15. Take Argentine Tango lessons

It must have been the writer's strike last year that subconsciously influenced this decision. I found myself suddenly mesmerized by the plethora of dance shows. Before I knew it I had the urge to take Argentine Tango lessons.

Now, I was drawn to the name. Argentine? I liked Argentine steak houses, so it was an obvious sign that this was the style of dancing I would do. I had never seen it performed, and couldn't tell you the difference between it and any other kind of tango, or even dance, for that matter. I signed up for a six-week class at Ric Seeling's Dance Club, and arrived at my first class slightly nervous and mostly eager. My biggest dilemma was what kind of shoes to wear? I sorted through my closet-full of sandals and finally settled on a pair of pink, leather-soled loafers, which I hoped would let me glide gracefully around the wooden dance floor.

As the teacher joined us in the room, I looked around at the other seven participants and had an immediate flashback to my junior high dances. Once again, I was the tallest person in the room:-) I didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because I was soon concentrating on learning the steps.

I discovered that Argentine Tango is an improvised dance, where basic dance patterns are put together by the man as he moves his partner around the floor. The woman's job is to trust his lead, and be ready to move in any direction at any time, and to not anticipate a move. For someone like me who is used to running the show on a daily basis, I could already see where my challenge was going to be! I attempted to relax and be a good partner and stay off my partner's feet.

The dance looks a little odd, too, as the two dancers hold their upper bodies close together, with their feet apart, almost like an 'A' frame. This is so their feet don't get tangled up in the improvisational nature of the dance, but it makes the women lean into the men. I was informed that we're not actually leaning with our weight on the man, but somehow are expected to magically balance while twirling and stepping. I was afraid to try this during the first class because I didn't want to flatten a dance partner while I was learning. I could picture it. "Whoa! Dancer down in the Argentine Room!"

Argentine Tango had its origins in dance halls, bars and houses of prostitution. When done by someone other than us beginners, the dance is very close, entwined and very sensuous. The teacher informed us that a dance is called a 'Milonga'. Why, I'm practically Latin already.

Now that I've had several classes, I'm starting to get the hang of the steps and think I'll stay with it. Like most anything, the basics are fairly simple, but mastery is a lifetime process. My teacher suggested that I look on YouTube for some Argentine Tango video, and after watching, I'm SO glad I didn't see it before starting the class! I would have been quite intimidated. At least now I can sort of see what steps they're doing. Maybe I'll get a pair of nice dance shoes, that way, as long as I'm standing still, no one will know I'm a beginner.

14. Take a Duck Boat Tour

I'm not going to go into a lot of detail here because it's almost too goofy for words but after somewhat of a liquid lunch we decided a Duck Boat Tour was a good idea.

The Duck boats started off life as a military transport vehicle, and like every good military idea, "Duck" is actually an acronym, spelled DUKW.

What does DUKW stand for?
D = First year of production code "D" is for 1942U = Body style "U" utility truck (amphibious)K = Front wheel drive. GMC still uses that on trucks today (K5 Chevy Blazer)W = Two rear driving wheels (tandem axle) Many of them have been converted for tourist invasions instead of military invasions.

The Duck Boat ride was actually still a good idea, although a little overpriced and touristy, but what the heck, it was fun, we got to see Lake Hamilton from a very close-up vantage point, and it made it onto the list at #14.

13. Take a thermal bath

Imagine a room of pristine white subway tile, with twenty or so tiled cubicles around the edges of the room, each with a starched white curtain in the entrance to each cubicle. A row of neatly placed 30's era white enameled metal chaises ran down the center of the large room, and stacks of fluffy white towels and sparkling clean sheets added the final grace note to the bathhouse. An attendant handed me a white towel wrap and directed me to the locker room. I undressed and velcroed the towel wrap around me like bathhouse chic and locked my belongings in the locker and looked for LaToya, as I had been instructed to do.

LaToya was dressed in a starched white uniform and greeted me with the same delight one might expect from a long-lost friend. More of that Arkansas friendliness, I guessed. She led me to a cubicle, and informed me about the pure pleasure I was about to experience while she adjusted the water temperature in the bathtub. The thermal waters come out of the ground at 143 degrees farenheit, hot enough to parboil me if not tempered with cooled water.

