talkies and were talking to their friends down in the ravine.  Apparently it was a complex game of hide and seek using walkie talkies.   Notice I did not say cell phones.  None of the kids had a phone.

The next group of thugs we saw was a group of older boys. . . . maybe 14-15.   They were in a group with their shirts off and jogging up the hill as they were probably circling the lake.   Oh yea. . . .they were up to trouble for sure!!

The next group of "organized" boys. . . . the third "gang" if you will, had the audacity to be playing a game of football in a field by the lake.  They had divided up shirts and skins, and they were heavily invested in moving that football.   Boy. . .that's gotta lead to trouble.

Rounding the lake and nearing the Bell Tower, we saw the NASA trailer set up as a little museum on the grounds, and kids were pouring in and out of that.

We somehow got home safely in spite of encountering all of these unsupervised gangs.  We breathed a little easier as we mounted the porch. . . . . . .

CUE THE FRISBEES!

If ever there was a place that looks like it stepped out of a movie set this would be it.  Saturday means the move-in day of the very first batch of guests who are coming to hear and experience Week 1:  Our Elegant Universe.

This means that finally, cars are being instructed to leave the grounds and find their way to a parking lot.  Although it's been convenient having the car at my doorstep for the last couple of days,  it is not truly Chautauqua with the narrow lanes lined with cars.  

I will not have any lazy mornings here.  Saturdays will be the one day when I will not have to be up for a choir event.  But little Miss Rudy is not a sleeping-in kind of girl when there are sights and sounds merely steps outside the front door.  Very different to our country life in Afton.  No more staying in my jammies while I let her out in the back yard to "do her business" in the morning.  I have to be up and dressed with leash in hand for the early morning constitutional.  But what a lovely place to walk a dog!  Lane after lane of Victorian cottages with magnificent gardens.  Rudy usually starts the day by peeing on the Methodists.  The Methodist House, which is beautiful, is the first patch of grass she comes to.  I choose to interpret this action on her part as not necessarily her commentary on organized religion, but rather that she is "marking" her spot as a tribute to my coming from a long line of Methodist pastors!  Back when I was a church-goer, the Methodists were my peeps.  So I'll attribute Rudy's choice of spots to that.

Since writing that last sentence I have been summoned to put out a choir emergency, which involved walking out to another rehearsal venue about 10 blocks away, retrieving some records, walking back to the Amp, finding the people who needed the records gone because they are setting up a buffet lunch for the crew for Straight No Chaser who will appear tonight.  Unfortunately the choir room also serves as the eating space for talent.  But actually, that fact has made it possible for me to meet some pretty great celebs. . . . like getting hugged by Peter and Paul last year (see a previous blog!!).  So anyway, I finally located the women in the house right next door to mine.  I'm sweaty but I'm back on the porch.  Being a "working woman" again always takes an adjustment!

Out on the plaza. . . completely in view from my porch, the kids are gathering to play frisbee.  Not a cell phone in sight.  Many dogs on leashes.  Much much greeting and talking and sounds of fun and happiness.

So tomorrow, two performances with the choir already.  At least 8 pieces to sing.  Some will go well, some are potential train wrecks.  But we will move on to Monday.  That's just Chautauqua.

EDUCATING RUDY - NORTH

Well, here we are again with the educating.  Rudy became a pro in the world of Sarasota.  And in the process she became a pro at riding in her crate in the car for long long trips.

And here we are at Chautauqua, and a whole new batch of educating is going on.   Chautauqua is not like Sarasota.  The people are closer. There are more of them.  Even in this couple of days before the season really starts there are lots of new faces to see, new routines to learn.   One must be pleasant.  One must be friendly.  One must be. . . .well. . . not a bitch.  Which is hard when one is a bitch by definition.

After a long day of driving and unpacking and reacquainting, and moving in, I decided last night, after apparently too much iced coffee on the trip, that I had to stay up all night to make sure Rudy would not bark at random sounds.  My apartment this year is next door to the one I've had in the past years.  I really like this one.  I traded with my friend Susan who wanted the middle apartment this year.  There is a great place for Rudy's crate in the back closet which has a curtain in front of it and which buffers her from light and sound, hopefully.  So at 3 in the morning when I'm still awake doing all the worrying for both of us, and the emergency siren went off 4 times consecutively (a common occurance here at all times of the day), Rudy did not make a peep.  When we heard the people upstairs, who own this place, use the bathroom in the middle of the night, Rudy did not make a peep.  When I used the bathroom in the middle of the night, right next to said closet containing said dog, Rudy stirred but did not make a peep.   When will I learn that it is not necessary to worry about things which only MIGHT happen.   My dog was an angel.    So far.

