Victoria’s Secret Puke-o-rama

Sweet Husband made a visit to Victoria’s Secret for Valentine’s Day last week. I imagine him walking about with the same strangeness of dazed expression as all the other husbands and boyfriends while the sales associate tried to convince them that, naturally, every girl loves to wear thong underwear that rides up her behind. I will proudly tell you I am not one of those girls and couldn’t care less who thinks it’s a deficiency.

Every now and then I’ll peruse the VS website to see if there’s anything new out there I like, either as a gift suggestion to the thankful Husband or for a short order Internet purchase on my own.

Every time I make the virtual tour, I’m guilty of not understanding the poses, facial expressions and unexplained hair phenomenon that come with those Victoria’s Secret models. Is it just me? Here are a few examples:

"I saw Abigail with the Devil. ...Plus I'm possessed. In a few moments, my eyes will roll up in my head and I will pee on the floor like the girl in The Exorcist."

"Eating my hair is really cool. It's like cool. Huh huh."

"I totally would eat my hair, except it's too crunchy. It's like stale fritos. You could break a window with it. But this look is so...beast. It's such a beast look. And all you have to do is not wash it for 19 days."

"Check out this cool sign I'm making. I can still see you through my left eye...wait is that my right eye? Anyhow it's cool. I'm gonna do it again. It's like a sign just between you and me. It means 'peace'. Or something like that."

P.S. I love Husband's gifts from VS. He's a sweet boy.

The Urge to Purge

I’ve tried to make a deal with myself this year: whenever I get something new, I have to part with something else, casting it out into the universe of new ownership a la Goodwill or a friend’s open closet.
I’ve done pretty good with this so far. The year hasn’t started on a conservative note in terms of clothes shopping (I say with a grin of enjoyment and triumph). But I’ve managed to clean some stuff out of drawers and closets that I’m obviously holding onto for no good reason. Off you go, polka dotted blouse I could fit into 10 years ago! Good riddance, nearly new dress that now looks like a teen age prom dress to me! Farewell, skirts that now constrict the waste line!

Om…there’s just one problemo. Most of the articles I am purging are being expunged from the wardrobe because I can no longer fit my size 6 largess into the size 4’s. I’m even purging old photos, and in doing so, recently discovered how much I have allowed myself to gain over the last 6 or 7 years. It’s ridiculous.

No doubt the body has changed--okay my body has changed. I used to be able to eat freaking anything and wouldn’t know the difference on a scale. I never owned a scale. Never never.

I wonder if marriage is part of the culprit too. In a way, it’s nice to know that your mate loves you and approves of you no matter what. (I’m not complaining about that…Husband is truly a kind, complimentary and appreciative partner.) In another, I realize all of the energy I once expended on remaining sharp looking for the potential Prince Charming is now used for something else. Like laundry. I simply don’t have to worry about having such a tight behind. But I really do. ...For my own sense of not feeling so “ten days older than water”-like.

So in exchange for my “new” awareness, I’m going to try and dump some bad habits and get at least somewhat closer to my original size. Purging is not and never will be a smart, healthy or self-caring way to lose excess poundage, so I’ll stick to exercising more and not eating so much shite’. Yes, even a vegetarian can have too much junk food.

I did take one step by vowing not to eat out in the month of February. I’ll let you know how I’m doing on that one soon. It’s been a truly enlightening experience.

What are you gaining & dropping this year?

Cheers to the Green Violin Goddess & Other Musical Acts of Courage

On Saturday, Husband and I attended a Sarasota Orchestra performance that was combined with the Youth Philharmonic program. A 13 year old girl who had been practicing the violin since age 4 stepped on to the stage for her solo, and we were both beside ourselves. Her mastery of control and concentration, coupled with the complicated notes in Beriot's Scene de Ballet, Op. 100 were truly something to behold! I felt proud of her as if she came from my own herd, just watching this young teen in front of a large crowd and leading the orchestra with her grace and command. Husband loved it too.


The thunder of applause and the whistles as this young wonder bowed in her green gown and sparkly headband almost brought tears to my own eyes.

I send out thanks to the young Green Violin Goddess for having the courage to follow her dreams and hope she’ll keep up with them through the trials of high school and college. It’s humbling to think of how much we owe musicians young and old, dead and alive, from every background, all around the world for enriching our lives with the power of music and the experience of live performance.

Even aside from the difficulty of making a living as an artist, it takes courage to make music your professional path. I’m glad the musical legends of today and yesterday did what they did.