The bathtub was the size of a small boat, large enough for all of my 5'9" self to fit into easily. The bathing experience is not for the modest, I was momentarily disoriented when I realized LaToya expected me to hand my wrap to her and climb into the tub buck nekkid. Well, how else would you take a bath? I had another good laugh at myself for feeling a little embarrassed, enjoying another opportunity to get out of my comfort zone and lovingly confront some self-image ideas. I settled into the tub and LaToya turned on the jets, and reminded me to drink the two small cups of water she had set on the side of the tub for me. "I'll be back in a few minutes to check on you", she assured me as she left my cubicle.

As I adjusted to the tub's thermally heated water, I lay back and thought about my attitude toward my body. At 50, my body no longer looked as it did 10 years ago, and didn't I sure judge it for that! What an impossible standard, I had, and wasn't I setting myself up to feel badly about myself? I chose to relax my mind along with my muscles, and take a few minutes to appreciate my body for hanging in there with me for 50 years without many complaints. I was healthy, no aches and pains, and while I did huff and puff my way up the mountain that morning, I made it there and back easily. The water swirled around me and soothed me in more ways than physically.

My favorite part of the bath was when LaToya returned with a loofa mitt (every patron gets one of their own) and scrubbed my back, arms and legs. I hadn't felt that good since my mom scrubbed me when I was a kid:-) And another delightful experience was waiting for me once I dried off and got back into my wrap.

LaToya led me to one of the chaises in the long row, and placed steaming hot towels down on which I was to lay. Once I was horizontal, she wrapped each limb in a steaming towel, giving each one an expert flip and soon I was pleasantly mummified. The crowning touch was a hand towel dipped in ice water, which was draped around my face, leaving an opening for my eyes, nose and mouth. Oh my! The contrast of the heat on my body and the coolness on my face was just wonderful, and I melted into the chaise and contemplated this little bit of heaven in the unlikely place of Arkansas. In their heyday before TV and radio, I was told that the baths formed the social fabric of Hot Springs. Everyone walked down the promenade and formed bonds during the bathing experience. The role of Bath Attendant was a coveted one in years past, and one that was reached only after an apprenticeship.

I found myself a bit humbled and appreciative of LaToya's ministrations and care, and decided that there must be a couple of wings hidden under that starched white uniform.

12. Hike up Hot Springs Mountain

Before my bath, I decided to wear myself out by hiking to the top of Hot Springs Mountain, smack dab in the middle of the Hot Springs National Park, which overlooks Bathhouse Row. The promenade entrance is so inviting, you can just imagine it as the hub of the social life of the town, as the historic photos on the signs show you as you walk by.

The trails were all easily found, and I started up the closest one, the Honeysuckle trail. At only .5 of a mile, surely this one would be easy, right?

Oh My Gosh, I'm a Flatlander. Even though I'm a regular runner/walker, I live in an area where there are no inclines, and after about 100 yards, I felt as if I was climbing Mt. Everest. After 200 yards, I was grateful for the intermittent boulders some kind trail planner had positioned by the trail, for folks like me to sit on and admire the beauty of the woods while we attempted to find some oxygen. The promise of the view from the Hot Springs Mountain Tower drove me on.

At one point, I found myself wondering why on earth I pushed myself to do things like this. Did it really matter if I reached the top? What did that say about my attitude about life? Is my tendency to give up when a little effort is required? My mind (or could it be my ego?) generated 'reasons' to turn back at every step. I didn't know the trails, how much further, watch out you could fall, why push yourself, you're a perfectionist, what does it matter if you turn back. The sound of my tennis shoes on the gravel trail made soft scrunchy noises, and I listened to the way the wind blowing through the trees wove into the sound of my breathing. Isn't this how we stop ourselves from growing? All this chatter, like a constantly playing loudspeaker in our heads. We have a choice, we can choose not to listen, do belief work to change the chatter, and take action anyway, despite what our self-talk says.

I kept going, laughing at myself for just being human, and was rewarded with an astonishing view at the top. And was immensely relieved to discover that I had arrived prior to the tower's business hours, thereby relieving me of the responsibility of climbing all the way to the top! I looked around a while, admired the view, patted myself on the back for making it to the top, and took a leisurely jog back down the mountain--it was almost bath time!

11. Visit Arkansas

I'm not quite sure exactly how I've managed to live most of my life in Louisiana and never cross the border into Arkansas until now. But when my good friend Bert (short for 'Roberta) suggested that we needed a girls spa weekend in Hot Springs, the only question I asked was 'You driving?' before I jumped into her car. After all, it's mid-year and I still have a list to complete. I only half-way heard her mention that we'd be staying at an historic hotel where she'd stayed many times before.