Anyway, Sandy said that if things did not work out, she would drive the 4 1/2 hours half way to here to make the switch and take Rudy back home with her.  What a friend.

And speaking of worrying. . . one of the topics my caffeine-ridden brain grappled with last night was the fact that I left all the theater tickets I bought for the plays up here back at home in a big black plastic container in my closet. Well, I used up a good two hours with that one.   I emailed Sandy and hopefully she will go over there, find the tickets and mail them to me.  Seems like much less to ask than driving 4 1/2 hours to pick up a delinquent dog!!

So here I am. . . . technically day 1.  It's so beautiful outside I cannot even describe it.  Well, I could describe it.. . . . but how many times can you say "crystal clear blue sky and fresh air" before people start resenting it.  And 48 degrees.  I walked Rudy in a sweatshirt today!   I have errands to run this morning and then over to put a few hours in getting choir folders ready for Friday night's first rehearsal.  Rudy is going to start learning that I come and go around here.  But I never get too far away from her.

My 7th year of coming to Chautauqua (3rd year full-time) has begun.  In spite of my lack of sleep, I'm ready for this day and all to come.  Stay tuned!!

EDUCATING RUDY

I sit in the morning sunshine at an outdoor table of Word of Mouth Cafe in Sarasota.  At my feet is the little dog that I found online only  2 short months ago while staying in this very city.  It does not escape me that I'm looking at the completion of a mission.    In January, from my couch in the little house on Ohio Street in Sarasota, I found the picture of this little dog on the internet.  She was a rescue from the Lynchburg, Virginia area.  Somehow I knew that she was my Rudy.  And now here we are. . . .back at the place where I first saw her sweet picture,  only this time she is a living, furry thing.  Amazing!

Rudy and I are in Sarasota for her further education and "audition."  Our home is not on Ohio Street this time, but rather on Columbia Ct.  Through a stroke of exceedingly good luck, I was able to grab this, best unit for not only this week, but for 2 months next winter.  It's smaller than the other one, but it has the all important fenced back yard.   We're here to prove to the owners that Rudy will be a great house guest, and that they can feel confident that renting to us for two months next winter will not result in the dropping of property values in the neighborhood.

Rudy is learning to be a city dog.   She has "country dog" down pat.  After all, she came to me with a Harley Davidson collar, her owner having dropped her off at animal control on his way to jail.  She understands open fields, and roosters who live next door.  Although as a tragic aside, her wonderful best friend Duke, the rooster, was killed by marauding foxes in the neighborhood.  We still miss him.  But we understand.  Because that is country life.

But back to the city.   Walks these days are on-leash, down sidewalks.  Along those same sidewalks roar garbage trucks.  There are church bells.  And even a small flock of parrots in the trees.  This is not the stuff of Afton, Virginia.  One cannot bound out to the end of the leash and careen into on-coming traffic.  One must step aside when the gentleman leading the Doberman Pincer approaches from the other direction.  One must understand that when one is adorable, complete strangers will expect the same reception as they are putting out.  One must learn the etiquette of being an outdoor cafe dog. . . sitting quietly under the table and waiting for the proprietor to bring a bowl of water and a dog biscuit.    So much to learn.   

There are lizards to chase, humidity to deal with, patience to learn.  There is a whole new routine and rhythm to life.

Yesterday I signed Rudy up for Camp Bow-Wow.   Apparently there are many Camp Bow-Wows across the country, but this was new to me.  I wanted her to have a place where she could, for a period of time, be a dog. . . . and not just an old lady's companion.  Rudy still tends to be on the shy side.  She has come a long way in two months.  But I still think that in the back of her mind, every stranger that approaches might be a new owner ready to whisk her away again.  So she's cautious.

I called Camp Bow-Wow and found out that she needed an "interview."  While this at first seemed a little pretentious, I admit that the complexities of mixing up a bunch of dogs in a room presents a multitude of potential problems, not to mention law suits.   So I arranged for Rudy's "audition" that very day.  

