Oh Adele, we could have had it all… but then Monday joined the party

“There’s a fire starting…”

The last snooze timed out and Adele’s ‘Rolling in the Deep’ jolted me out of doze mode. The beat found me under the covers and grabbed me by the foot. Next thing I knew I was rocking out an impromptu Rolling Stone photo shoot. I went for it with full-on Lindsay Lohan abandon – sheets flying back arching hair tossing lips pouting hands on hips…etc. For my glorious finale I swept back my hair, flashed a dashing smile to the invisible camera, and swung my legs (toes pointed) gracefully over the side of the bed – my left ankle bone lining up perfectly with the corner of the bedside table…

<SMACK>”… you played it to the beat…”

I spent the last few bars of the song curled up in fetal position nursing my injury. Thank you Monday, thank you very much.

What do you do when Monday steals your glamour? You take it back! When I got to work I found Adele’s song online, shut my office door, and proceeded to rock out hard core, with full-on Cymbria abandon – arms flailing hips swinging hair flying knees bobbing face grinning…etc. Even tethered to the computer by headphones, I gave it my all. Was anyone watching from behind the half-closed retirement home blinds outside my window? Who cares! You know what, I hope they were watching! And I hope they felt my joy. We only get one life, may as well live it dancing!

After eight years of marriage… caught in the act!

Oh the shame. I know we all do it. It’s natural, oh so satisfying, and perfectly healthy. But I managed to go eight long years before my husband ever caught me in the act. I could have sworn I heard the door shut after him on his way to work. I was so sure I was alone…

Then the shower curtain tweaked open and there was his rosy cheeked face looking up at me all innocent and questioning, as if seeing me for the very first time…

“Were you…?” he asked, his smile gleeful as he peeled back the last layer of his wife’s nakedness. “Were you really singing in the shower?”

Born in a Walmart parking lot… The Urban Yoke

Ever notice how a shopping cart is almost exactly the size of a car’s trunk? Both can comfortably fit a body and/or the spoils of a Sunday morning mission to Walmart. This revelation came too late for yours truly, who recently found herself stranded in the middle of a snowy Walmart parking lot with a cart’s worth pile of loot heaped at her feet, but no car, no trunk, and no options – and stubbornness can only take a girl so far.

Just then, a small sedan pulled up out of nowhere. The driver opened his door and leaned out. “Are you ok? Do you need a hand there?”

Now, I’m a great believer in chivalry; I take an opened door with all due grace and appreciation. But I draw the line at accepting rides - however fortuitous - from strange men in Walmart parking lots, men who quite possibly spend their Sunday mornings trolling said parking lots for bodies to fit snugly into their trunks.

“No thanks,” I said, with all due grace and appreciation, “I’m fine. It’s just a question of logistics.”

Now, I’m also a great believer in creative problem solving. I took a fresh look at all my available resources (excluding the man who gave me a weird look before driving off). Eureka! And the ‘Urban Yoke’ was born! Note toilet paper back padding. After a joyous stroll home (ok I’ll be honest here, it was still one heck of a trudge) I pulled the hubby out of bed to come take a picture of my genius. He also gave me a weird look, especially when I described my vision for an ergonomically molded, carbon fiber version for Mountain Equipment Coop. I guess some of us are just ahead of our time….and other people don’t buy more than they can carry, sigh.

Harvard Medical School’s FIVE Keys To Happiness

What’s your New Year’s resolution? Whether you’re determined to shed that extra turkey weight or change careers, the end goal is always the same… to increase your happiness. One current scientific theory, substantiated by reams of research, is that we are all born with a genetic happiness ‘set point’. But just because you were a gnarly teen, or mopey twentysomething, it doesn’t mean you’re condemned to live out the rest of your life in emo purgatory. According to Ronald D. Siegel, Psy.D., assistant clinical professor of psychology at Harvard Medical School, there are five key lifestyle tweaks we all can make to maximize our happiness:

1. Practice using our strengths, particularly our virtues (ie: curiousity, compassion)

2. Practice internal and external gratitude for what we have, and towards the people who show us love and generousity

3. Savour the moment by practicing mindfulness (seriously, have you ever truly experienced an orange? Its intricacies of form and flavour will blow your mind)

4. Engage in the process (ie: feeling ‘in the zone’ while writing, or heck, even knitting)

5. Live meaningfully by serving others rather than our own egos (my own ego is pouting in a corner over this one, but no amount of whining can refute the piles of evidence supporting #5)

So go forth and be happy! Not buying it? Ok, ok, so go forth and be happier! I just can’t believe that Harvard hasn’t caught on to #6. But whatever path or key you choose, don’t forget that the rollercoaster is what drives the magic. So go forth and click out of this embarrassingly Oprah-atic post and get back to surfing this grand ol’ distraction from mortality we call the web. I suggest Youtube, because you never know when you’ll click your way into a wee spot of wisdom.