Okay. Picture lots of long boring interstate pretty much all the way there from Baton Rouge to just outside of Hot Springs. Suddenly the landscape changed to rolling hills and we rounded a curve that revealed lots of water. We were at Lake Hamilton, created in 1932 by Arkansas Power and Light upon the completion of Carpenter Dam on the Ouachita River, which generates electricity to the surrounding areas.

We drove across Lake Hamilton into historic downtown Hot Springs, and Bert pointed to a row of old buildings to my right. "This is Bathhouse Row." I realized only then that I'd missed something in high school US Geography class. If these were public bathhouses, then there just might be a logical reason that 'Hot Springs' is named 'Hot Springs'. I had never devoted a nanobyte's worth of thought to Arkansas, and now I could see what I had been missing, even if I still didn't completely know what the 'baths' experience was yet.

We were booked into the Arlington Hotel, Al Capone's Hot Springs headquarters during the 20's, and a magical step back into a time where all the mouldings were gilded and all the staff exemplified Customer Service. What was it about these Arkansans? Syrupy accents and a genuine friendliness that you just can't fake. Need extra pillows? "Sure Honey, let me bring sum up to yew". A ride in the self-service elevator from the baths floor up to your floor? "Ah wuz jes goin' that way mah-self." I can see why Capone made this his headquarters, after only a few minutes here I felt very Belle Epoch, and couldn't wait to be pampered in the baths.

Thoughts on New

Now that I'm a little ways into my 50 New Things year, I realized a little more about what was driving it all. It's not so much about doing your Bucket List, as much as it is being open to the possibilities that surround us every day. Possibilities that could lead us to our dreams, to feeling more peaceful and fulfilled. It's so much easier sometimes to just sit on the couch, comfortable in our rut, than it is to muster energy to get out of our comfort zone. I know that for the last several months a lot of my available creative energy was happily dedicated to taking care of a friend. There are seasons to life, and there is a time to stay steady just as surely as there is a time to expand. However, I think that our own fears can hold us back from beneficial growth if we don't decide to address it.

What do we risk by trying something new? Feeling embarassed or unsure of ourselves? I think that's a very small price to pay for the reward of increased self-confidence and fulfillment that trying something new will bring.

So here's to staying open to possibilities, to putting the power of 'new' into the power of 'now.

10. Get bitten by a tarpon

Owie!

Now I know why they told me to take my jewelry off.

9. Feed the Tarpon

After I told the folks at Dolphin Cove about my blog, they immediately said, "Feed the tarpon at Robbies!" Apparently, Robbie's Bayside is known as THE place to feed tarpon. The way it works is that you buy a bucket of fish and then join the crowd on the dock as they feed the crowd of tarpon in the water.

One more thing. "Take off your rings and watches," we were warned by the dolphin trainers. "Those tarpon are quick." I assured them we'd take off our jewelry and off we went to Robbies.

Actually, those tarpon were BIG. Huge! They looked anywhere from four to six feet long, glittering green in the dappled sunlight as they came in for a hand-fed meal. There were hundreds of them schooling underneath the docks, and so I settled down with my bucket to feed them, holding my hand about a foot from the water (after, of course, removing my jewelry) and watched as a hungry tarpon headed my way.

8. See the HGTV Dream House

Okay, this is a loose interpretation of 50 New Things. Technically, I didn't tour it, I just saw an HGTV Dream House for the first time.

After entering EVERY SINGLE DAY during the time the contest was conducted, I didn't win the darned thing. Hence, I'm standing OUTSIDE the fence instead of INSIDE, with the key in my hand, looking out at disgruntled folks like me.

Intermission and tribute to a friend

I got an email the other day from someone who commented that it's been a while since I updated my blog. I've still been doing new things, but got sidetracked by the passing of close friend Sandi Way on May 3, 2008, and just haven't felt like writing til now. We became friends just after college, and shared many experiences in the almost 25 years of our friendship.

While I was in the Keys on my dolphin swim trip, Sandi was 'putting her affairs in order' as the saying goes. She had been diagnosed with leiomyosarcoma in August of 2005, which is a very rare form of cancer that forms in a muscle and had formed a tumor. What no one knew at the time was that although the doctors removed the tumor, the cancer had metasticized. For two years, Sandi maintained a lovely, gracious and upbeat attitude while undergoing surgeries, chemo and radiation. Unfortunately, none of the treatments were effective in sending her cancer into remission, and she became weaker, and required more frequent medical care.