As an aside I must say that all this auditioning on Rudy's part did not seem to phase her in the least.   Wary though she is at anything new, once the routine is established, she is a trooper.   Take the long long drive down in the car.  She traveled in her crate in the back seat.  At the rest stops she quickly learned the protocol.   I left the car first to do my thing.  Then I came back, attached her leash, and we would do a long peruse of the doggie section.  Afterwards it was back in the crate to settle down for another long haul.  She was perfect every time.  Amazing.  How could this little dog fail any audition?

The overnight hotel stays were their own set of circumstances and potential for failure.  Even in a pet-friendly hotel, one must not bark at every sound one hears all night long.  To make this easier, it seemed prudent to run the fan in the air conditioning unit for the duration of the stay.  It helped with the noise factor.  Both hotel stays:  flying colors more or less.

But back to Camp Bow-Wow.  I arrived with the little diva, and we were escorted into a holding area where a member of the Camp Bow-Wow staff came in to make sure that Rudy was not inclined to biting the "hand that feeds her."  She was not so inclined.  She was a shy sweetheart.  Not at all sure about what was going on, but willing to see.  We had faxed the vet back home, and her current records, including the spay job of a week ago was proudly displayed on the computer screen.  Now came step 2:  taking her into a room to meet one other dog to see if she is aggressive towards that dog.   I held my breath as she was lead behind closed doors.   I secretly gave a prayer of thanks that this was not Chester, my former juvenile delinquent dog who never met another animal he was not willing to intimidate, chase, and possibly kill.  I admit to leaning into the door to hear what was going on.  I was a bonafide pre-school parent.  I was appropriately ashamed of myself.  I kept listening.

From the other side I heard them bringing in the other dog.  Since I knew that Camp Bow-Wow separates the small dogs from the medium dogs from the large dogs, I knew that this was a small dog coming to make the acquaintance of my Rudy.  I literally crossed my fingers.   There was no cliche I was not willing to use to make this happen.

From the inside of the door I first heard the muffled sounds of the attendant introducing the dogs (seriously. . . did she expect them to say hello and shake hands? ) followed by the sound of  a small body flinging itself into the other side of the door, accompanied by such a barking, shrieking commotion that you would have sworn bodily harm was being done by someone to someone else.  I was humiliated.  My little girl had lost it completely.  I wondered if  I was  going to need to seek out a Special Ed doggie center for my girl. How much would that cost???  I hung my head and waited for them to come out and tell me that it just wasn't going to work.  It took them longer to appear than I had expected.  Did they take her to the chamber of torture for reluctant small dogs?  Eventually the two women came out and said,  "It's just fine!  She went right into the big area with the other dogs."  I was tempted to leave it at that, but I found myself asking,  "But what about when she flung herself at the door and screamed to get out?"    The reply was accompanied by a sheepish chuckle.  "Oh, that wasn't Rudy.  That was the other dog. The regular dog we use to get the new dog acquainted wasn't here, and that little dog thought we were taking her into a room to go home.  Rudy was fine."

Heaving a massive sigh of relief at not only Rudy's apparent transition to the new situation, but of my not having to face the humiliation of leaving with a pet that was not "acceptable",  I got in the car a proceeded to have a pretty great afternoon swim at the Y, secure in the knowledge that my little girl was not home in a crate.  As an extra added bonus, and with another nod to the wonders of technology, I was able to download an app on my phone that allowed me to literally watch the goings-on in the small dog area of Camp Bow Wow.  Sure enough, there was little Rudy, or who I thought was Rudy (the screen on my phone is really small) staying on the periphery of the arena, well away from all those other Neanderthalian dogs who insisted on running around and barking their heads off.  At one point I did see her in the outdoor area, seemingly playing with a little white dog.   All I know is that she attended camp three afternoons in a row, seemed fine about going there, came home happy and exhausted, and I was allowed to have some down time from the rigors of dog ownership.  This bodes very well for next winter!

So all in all, Rudy learned a lot about her new city life.  In a couple more months she will have to learn the ins and outs of village life in Chautauqua.  And for everything she learns, I learn as well.

Educating Ruthie.

MENO-PAWS!

I admit it.   I'm going through a change-of-life. . . . .again!  And it is a woman thing.

Clearly I got home from Florida.  I did take my trip to the Keys.  It was just as I imagined it.  I loved driving the Overseas Highway that connects the Keys.  And I loved the 5 hours I spent in Key West.   It was charming, and lively, and funky, and bigger than I had imagined.

