Fall Where Are You?

As the humidity reluctantly releases its grip on DC and cooler airs demand their presense, I find myself rejoicing for the end of summer. I turn my calendar page to October 1, excited for the heat to fade off, the green leaves to evolve into their multi-hued alter egos, and black, star filled nights to usurp the blue skies earlier and earlier in the evening. I've always loved autumn-- even though I am no longer a student, it still has that 'back-to-school' feel. Change is in the air--literally. The brutal summer has overstayed its welcome by about a month, and trading flip flops and tank tops for brown boots and cotton sweaters seems like a good deal. Fall, I think, is my favorite season. But I don't know if I'd want fall year-round. Part of its appeal is that it has taken summer away. The agreement is that it too must leave a few months later, replaced this time with colder winds, snow flurries, and, maybe, white trimmed roofs.

I don't know if I could live anywhere withouth seasons. I never have. The cyclical, predictable changes comfort me. In late March, I pray for the end of winter and a chance to put away the wool pants. I look forward to strappy sandals and beachside trips in the summer, but a few months later can't wait for the start of fall. Even winter, my arguably least favorite season, has promise of hot cocoa and ski trips. Some say they could pick a day and have it replicated the whole year long. I wouldn't want that. My perfect day would be one that changes.

The Philosophy of a Meringue

I cooked on Yom Kippur. On the day where religion prevents any food or beverage intake, I decided to make meringues for a break fast dinner later that evening. As I separated the egg whites from their yellow yokey counterparts and beat them with granulated ivory colored sugar, I felt my stomach growl with impatience. I checked the kitchen clock. It was 2:00pm. Six more hours to go.
Food isn't the real point of the holiday. I know that. Denying oneself sustainance for a 25-hour period is a sacrifice, a symbol of repentence for any sins or wrongdoings committed in the past year. But as I watched as the egg-sugar combination whipped its way up to a glossy, creamy foam, I couldn't get past the literal: going without food is hard. Yet, for a variety of social, financial, and psychological reasons, many people do. And forget about the fluffy mini meringues now baking under a 225 degree heat. It's basic bread and butter people are doing without. What I am facing for one day others will have to bear for most of the year.
An hour later, I took the meringues out of the oven, and scooped these delicate white balls off of the baking pan. When the sun disappeared that night--indicating that the fast was over--I bit into the meringue. Its exterior was hard and crispy, and contrasted nicely with the soft, sweet center. I let the sugary dessert stay on my tongue for just a moment before it dissolved, making its way to my empty stomach. As I reached for my second one, I thought about how good food could be. With my repentence came another lesson that night: appreciation.

Honey Bunny

That is the name of the new nail polish I am wearing. I was treated to a manicure last weekend when I was in Chicago. The stylist said it was a fall color--a dark pink shade. Since I got back to DC, I've been surprised with how many compliments I've gotten on it. It is a nice color, but manicures don't seem the most different or edgy thing to do. I was intrigued by this. A small change from my standard unadorned finger tips to a pink varnish had been the talk of the town (ok, slight exaggeration there, but just go along). And the thing was, I felt it too. I caught myself glancing at my nails while I was typing on my keyboard, or jotting down notes, and smiling. I felt different. Sometimes I forget the power of small changes, tiny tweaks. They can be just what you need to see things just a little bit differently. Living in a world seduced by big news and jarring headlines, it's important to keep in mind how much little happenings matter. How changing up your routine just a bit can offer a perspective you didn't even know existed.

My Kickball Career

Last night I played in maybe my fourth kickball game. As with the other three, our team didn't fare so well (although yesterday's loss was undoubtedly the most painful). The kickball I play is still the childhood pasttime, only that re-invented version more suited to D.C. young professionals. Playing underneath the U.S. Capitol as the sun sets on the tourists leaving the Smithsonian museums, I feel a sense of competition running through my veins. I don't really play on team sports anymore, and I forget my fierce competitive streak. More acurately, I pretend it doesn't exist. For some reason, I feel it goes against the laid-back demeanor I feel I exude. I guess I feel that if I am not competitive, don't take the sport or game too seriously, that it won't matter if I fail short. But what I am realizing is that even though game losses or even my mistakes on the field can be hard to gulp down, it's really exciting when the opposite happens. When things go your way--even if only for a moment. When success appears, as if it's been there all along, eluding you. This is on my mind now, because last night I felt my competitve edge satiated. Yes, we did lose, but for the first time, I made a big defensive move. Playing second base, the big bouncy ball came my way. After one bounce, I secured the ball in my hands. The first base runner was heading toward second. I chased after her, ball in hand. We made eye contact, and I knew I had to get her out. So I dodged the ball at her. I watched as it hit her and then bounced off. She was out. The inning was over. Between the two of us, I had won.