The day before I left for the Keys, Sandi told me that she had made a decision to refuse further treatment, and was at peace with her approaching death. I called her one day while I was gone, and I heard her say something I hadn't heard before, from anyone. "The priest just left, and we planned my funeral." Huh???? That just sounded so strange to me. I mean, though the years, we'd talked about many topics: our work, dating, family; but never "I just planned my funeral."

She told me that since "O Holy Night" was her favorite hymn, she'd asked her Episcopal priest to include it as a solo. "He said 'no'', Sandi said, "He thought a funeral reflected more of an Easter-type feeling, more like a resurrection than a death."

"But isn't this YOUR show?" I blurted out, and Sandi joined me in laughter. I left organized religion long ago, and while I respect and enjoy the rituals of Sandi's church, I couldn't help but wonder at how important it was for a priest to 'follow the rules' and refuse a congregants last request. "Are you okay with that?", I asked. That was what really mattered, not my preferences and opinions. "Yeah, I see his point, and that's the way the church does things," she replied. "Sure you don't me to just bust out with O Holy Night anyway?" I asked, laughing. "No", she said, "I think I'll just ask the priest to sing it."

Now, funerals aren't the easiest events to attend. Sandi's was a little bit of a blur. One thing that stands out clearly was when the priest talked about the music we'd hear during communion. In tribute to Sandi's patriotism, the organist would play "God Bless America", followed by.....O Holy Night!

Is this too gloomy a post for a blog about new things? I debated about whether or not to include it, because it isn't about anything new, except for the funeral conversation part. I believe that every life has a purpose, no matter how long or how brief, and isn't life about growing and learning as much as anything? Sandi's loving, caring nature had a big effect on me, and since she's been gone, I want to find a way to carry on her legacy of kindness and generosity. So, perhaps this blog post is another way to remind me to do that. Now you know how special she was, too.

7. Dolphin Swim Part Three

Back on shore, I met Jessica, the trainer who was assigned to me, a tanned, attractive, friendly young woman who had been working with dolphins for several years. I followed her around to the platform from which we'd be working. As she stepped onto the platform with her bucket of fish, a silvery rostrum followed by sleek sides broke the surface of the natural lagoon. "Oh look, there's Nicky", Jessica said.

Nicky was 'my' dolphin for the next hour, a pink belly dolphin with freckles on her rostrum and according to Jessica and the rest of the staff, the "second-in-command diva", who was known for making her preferences quite clear. At about one-fifth of her weight, I was pretty willing to defer to her. This was her world and I was clear I was just a guest.

Jessica asked Nicky through hand signals to swim close to the platform, so that I could touch her and we could get used to each other. Jessica told me that the dolphins often get bored, and so she liked to vary the interactions and the tricks as much as she could.

First trick! Jessica asked me to swim out from the platform and cup my hands underneath my face. That was Nicky's cue to swim toward me and give me a 'kiss'. I have to admit that I was a little nervous, watching a 600 pound mammal zip toward me in the water at what looked like top speed. Amazingly, Nicky put on the brakes, and gently touched her nose to mine. Her rostrum felt warm and cold all at the same time, and felt the way that a leather chair might feel if you ran water over it. After this exercise, I realized that Nicky wasn't just running through her tricks, she was somehow taking my ability in the water into account.
We did a series of exercises that were all loads of fun. For one I floated on my back in the water, made sure my toes weren't pointed, and Nicky pushed me around the cove. For another, she brought a hula hoop for me and I held it to the side while she jumped through. We also did a 'handshake', where I hung vertically in the water with my hands about shoulder width, the way you'd look if you were describing how big a fish is, and Nicky zoomed toward me underwater. Suddenly, there she was, her flippers outstretched like hands reaching for my own, and we were face to face. In this position, I could see both her eyes at one time, and I could feel her long body brushing against mine, tail near my feet. What struck me then was the absolute intelligence in her eyes and power in those muscles.

I ended the afternoon just as pumped up as I could be--I felt like a little kid! It was an amazing experience, and I was very glad that I had taken the time to swim with the dolphins. And of course, I ended up buying the CD of photographs that the photographer took while Nicky and I were swimming. I wasn't going to, initially, but once I looked through them I went for it. I guess you could say I took the bait:-)

7. Dolphin Swim Part Two

I arrived at Dolphin Cove, a marine education and dolphin swim facility in Key Largo, Florida a half-hour before my scheduled time, a combination of anal-retentiveness and "oh-my-gosh-I-can't-wait-for-Christmas-and-I'm-about-to-meet-Flipper" excitement. I had signed up for the premier swim, and this is what was promised:

Premier Dolphin Swims begin with a 30-45 minute educational briefing aboard one of our Everglades tour boats. During this time you will be able to observe the unique beauty of our back country while learning about dolphin natural history, intelligence, anatomy, and important information about your upcoming dolphin encounter.Dolphin swims take place in our natural lagoon. Swimmers will take turns entering the water and participating in hands-on behaviors with our dolphins. All interaction is guided by a dolphin trainer, and one on one contact is guaranteed.