So technically I started my drive home in Key West.  It is a long haul from Key West to Afton, Virginia.  It took the better part of 4 days with miscellaneous stops along the way.

But I had a reason to get home.  And her name is Rudy.

Before leaving for Florida, I had decided that I was going to adopt a dog when I got back.  Yes, I considered all the ways that a dog would hamper my current lifestyle.  And God knows I was reminded of that by every well-meaning person who heard of my plans.

But the bottom line was two-fold.  The hours I was spending ALONE were being used up often by sitting in the house trying not to eat.  I was either working out, or staying in and trying not to eat.  I felt that it had been all about me all the time for long enough.  And besides. . there are doggies out there who need homes.

Enter Kevin, my handyman who built a fence around approximately 50% of the acre of land I own.  The fence was finished and in place by the time I left for Florida.  I had perused the local shelter sites, and had already found a couple of dogs that looked promising.  I had a long list of requirements:

1. This dog had to be small.  I needed to be able to take the dog with me to Chautauqua and to Sarasota.  Which led to:

2. This dog cannot be a barker!!!  Condos do not love dogs that bark.  My rentals for my time in New York and Florida are expensive and I can't risk being thrown out with a barking dog!  No refunds!!

3. This dog must not be "nose-driven."  My last dog, Chester, was a love.  But he was a hound.  And if he smelled something then woe unto the person who was trying to get his attention.  And because of that nose he was always trying to get away. . . to find whatever it was that he was smelling.   No more!!!

4. This dog must be sweet.  As in. . . doesn't need to beat up every other dog he/she sees.  Again  . . . . Chester. . . . and Clyde before him. . . .. couldn't be around other dogs.  Did NOT play nice with others.  Thugs through and through!  Never again!

5.  This dog must be housebroken.  Self-explanatory.  I have a brand new house.  

6.  This dog must learn quickly.  I have a lot to teach it.

7.  This dog must be cute and lovable.  I know, I know.   Don't judge a book by its cover.  I'm sorry. . .this time I need a great cover!


So before I left for Florida I found "Zena" at a web-site for the Lynchburg, Va. animal shelter.  And she looked perfect!   Once I got to Florida, I checked the site and she was still available.  So I wrote to them.  

Got the typical response:  You sound perfect but WE CAN'T SAVE DOGS FOR PEOPLE!!!

Enter my extraordinary friend Sandy.  Never has there been a more ardent animal lover than Sandy.  When I was told that "Zena" would be at an adoption event in Lynchburg, Sandy piled her only moderately "on board" husband, Bill into the car and headed for the event.  Acting as my agent, they vetted "Zena", found her worthy, and immediately signed up to be her foster parents.  They brought her home. Ten days before I was supposed to get home.  Now that's a friend!

So Sandy and Bill had "Zena."  The first thing I did was to email them and tell them that her name was now "Rudy."  I don't know why.  She was just always Rudy, from the moment I saw her online!

I got daily reports as Sandy and Bill fell in love with this little girl.  And when I arrived home on a Wednesday, I unpacked the car and headed for their house to meet her.  She was perfect!  But she was also completely settled at their house.  We decided that Sandy would bring her to me the very next day.

And so she arrived  one week ago today.  And she was not at all sure that she wanted to stay.  My house was smaller.  She didn't know me.  That night I had the biggest case of "buyer's remorse" that anyone could have.  What had I done?  Here was this ANIMAL in my cute little house, and she didn't even like me!  She kept looking at the door hoping Sandy would return.  There goes my freedom!  YIKES!!

But 24 hours later all was well.  And in the last 7 days I have gone through Meno-paws!!!  My life is wonderful.  Yes. .  I have to get up early to let her out before I work out.   I have a crate where she sleeps at night and when I'm gone.  I have to pay attention each and every day to my plans so that they provide her with as little time in that crate as possible.

But my life is already so much better!  Yes. . . my house is a wreck!  I'm not even unpacked completely yet!  But the other day she and I went out in the car for several hours to run errands, and it wasn't until I got home that I realized that I had not taken my phone with me!  I hadn't realized that up until Rudy arrived, my IPhone had become my pet!

I sit less.   We are out in the yard more.  Rudy's best friend, besides me (and Sandy), is the big black rooster next door named Duke.  They run back and forth on their respective side of the fence.  If Rudy runs off to find a stick to chew, Duke stands at the fence crowing to get her back.   It's hilarious!