Writing Competition

So, inspired by some positive comments on my blog, I decided to enter a writing competition. It's the first time I've done something like this, so it was a bit nerve racking but ultimately a lot of fun. I just submitted my piece yesterday, and posted it here for you to see. The subject was an experience away from home.

Adventurous Beginnings

My first trip away from home was a week of overnight camp when I was eight. I had begged my parents to let me spend a week in the West Virginia wilderness, but as they took me there, I couldn’t remember why. I stared out the window, watching the major highways turn into dusty rural roads.

I had never been so lonely when my parents hugged me good-bye. That night I soaked my pillow sheet, dreaming of my room at home. The next morning, I opened my eyes and stared at the unfamiliar wooden ceiling. As I walked to the cafeteria, pangs of loneliness came with me. I tried to enjoy my meal, but the oatmeal was strange. I was used to cold cereal.
After breakfast I wondered over to consider the daily list of activities. I signed up for a nature drawing class and spent the late morning sitting near a brook sketching leaves. That afternoon, I went on a hike with a few other campers, fascinated as the counselors pointed out the different types of mosses. Still, before dinner I found myself thinking of my parents and brother.

I had many more tear-filled half sleeps and unusual meals. But there were also talks with new friends and campfires under the starry West Virginia night. Somehow I fell in love with the unknown that week. As I got older, I sought out more foreign adventures. Homesickness grew into a soft, comforting sense rather than a fierce bite.

I Dream of Sleep

As I walked to work this morning, my eyes are bleary from lack of shuteye and my tongue is begging for a sip of coffee. My pace is slow and staying awake for the whole day seems like a daunting task. Why do I do this to myself? Fatigue is a dull ache, a nagging cramp that will only be satiated with a nice long sleep. I get to work, log on to my computer, make myself a single cup of French Vanilla coffee with lots of soy creamer and a mere touch of sugar, and begin to think about the day in front of me. I start to wake up. I think about the work, the projects, and motivation kicks in. But my mind will occasionally drift, away back to my bed where I arose too early this morning. Where I didn't creep into until almost midnight last night. Sleep is one of those things that I undervalue. If I am juggling work, friends, exercise, household stuff, guess which goes? My nighttime rest. Sure, I do make an effort to change into my PJs and crawl into bed early, but if something comes up, that is the one thing I sacrifice without a second thought. Only to think about it again and again the next day, when one cup of coffee turns into two. So, now, I say to sleep--I won't take you for granted anymore. I know how necessary you are. I'll make a strong attempt at prioritizing YOU first, so I won't miss you all the next day!

A Fantasy Come True

2007 has been many firsts. Late last night, I had yet another new adventure: my first ever fantasy football draft. That's right, for the 2007 NFL football season, I will watch my players from teams throughout the leagues run, catch, throw, block, kick and do whatever else they do that can earn me points. Honestly, I don't understand it completely...I enlisted the help of my more sports-inclined boyfriend to sort out the players for the automated draft (although I needed no assistance in coming up with my name, football yogis)...it's funny, sort of, that I am drawn to the excitement of football, the thrill of competition, the mainstream nature of this professional sport, and still swear by my namaste. One time, a yoga teacher asked me what I was doing for New Year's Day--there was a special class she wanted me to go to--and I said I was heading to Philly with my brother to see the Eagles-Redskins game. She looked a little confused. I have to remember that being open-minded means being open and aware of all different parts of yourself and trying to see how they connect together. In football, the uncertain is what's certain...there are only 17 weeks, with each team on the field for 16 games. Anything can happen. In yoga, I like to think anything can happen, also, although it may be more subtle. Perhaps my tree balancing pose will feel a little more secure, or my hamstrings will loosen up a little more in my forward fold. Even though I can be afraid of change, I think deep down it entices me...which is the reason I was so keen on signing up for fantasy this year, not only to see how the unpredictable season unfolds, but to find out if I too could be a winner.