Alright! This was what I had wanted, to get up close and personal, even though the 'guided interaction' part seemed a bit restricted, the one-on-one sounded interesting.

I liked that the facility was very clean and well-maintained, as I believe that reflected management's attitude about the care of the dolphins themselves. As I waited impatiently for the boat ride in the covered waiting area, I noticed that there was a binder with photos of all of the dolphins, where each dolphin was named and described by personality and age. Now, I'm not the kind of person who attributes human traits to their animals/pets the way that some people do, but I have to admit that considering the dolphins I was about to meet as having names, jarred my thinking a bit. I guess I didn't think of them as having distinct personalities and preferences, but wasn't that what being sentient was all about? "Stay open-minded, stay open-minded", I told myself.

Finally, we got on the tour boat for our promised briefing. There were about ten of us who listened to a young dolphin trainer tell us about dolphin anatomy. I learned that their 'snout' is called a 'rostrum', and each one is like a fingerprint, with distinctive markings. So is their dorsal fin, with a unique shape and notches particular to each dolphin. Probably the most interesting thing I learned was how young dolphins nurse, since dolphins are mammals, give live birth and nurse their young just like us humans. But, where were the teats on a female dolphin? Surely having a nipple or two would cut down on the streamlining they need to zip through the water unencumbered?

Turns out that instead of teats, they have two slits about two thirds of the way down their body on the underside, and the baby dolphin is born with the ability to curl their tongue like a straw. While nursing, the baby sticks their curled tongue into one of the slits and slurps away. Voila! Baby dolphin dinner on-the-go.

All the dolphins at Dolphin Cove were trained to vocal commands, hand signals, and whistles. Our tour guide took us through the various guided interactions that we would be experiencing, and spent the last ten minutes training us on how to behave in the water. We'd be wearing buoyant life vests which would allow us to suspend upright in the water, which was a key part in some of the dolphin 'tricks'. For example, I was to hang in the water with my hands out to the sides, making a 't', with my thumbs pointed down. The dolphin would swim around behind me, pick a side, and place their dorsal fin in the web of my thumb. My part would be to just hang on as this was the dorsal fin ride I'd been imagining since my first "Flipper" show. I couldn't wait to meet my dolphin!

7. Swim with Dolphins

I'm guessing this desire started way back when I was a kid, watching the tv show 'Flipper', a show about an intelligent bottlenose dolphin who interacted with a park ranger and his two young sons. There are two scenes that I remember most vividly: one of Flipper 'laughing', with his head out of water and making squeaky 'ack-ack' dolphin sounds, and another of someone holding on to Flipper's dorsal fin and going for a ride. Flipper seemed so smart, a cross between a horse and a mermaid, and I wanted to meet a Flipper friend for myself.

Later, in my early adult years, as we learned more about dolphin intelligence, their use of echolocation, and their assistance of humans in distress, the question was raised: are humans the only sentient life on the planet? Was novelist Douglas Adams right when he wrote in 'So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish' that the dolphins were actually here to save us humans? Could it be that dolphin consciousness is equivalent to our own, with equivalent forms of communication, family and friend relationships and a sense of community? What would it be like to meet fin-to-face with one of these intelligent mammals? Would I experience a 'mystical meeting of souls' as one of my more metaphysically inclined friends had experienced? Or would I be transported back to my childhood frame of mind, playfully excited to just be in the water with my friend Flipper? I decided to do my best to leave pre-conceived notions behind, and just stay open to what happened.