We have spent the last few evenings watching Jane Austen movies.  After raising 2 boys and having only boy dogs. . . it's nice to do girl things for a change!

So stay tuned for more Rudy news.  It's good to be connected. To have something that needs me.  To have a living body in the house who thinks I hung the moon!  It's nice to have a baby again!

So here's to change-of-life!   Stay tuned!

THREE SARASOTA CHARACTERS!

Well, it takes all kinds, and Sarasota is no exception.  This story is about clapping, praying, and a manatee.  And it all happened yesterday.


So I went swimming at the Y.  And I picked a new time to go.  I've been experimenting with when is the best time to get my own lane at the pool.  It's not that I mind sharing.  But after you've swum your mile in a lane all to yourself, it's hard to confine yourself to just a half lane.  Since I swim every other length back stroke, I find that I have mangled my hands and arms while hitting the lane dividers if I have to stay on one side because someone else is sharing my lane.  I don't begrudge sharing. .. I begrudge hurting myself.  And if I'm getting tired, it becomes annoying.  And I get bitchy.  And I begin grousing.  Which is stupid, because I'm grousing about sharing a lane at the Y as opposed to grousing about, oh let's say cancer!!!   Perspective is a beautiful thing.

So yesterday I arrived around 10, and I have to say of all the time frames I have tested out, this one was the worst.  I was sharing a lane from the get-go. And I ended up sharing with another serious swimmer (like me!!! :) ) and we were both intent on getting in all our laps.  Now that I'm swimming with goggles, face in the water, I can see what is going on around me.  Now I'm not proud of this next part. . . truly.   But out of the corner of my eye I see swimming in the next lane what looks like a manatee!   I was not expecting that.  But here was a large, slow moving body that consisted mostly of 4 limbs hanging down in the water.  Well, of course it was a rather large, rather old man.  And he was barely moving.  And he had a lane of his own.  And here's the part I'm really not proud of.   I got pissy!  Not out-loud. . . more like internal pissy.  I'm swimming back and forth in my shared lane, banging my hands against the lane dividers the whole time, and begrudging this manatee for having his own lane.  I mean seriously. . . . . .  And after lapping this human manatee about 4 times, and banging my hands over and over, I did an underwater reality and attitude check.  I'm swimming and banging my hands and cursing, but also having a serious talk with myself about my selfish attitude.   And I slowed down a bit, and got my emotions under control, and, shocker, stopped banging my hands so much, and made peace with this giant of an old man who deserved all the credit in the world for getting into his suit and coming out to the Y to do what exercise he could.  And I started sending good thoughts to him every time I passed him.  And then I started mentally rooting for him as I swam back and forth.  "Go Manatee man!  Keep going!  You have endurance!  You'll be doing a mile before you know it."    And I kept on swimming and didn't feel angry anymore.  In fact, I was starting to LOVE Manatee Man!  Which felt a whole lot better than being pissy.  And then I noticed there were two people in the manatee lane!  Someone had joined Manatee Man in his lane.  And I couldn't help thinking,  "Get out of that lane.  Let Manatee Man have his own lane!  Give this man a break!"  And then I just had to start laughing at myself.  Talk about mood swings!  And of course if you laugh under water you just choke, which I did.  I really feel bad about my initial reaction to Manatee Man.  I wish him the best, I really do. 

Today was my last day to swim because I leave for the Keys in the morning.  And as karma would have it, I had a lane all to myself.  Well, karma and the fact that I had the sense to show up at 2:00 in the afternoon which I have learned is the dead time in the pool.  I was a little verklempt leaving the Y.  I transformed into a swimmer in less than a month.  I swam a mile every day for the last 12 days.  I'm leaving the Y a different person!

So Manatee Man. . . character #1.