A sure sign it’s time to do the dishes…

“Can you get me a plate?” called hubby from the living room.

“Um… there are no plates,” I answered from the kitchen.

He didn’t skip a beat. “Or something plate-like then?”

With all due pomp and circumstance, I presented my man with a Tupperware lid.

In the years since the renegotiation of THE (infamous) DEAL – a politically charged, highly controversial, bit of newlywed legislation - we’ve held a long running Mexican Standoff over the dishes. And, much like the World War II era housewives who fashioned ball gowns out of mattress ticking, we weather each long siege (before the inevitable dish soap blitz) with resourcefulness and creativity. Necessity may be the mother of invention, but in our Calgary apartment, invention’s maternal grandparents go by the names ‘stubbornness’ and ‘procrastination’.

Burning The Ugly Pants: Join a 2010 personal style makeover (Update V)

Ok Mother Nature, you win this round

After all my highfalutin’ about spectrums and experimentation, ol’ Mother Nature has offered up a rather poignant reminder of how much influence our environment, be it cultural, political, or meteorological, has over our outward expression of self. However, we must not allow these restrictions to thwart us in our personal style journey - note jaunty angle of scarf. From hemmed school kilts to stylish hijabs, there is always room for personalization. Plus, fogged glasses grant a person total freedom from outside judgment - although it might be nice to bloody well see where I’m going! 

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Nothing says Canadian glam like socks over pants

Comforting the dreaded pedestrian ‘Walk of Shame’

“BE CAREFUL!” yelled an irate driver through his open passenger window, rolled down, I assume, for the express purpose of berating my curb-mate. The unlucky fellow had stepped into the crosswalk prematurely, trying to beat the light, and had nearly been mowed down at 7:50am on a Friday – what a way to start the weekend!

But the driver who balled him out was three cars behind the action. He had no reason to get involved, and I felt for the poor victim. Calgary drivers aren’t so careful themselves, and I’ve reamed out more than a few while hiking this concrete jungle. But while it’s easy to slink away unknown in your glassed-in Cavalier, it’s much harder to keep your head up when you have to walk down the street step-in-step with the witness to your humiliation.

He was a small man, with scuffed shoes and a shabby, beat-up briefcase. His shoulders slumped down further after the attack. He hung his head as we crossed the street together. My heart went out to him and I tried to think of something to say to ease his embarrassment. But, really, what can you say?

So instead, I did something. I gave him a knowing half-smile, then made a jaywalker’s mad dash across all four lanes of 7th Avenue.

There are many ways to let a man know that he is not alone.

(image source)

Cleaning In Character: Because there are ways of making life fun… even cleaning the bathroom

...because what could be more fun than sharing your struggles with a colour coordinated, early 20th century, Eastern European peasant girl?

Remember Puff The Magic Dragon? Remember how little Jackie Paper abandoned his best friend for “other toys,” and how heartbroken Puff “sadly slipped into his cave?” What a horrible lesson to teach kids! The idea that one outgrows one’s imagination is not only absurd, but cruel, and can even be crippling for certain personalities. Next time you’re in a long lineup, watch what happens… The children immediately evaluate their environment in terms of story possibilities and novel sensations, while the adults generally shuffle around getting bored and/or irritated. Which sounds like more fun to you?

National Geographic's next cover

What if we could protect our imaginations the same way we now wear sunscreen to prevent (or at least stave off) wrinkles? I, for one, refuse to compromise what continues to be my most powerful tool in how I interpret and interact with the world. Globalization has exposed us to so many differing cultural worldviews; why not explore the possibility of your own unique construct? Why not make life a little more fun?

Sure, I felt a bit silly cleaning in costume, but only at first. It was incredible how much more bearable (let’s not get carried away here) my chore became after I added the story. Try it for yourself! Your imagination is a whole lot closer to the surface than you’ve been led to believe…

Burning The Ugly Pants: Join a 2010 personal style makeover (Part Four)

This new beauty diet could use a little salt...

‘Stumbling’ upon a rerun of VH1’s Celebrity Rehab, I was shocked to hear Kerri Ann Peniche describe how, even as a child, she was forced to primp for every public appearance – middle school to grocery store. Her mother’s mantra, “because you never know where you’ll run into Mr. Right,” had an insidious effect on her daughter’s psyche. Lipstick in the produce aisle? Poor girl never stood a chance.