As we’ve established before, I’m a supreme and loyal lover of U2 (image at left was on a poster that adorned my walls many thousands of moons ago). I’ll spare you the affectionate testimonials. But outside of U2’s exceptionally branded music and activism, I find myself enjoying a wide variety of what’s been offered in melody through the ages—folk, ska, punk, Celtic, Indian, classical (Debussey is up there for me), opera every now and then, old school rock n’ roll—even a bit of musical bling from a few choice rap legends. I recently discovered Eliza Gilkinson and find that I can listen for hours on end, and the Black Eyed Peas have finally made their way into my musical realm. (I’m so 2000-late on that one.)

Of course the Beatles, Gladys Night, the Drifters and Sam Cooke are held close to the heart, as with so many other artists that comprised 1960’s greatness. These were once new to some and were once “oldies” to others—like me. Now I am finding that music I grew up with in the 80’s is being featured on our local oldies station here. Duran Duran is really considered oldies material? Holy crap. That’s disturbing.

[…Almost as disturbing as 13-year-old stepson’s recent questions: “What’s a record?” followed by “What’s a tape?” I guess that makes me an old freaking lady.]

I’ve seen great live performances, from little known Gainesville college bands playing at the long since gone Covered Dish to Bo Diddley, Sting, Eric Clapton, Red Hot Chili Peppers, LL Cool J, Indigo Girls, Rolling Stones, Dar Williams, etc., etc. [The James Taylor/ Carol King show coming up in June is top on my list…never seen Sweet Baby James live and will love it no doubt!]

As I’ve gotten older, my concert going days have certainly been more limited. But I think I’ll always enjoy the thick air of togetherness that shrouds you at every live show. Maybe it’s the feel of dramatically different people brought together by music, yes?

Who are your musical faves and where have you seen them perform?

The Love Inside Three Cups of Tea

Love. What does it mean to you?  Aside from the romantic love we're often led to ponder with movies and books, there is the larger love--love for humanity, for God and for the things that will last even after our temporary bodies have given way to age and eventually death.

I ponder this often. And just finishing Three Cups of Tea, the story of Greg Mortenson and his tireless quest to build schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan, I am thinking of the sacrifices families can make for "the cause."

Greg first became drawn to his life-long quest of delivering education (free from Christian, American or fundamentalist Islamic persuasion) to the children of Pakistan after a failed attempt to summit K-2, the second highest peak in the world. When he could have easily died, a family in the village of Korphe took him in and provided for him--a complete stranger--with precious resources that were scarcely used withing their own circle of need. When he became healthy enough to return to America, Greg promised to return and build a school for their children.

Without financial reserves or knowledge of fundraising, Greg spent the greater part of his time as a single man trying to raise enough awareness and interest in the cause to make his vow a reality. Eventually, he would marry and he succeeded in finding a donor who would not only pay for the school, but who would leave a $1 million legacy to fund schools all over Pakistan, leading to an slow-moving but exponential growth in education, self-sufficiency and stability in the serviced areas.

For me, Greg's story delivered the sort of cultural understanding of that part of the world I have been yearning for. And for anyone who either wants to know more about the land occupied by the Taliban or who tends to brand the entire mid-East with a cloak of terror and extremism, I highly recommend Three Cups of Tea.

Love can be seen in every part of Greg's story, but what was most striking to me is the sense of love and heroism exuded from Tara, Greg's wife. She waited patiently, faithfully and steadfastly at home with her children while her husband stayed away for months on end. She knew how great and important his work was, and she was acutely aware how the future of many rested on his effectiveness to materialize one more building that contained books, teachers and hope. Yet with every departure he made, Tara sacrificed a piece of her own life.  Only a tiny part of the book even discussed it, but I am left full of admiration for this silent but equal heroine.

I started thinking about all of the great humanitarians of our age. No matter how the "two loves" can complement one another, there is a conflict among the greatest and most active of social heroes between the love and sense of duty to help your fellow man vs. the love and sense of duty to be with and support your family. With such a dedication of time and the weight of the world on your mind even when you're not on the job, so to speak, it's hard to give yourself completely to your spouse and children.

Here's to Tara and her amazing sacrifice. Put Three Cups of Tea on your reading list. You'll be glad you did.

Visions of Love

Valentines Day. I’ve always loved it. Being a creature of inherent and deep seated romantic inclination, I view Valentines as an encouraging ticket for unexpressed love to be bold and daring in its exciting infancy and for familiar love to do something out of the ordinary to renew the spark of eternal possibility. Ahhhh….

Unfortunately, my loyal husband hates the day and considers it an abomination created by the Hallmark company.

So instead of talking about anything special we do [not] do, I thought I’d take you on two mini-Valentine journeys—journeys of crap and suck cards. What does this mean? Let me explain.