Then there was the incident after I got out of the pool yesterday.  I went through my routine of taking a shower and washing my hair and getting dressed.  This is followed by drying my hair with one of the two hair dryers provided in the locker room.   My hair now takes no more than 30 seconds to dry.  Which is great.  So as I approached the room where the hair dryers were, I noticed that hair dryer to the left was being used by a woman with thick longish hair.  She was full on into the middle of what looked like an elaborate hair styling project.   This would take awhile.   So I focused on the hair dryer to the right.  Now this one was not actually being used.  But there was a woman standing by it with all her clothes on the counter.  The hair dryer was off it's stand and was stretched across the woman's clothes.  Like she was getting ready to use it.  But she wasn't using it.  In fact, she wasn't even facing it.  She was turned and was speaking with another woman.  She had a hold of the woman's hands and was speaking very intently to her.  I waited there a minute thinking she would notice me and see that I was waiting for the hair dryer.  But no.   As a matter of fact, she then began to pray rather loudly with this woman.  And by praying WITH the woman, I really mean praying AT the woman.  There was only one woman praying.  And it was the woman who was holding the hair dryer hostage.  So now I'm waiting patiently for the prayer to end and wondering what the Y protocol is for asking someone who is praying out loud if you can please use the hair dryer because it will only take about 30 seconds.  And this prayer is clearly going to take longer!  Do I take the hair dryer without asking the praying woman?   Why are these women praying in the locker room of the Y????   The prayer goes on and I stand there and wait.  And then the prayer is finally over, but the ministry goes on.  And no one seems to notice that there's someone waiting for a hairdryer.   Oh wait. . . I'm wrong. Someone notices.  It's lady to the left, still intently working on her hair.  She sees my predicament, makes a quick assessment of the fact that I have hardly any hair at all, and offers to stop and let me "cut in."  This is beyond nice.  I'm tempted to ask her to join me in a prayer of thanks.  But instead I thank her and grab the hair dryer, do my thing for 30 seconds, and give it back to her.  By now praying lady has figured out what is going on and is apologizing for hogging the hair dryer through her religious experience.  I'm afraid she is going to ask me to join with her in prayer to beg for forgiveness.  So I just smile, say "No problem" and I'm on my way.

Praying Hair Dryer Woman - Character #2

In the afternoon, Sue and I went to the circus!  We filed into the Big Top, which was a one-ring job.  We found our seats in the padded bleachers.  We were in a circus kind of mood after our sojourn to town to see Wallenda walk the wire above the city the day before.   I was in an ebullient mood.  Which is pretty normal for me.  I was determined to get pink cotton candy at the intermission.   Hang the fact that it's sugar!  Hang the fact that it's artificially colored!  Hang the fact that it was probably made 2 months ago and had been sitting there with its blue brother ever since!  I was at the circus!  And I was going to eat cotton candy during the second half.   Sue made it clear that she was not!

So we wait about 20 minutes and then out comes the Ringmaster, and the show has begun.  The first act is horses.  And I get right into the rhythm of the thing by remembering that at the circus, you are clapping almost constantly.  Because amazing things keep happening.  So when the very first guy jumps up on the very first horse and rides on his rump (the horse's) around the circle and then does a back flip and lands back on the rump (again, the horse's). . . . well, I do what everyone else does,  I clap wildly.

Immediately an old man who is sitting in front of me with his wife turns around and gives me a look that tells me he wishes me dead.  Seriously.  It was terrifying.  And he looks right at me with the biggest scowl and says:  "You're clapping right in my ear!!!"  Before I can say a word, he steps in front of his wife and says,  "I'm moving over because (he turns to me with that look again) SHE'S CLAPPING RIGHT IN MY EAR!!!"    The only thing I can think of to say is, "I'm sorry. That's where my hands are!"   He GLARES at me again and says to his wife,  "We're moving over to the next section!"  And as if to make sure I understand the reason, he looks at me a final time and says,  "You're clapping right in my ear!!!!"   And they moved.   I looked at Sue and said,  "Apparently I was clapping right in his ear!"   The little devil that sits on my right shoulder was  whispering to me,  "You should go over and sit behind them!"   But the little angel on my left shoulder said. . . . . well she didn't actually say anything because she was laughing her ass off!

Shouting Ear Clapping Man - Character #3

For the record, I did have cotton candy during the second half.   And I continued to clap like crazy many times during each and every act.  Which was much easier since I didn't have anyone sitting in front of me!!

WALLENDA!

So let me get this straight. . . . .I'm basically afraid to get in an airplane and fly somewhere. . . even though I will do it.   And this guy walks over Niagara Falls on a cable.  How can humans be so different when it comes to fear?  