My parents, an artist and a poet, lived by very a different set of rules – none of them involving a hairbrush! Needless to say, we had a whole lot of fun, but advanced personal grooming was part of some other world, right along with daily dish washing and remembering other people’s birthdays. Personally, I’ve never been afraid of glamming it up, but only on occasion. The idea of daily maintenance, aiming for some rudimentary baseline, has never made it past the “wouldn’t that be nice” phase – until now. Part of my hesitation has come from knowing that for any perfectionist, the word baseline is such a tease. Where do you stop? Lipgloss? Eyeliner? Flat-iron? Where do you draw the line?

When you’re used to jumping between your own 1 and 10, how do you settle at 5? There’s a risk in projecting an honest, albeit lightly highlighted, self. Suddenly, there’s nothing to hide behind, no more comforting “he’d have noticed me if only I wasn’t wearing this sweater” delusions. And what if they do start noticing? I’ve been married to my own Mr. Right for almost 7 years, why would I want random strangers judging/soliciting me? Doesn’t ‘being on display’ just add more pressure to a person’s day?

The way I see it, the only way this can work is if our projections are 100% authentic, which is only possible once we’ve fully explored (and come to terms with!) the who/why/how’s of our most private selves. And, since time creates a dynamic system, and no system, even if static, can be fully justified within themselves (good ol’ Gödel), we come to an impasse. Or do we? For me, this is where faith comes in. It takes the edge off, so to speak. When your confidence is rooted in the infallible, that confidence (though not necessarily you) becomes impervious to smudged eyeliner or moments like these.

But enough talk… on to the action. In the pics below – because what’s a makeover without hard evidence – I’m glamming it up with my new highlights and Covergirl Lipstain in Berry Smooch. Because, like I always say (at least since this past Saturday), why snag your hair with gloss when you can set it free with tint!

Having a Winston Churchill moment with Covergirl Lipstain - Air kisses (in Berry Smooch) for all!

I have two confessions before I sign off. First: like all self portraits of quality, these come directly from my bathroom mirror. Second: I had just come back from the grocery store - sorry Kerri Ann. But in my defence, it was lipstain, not lipstick!

Need to catch up on this Saving Cymbria blog serial?

This gal’s dream girl

Elbow deep in dirty dishwater, I threw back my head and cried out her name…

“MARTAaaaaa!”

Someday, somehow, somewhere, we’ll be together. I just have to hang in here long enough for fate to connect us out of billions. Her gentle green eyes haunt my every chore, promising relief, freedom… joy of the purest kind.

I know my fantasy is horribly politically incorrect, especially after this, but I really don’t care. I dream of my Marta the way soldiers dream of peace, the way golfers pine for the snow to melt. She is the light at the end of my tunnel, a constant, almost physical, presence giving hope to my housework addled self.

I would know her if I saw her on the street - the vision has become so tangible. Over the years, I’ve modeled every feature of my model maid. But I doubt there really is a Marta. And if, by some miracle of justice, she does exist, somewhere out there, I’m sure she’d have better things to do than our dishes!

Motivated weight loss – The ultimate gender divide

Fitness magazines are as shameless as Playboys in their exploitation of our fantasies. But only fitness mags try to fool us into believing that we too can have a piece of the action. For men, the headlines promise power, authority, and not just more sex, but better sex.

According to dear hubby, this sort of motivation “works for most men.” He made this statement while looking down his nose with an air of superiority and a certain scientific detachment – as if he, out of billions, had somehow managed to cross that elusive evolutionary threshold into an existence governed by pure altruistic impulses and the Zen pursuit of self actualization. Of course, he also said this while watching NHL hockey on his specialty cable sports pack, but who am I to judge~wink.

As for us women, why should we be hitting the gym? The headlines are unanimous: get more energy, look younger, look (though not nesesarily ‘be’) sexier. Yesterday, as part of my project, I read through an entire issue of Shape Magazine. By the final page, I was far more tired and angry than any-kind-of motivated. To figure out why, I went back and read between the lines.

So this is it for us? We’re supposed to want to sweat, stretch, and strain just to become more efficient in our daily lives? Just so we can do more, more effectively, for the people asking things of us? Not only that, but we’re supposed to project a perfectly maintained body/mind/soul trinity if we want to advance our careers, let alone hang onto our men! Sure, all the Shape women claim to be so much “happier and healthier” than before, but there’s something off, something missing. Ever wonder why we’re not all munching on granola after 6am runs?

The back page of the magazine featured a profile of a thin blond Utah clothing designer who’s “can-do attitude and strong willpower help keep this Shape reader – and her family – healthy and happy.” There was a small text box in the bottom right corner for her “moments of calm.” On some nights, after the kids are in bed, she gets to curl up with her husband on the couch and watch a movie. “To make that time even sweeter,” she confesses, “I treat myself to a few pieces of licorice, like Red Vines.”

A few pieces of licorice? I’m sorry, but that’s just about the saddest things I’ve ever read.