1. What a crappy Valentines. I saw a link to a story on NPR website this morning about a farmer who designed a half mile heart in the newly fallen snow for his wife. Oh how sweet! Sweet manure that is. Yes, the heart was made with manure. Don't believe me? Check out the Albert Lea Tribune for the full story, where this photo came from:

2. “You suck.” For some unknown reason, in the past Husband has twice ordered flowers for his mother from a very well-known (and substandard) national company called something like Fro Plowers (just substitute the right letters). Why do I not want to spell out the company name? The last time I blogged about them, Google Ads were generated that spewed promotions for the company on my blog for like 3 weeks afterwards.
   
   Anyway, back to the point…they screwed up so badly last time, Husband received a free flower order. This year, he tried to use it to order Valentines flowers for me with a card that read “Fro Plowers sucks.” They refused to have that recorded on the card. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts, right? If you can’t have the sweetness of thoughtful manure, at least you can have some humor.

Wishing all Gropius readers something a little special this Sunday. Happy Valentines to you.

Duckmaster

I just got back from a conference in Orlando. Anyone been to one of the three Peabody hotels in the U.S.? If you have, you know something special about them. Each employs a Duckmaster. That's right, a Duckmaster.

(Photo courtesy of Peabody Hotel)

So last night at 5 pm and again today at 11 am, I witnessed a very ducky spectacle that must be the greatest and most original PR feat of any accommodation in the business. Here's a description of the Peabody Duck March, taken right from the Peabody's website (just like the picture below...didn't bring my camera):

"Since opening its doors on November 1, 1986, The Peabody Orlando has continued, in unbroken sequence, the traditional March of The Peabody Ducks which began at its sister property, The Peabody Memphis, many, many years ago.

"Each morning, promptly at 11 a.m., the hotel's atrium lobby is the scene of a remarkable ritual. In a special elevator, the five North American mallard ducks, four hens and one drake, comprising The Peabody Ducks, descend from their $100,000 penthouse Royal Duck Palace.

"When the elevator doors open, The Peabody Ducks...take up their positions on a plush red carpet and begin ...[to] waddle their way in formation through the hotel's marble halls, and when they reach the magnificent, orchid-crowned fountain, which takes center stage in the Atrium Lobby, the ducks mount three red-carpeted steps and splash into the fountain's waters.

"At 5 p.m., the procession is reversed, The Peabody Orlando Ducks marching back to their special elevator, then to their Royal Duck Palace for dinner and a quiet evening together."

The tradition began in the 1930's when the manager of the Peabody Memphis returned from a weekend hunting trip drunk and, as a prank, released some of their live duck decoys into the hotel fountain of the Peabody hotel. 

Here's my short conversation with Duckmaster Brooke, an adorable young man with impeccable manners and affection for feathers like no caretaker I've ever seen:

• Gropius: "So ahh, who cleans up the um, the, you know, the mess?"
• Duckmaster: "We look after the ducks all day long to make sure it's not getting on the side of the fountain, and then each night, our housekeeping staff drains the fountain and cleans it."
• Gropius: "Have you been in this position for long?"
• Duckmaster: "1 year. There were 150 other people going for this position, so it was very competitive. I had to interview with all of the executive staff of the hotel."
• Gropius: "So what happens to these ducks when they're no longer working for the Peabody?"
• Duckmaster: "They work here for 6 months at a time, and then they go back to the farm. They may enter in up to 4 cycles of work here at the hotel, after which they retire."
• Gropius: "They do retire right? No duck stew or anything."
• Duckmaster:  [Of course outraged at the idea of it, but so nicely disguised!] "No. And we don't serve anything made with duck here. We raise the ducks ourselves from ducklings on a nearby farm. They return to this farm during breaks and upon retirement."

Duckmaster was much more charming in person. He was the ideal duck caretaker. So sweet.

Apparently, the ducks travel to schools and complete all sorts of little PR excursions--even help raise money for local charities. The Duckmaster is aptly named. He has a business card, and it remains handy in the pocket of his red jacket, perfectly matching the royal carpet and steps on which the duckies make their twice daily pilgrimage.

Sweet Forgiveness

Compassionate people are blessings. And the receiver of yesterday's 3 mistake-laden e-mails was nothing but a Goddess of Forgiveness today. After calling her begging for mercy, she graciously played it as "not a big deal" and reassured me with something to the effect of "I've done this sort of thing before." 

Sometimes I get so caught up with the pooper people in life that I forget about the good folks, people who are cool enough not to relish in your faults.

The lesson for me is less of "read before sending" since I'm usually fairly articulate and decent at self-editing, but more of "who am I going to give a break today?" 

It's true, you never know what someone is dealing with when you're on the receiving end of a weird e-mail, or when you meet someone for the first time and they mix up a fact or two.  This is a good moment for me to remember this. Although I'm generally pretty forgiving, sometimes--even without meaning to--I can be quick to judge competency.

Note to Gropius: Make a point to return the favor, not just with someone, but with everyone.

BTW: I didn't do anything mean. It was a press release with a missed date, then phone number!