I wasn't even aware of the Wallenda "event" when I arrived in Sarasota.  In fact, I only heard about it a few days before it happened.  But thanks to my A1 location of my little house, I live a short walk from the site where Nik Wallenda was going to walk a high wire over Rt. 41 - The Tamiami Highway- ending up on the 14th floor of a luxury high rise building across from Sarasota Bay.  

Walking over to see them setting up for this event, I could not even comprehend the courage it takes for someone to even contemplate such thing. And I suppose compared to Nik's walk across Niagara Falls last summer, and his projected walk across the Grand Canyon in June, this is small potatoes!

So Sue and I decided we had to witness this event for ourselves.  Well, I decided that I needed to do that and Sue was willing to join me.  I have to say, I went there with supreme confidence that Nik would make it all the way across.  If I had thought for a second that he would meet an untimely end, I would have stayed away in droves.  But this is a very confident performer.  Hearing him interviewed you really start to believe him when he says he's more at home on the wire than walking on a sidewalk.  I don't know how this can be.  .but it is true for him.

So on Tuesday morning we left around an hour early, took beach towels so that we could sit in the grass, and ventured forth.  We were not alone.  While the crowd did not approximate New Year's Eve in Times Square, there were thousands of people who gathered on the hillsides and benches and grounds around the site.  This nice thing about having the event take place way up in the air, you don't really have to worry about anyone getting in your sight lines in front of you!

Of course since I've been down here, I could sit in the grass on a towel and do nothing and be in heaven.  As a life long winter survivor, to be anywhere in January dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, and to sit feeling the breeze and watch the palm trees swaying is about as good as it gets.

But about those breezes and palm trees swaying.  During the first week I was here I walked across the causeway which leads to and from St. Armands Circle.  What I noticed was that up on the causeway the breeze was much stronger.  I assumed because of the elevation.  So we're sitting on the grass on a very breezy day, and I'm starting to imagine how high the wind must be 14 stories up where Nik Wallenda would be crossing a wire with no net and no harness!  Wouldn't the breeze be almost wind-like up there? There was even some speculation in the crowd that the walk would be cancelled because of the wind.

So the 10:30 walk turned into more like 11:15.  But eventually we heard applause and before we knew it, the crane began lifting the cage with Nik Wallenda in it up, up,up to the small platform where the wire began.  My stomach hit bottom just thinking about that ride up!

At the top he just kind of jumped out, climbed up a short rope ladder, and jumped up on the platform with his hands raised and waving to the cheering crowd.  Just like. . . well, a circus performer!

What is hard to notice in this picture, is that his long balance beam is hanging off the cage.  It had to be lifted up to him. No easy task!
















Before long, he had begun.  Almost without fanfare.  Almost as if it was no big deal!!

This picture makes it look like he's walking on air!  You could hardly see the cable.  But it had lines running down both sides.  At the end of the lines were people holding the lines to make sure the wire didn't move around.  According to the tv news report which had him talking through a microphone the whole time, he really was aware of the wind.  I don't know how they kept that line stable the whole time.  But I know he was being very careful with each step.  It was truly phenomenal.

Here he is literally just walking on air.  The blue sky has been with us almost continually for the last month.

Here's my favorite picture.  Nik Wallenda is a teeny speck in the top left corner.  He's heading for the top balcony of the white building.  But you can see his reflection in the dark building.  This is the same building where I took a picture of window washers and posted it on Facebook in the first week I was here.  This is about the halfway point of the walk.













About 2/3 of the way through he stopped and dropped to one knee and bowed to the audience.  The crowd went wild!   He proceeded to the end and literally jogged on the wire the last 5 or 6 steps.  Luckily he did not do one of those staged "Oh God I think I'm falling" moments that circus performers do to make the crowd gasp!

Today Sue and I went to the Circus Sarasota where the Wallenda's were the final act.  It was under a tent, so the venue was infinitesimal compared to the theater of the open air crossing of yesterday.  But this one involved bicycles and was in its own way very impressive.

Circus performers are a dying breed, I fear.  But I have had an intimate look at the life this month with my trip to the Ringling Circus Museum with Joan, the movie Cirque d'Soleil 3D, the witnessing of Nik Willenda's dramatic highway crossing, and today the circus under a tent.  I bought cotton candy and everything.  Because it's special.  And fleeting.  And I'm grateful to have witnessed it all here this winter.










I will be on pins and needles when Nik challenges the Grand Canyon in June.  Talk about your sheer will and determination.  And confidence.   I'm just glad I'm not his mother!!!