Now I ask you, is it any wonder men are still running the world?

Burning The Ugly Pants: Join a 2010 personal style makeover (Part One)

The Before...

We live in a blank canvas world. Social conventions, notions of class, and even the dictates of fashion are becoming increasingly flexible. Such freedom can leave one floundering when it comes to communicating (or even defining) one’s identity. Who are we without structure? What happens when a society disconnects from its own history and traditions? 

We are becoming a surface people, all sound bites and profile pics, status updates and 140 character tweets. I’ve rebelled against this new framework from the start (although, I suppose you did just catch me blogging~wink). I’ve tried my best to dive down under the surface chaos – a life lived in ripples is a raw deal if you ask me – and explore the cool, still world under the waves. But, as you can see from the pic above, it’s bloody well time to come up for some air! 

There is a boon to all this surface talk. For the first in history, we have the unique opportunity to have our projections believed. If the world is so intent on taking us at face value, why not play the game? But on our terms. I’m not talking about plastic surgery and piles of makeup, but more about establishing a personal style that projects our strengths and ambitions. It’s about Focus.  

I invite you to join me in a 2010 personal style makeover. To tell you the truth, I’m actually quite nervous about this project. Will I have have the guts to follow it through? What about maintenance? Can I do it inexpensively? And, of course, the question all women ask themselves before embarking such journeys… Will it really make a difference? 

Let’s find out!

CLICK HERE to read more of this Saving Cymbria blog serial

A short note on the importance of context…

An inukshuk in Banff, Alberta - Larger than life?

How wide do you stretch your frame of reference? Not just in photography, although these Banff pics do make a snazzy allegory, but in how you see yourself. How close do you crop?

It’s really a matter of context. How much are you willing to let into the picture? One word on a page is black and white, but it’s funny how quickly the paper turns grey as you add to the story. It takes real courage to rip yourself out of a nice, cozy, swaddled reality. As we extend our frame of reference to include the motivations of other people, cultures, and histories, we are forced to surrender (albeit incrementally) the security of control – a hard sacrifice for those who prefer to direct their worlds, and be justified by them.

I’m not talking about abandoning yourself to some universal “flow”, but more about finding a way to exist as a secure self in an open, ever changing world. The first step is to allow yourself to be justified (validated) by an outside source – Gödel was onto something. I know I’m being biased here, but I highly recommend God. The next key is to give up a little of that control. Can you hear it? Yep, that’s the world, and it’s still  turning, a miracle, I know.

Get to know yourself, without judgment or regret. Just be honest for a minute, within the context of only you. Who are you? What do you really want? Ok, so maybe a minute is cutting it a bit tight, but you get the idea. This self-knowledge can take away so much of the questioning and vulnerability of “big picture” living. Once you’re ready to open your frame of reference, you’ll be amazed at how the scale of everything changes. Sure, in the grand scheme of it all, you shrink down almost to nothing, but you’ll be amazed at how many new, big, bold possibilities can squeeze into a big life.

Hmm... not so much. ~Special thanks to leg model G~

 

The best advice for weight loss is right out in the open…

Sometimes in life, the writing's on the wall...

I couldn’t resist snapping a pic of this delightful dieting advice on my walk to work this morning. Finally, weight loss advice from someone practicing what he/she preaches! How many calories do you suppose one burns while practicing the yoga-esque art of graffiti? Good work out for the upper body, with lots of extended stretching. Hmmm, have we just found a new alternative to spin class?

The gift of a grey morning on the range

7AM - With work and the city in the distance, this misty playground is all my own...

...well, almost. But he wasn't the only one.

His mate was spying too! Click on the image to play eye spy.

One last look at the real world...

…before ‘setting up’ for the new golf season. Welcome back!

(Note: Click through to comments for answer to eye spy puzzle)

Do you mean to imply I’m not in “Vogue”?

“Thompson is preparing an organic lunch of thinly sliced fillet of beef with salsa verde, shiitake mushrooms, caramelized onions, and crisped mashed potatoes at her renovated, environmentally friendly 1862 brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, decorated with Russian Empire furniture, contemporary Russian art, hundreds of books and prints, and children’s toys and playthings – nothing plastic, naturally.” – William Norwich in September 2008 Vogue Magazine

Just when you thought you had your life together, along comes a “Russian-born and Stanford University-educated” New York photographer’s wife to put us all to shame. Sigh. Gotta love Vogue. They’re always a little tongue-and-cheek about it though. I mean really, a paragraph like the one above couldn’t have been written in earnest. Or could it? Oh William, did you really mean to set the bar so high? Are we humble folk, whose potatoes are merely mashed without the crisping, doomed to wallow in our overly plasticised existences forever? Shiitake…is all I have to say about that.