6. Take time to stop and pet the wallaby

For the last couple of days I've been thinking about how 'I' am really just a collection of beliefs and behaviors that make up my idea of who and what 'Melinda' is. 'Tall', 'blonde', 'creative', 'nice person', 'helps friends', etc. Words like these define who I am but they also limit me, and this mission of mine is all about stretching those limits. What if I were someone who was known as 'brutally honest' instead of 'diplomatic'? What if I just let loose with my anger instead of watering it down? I remembered the feeling I had during an improv class I took from Alan Arkin a couple of years ago. After about the third class, I found myself really loosening up on the behaviors I allowed myself. I got raunchy, goofy, pushy, quiet, loud, depending on where the scene took me. In other words, I pushed myself out of my normal range of approved 'Melinda' behaviors and explored actions I hadn't allowed myself in years, if ever. I don't think it's any coincidence that I look on that weeklong class as magical, remembering that experience as being blissful and joyful in the way that children play. I saw the same look both in Alan's eyes and in the eyes of the other class members.

So, yesterday, I'm driving home past the elementary school in my neighborhood, and what do I see there on the front lawn but a baby kangaroo and other exotic animals surrounded by a group of school children.

"I want to go pet the kangaroo!" screamed my improv-ready inner child.

"You can't", my Limited Melinda explained calmly. "Grownups just don't waltz onto school grounds uninvited without setting off alarms, not in this day and age. People could think you're a stalker." and she showed a brief inner movie of an Angry Principal and an Embarrassed, Rejected, Melinda.

All of this happened in a nano-second, in barely the time it took me to drive another half-block. And I thought of 50 New Things. Isn't it as much about getting out of my usual habits of what I allowed myself to do as going skydiving? So what if they ask me to leave, isn't the point that I tried Something New? "I want to go pet the kangaroo!" I made a U-turn and headed back to the school, ready to color outside the lines for a change.

I parked and walked toward the group of school children who were gathered around several portable pens, trying to get a good look at the baby kangaroo in one of them. Suddenly, a little boy who looked to be about six years old came and gently took my hand.

"Want to feed him some grass?" I smiled at the innocent sweetness of his invitation, nodded and followed him over to a patch of clover. He very patiently explained to me that 'he eats this grass', pointing to the sweet clover, 'not that grass', pointing to the St. Augustine.

About this time I noticed a sturdy fellow in a Crocodile Dundee hat, with a Kiwi accent and a chameleon on his shoulder who joined us. "It's a wallaby, not a kangaroo." I had wondered why the kangaroo was so small--Honey, I shrunk the kangaroo. Oh, that's why, it was a wallaby. (I was amused to read the wiki entry on wallabys, the illustration was captioned, 'Red-necked' Wallaby'. Oh, native to Louisiana, that one?)

The wallaby, chameleon and the madagascar cockroaches in the nearby terrarium all were courtesy of Zoo-Zoom, "The Little Zoo on Wheels", a local exotic rescue and education organization. I watched as Mr. Chameleon playfully encouraged all the children to pet the animals, joyful as a child himself.

I didn't stay long, no Angry Principal materialized to shoo me off, in fact, no one even questioned my right to be there. I was glad I caught myself justifying an opportunity to pass on trying something new, because of imaginary fears, and even more glad that I acted on that impulse. As I drove away, I felt a tiny bit of the feeling I had during the improv class. Isn't this Who We Really Are? A playful, joyful, unlimited human who takes the time to stop and pet the wallaby?

5. Become a Fashion Icon

Now, this one happened accidentally. I was about to give a talk to the monthly meeting of the Baton Rouge chapter of Women in Media, when I was introduced to a reporter from The Advocate, Karen Martin, who was attending the meeting. Next thing I know, she's telling me she likes what I have on and can I take your picture for my column?

(When you ask an actress if you can take her picture, the answer of course, is always 'yes':-)

Whoosh, instant Fashion Icon. I guess all those nights I spent watching Project Runway paid off.

Now, I find this pretty amusing, because I do not think of myself as a fashion icon at all, but apparently that day I'd managed to look presentable and was actually quite flattered to have been asked, and was looking forward to the column, which you can read here: Style File

The day it came out, I found out how many of my friends read the paper. About eleventy-million, I'm estimating. I was feeling kind of snappy about it when my sister (who has always kept me humble) told me everyone in her office always makes fun of the person selected: "Why were THEY chosen? WE look better than THAT! Just LOOK at that outfit!", etc. etc. I made her swear that they had to be nice that day and had a good laugh at the idea that style critics across Baton Rouge had a new person to pick apart. That's the price you pay for being a Fashion Icon, I guess.

The Damn List

When I tell someone that I'm doing 50 New Things this year, everyone wants to know what's on the list.

I confess: I don't know yet.

The pressure! Yikes! And does it have to be interesting? Or daring? OMG! Do I post what I'm just thinking about or things I've actually done? I DON'T KNOW!

And that's part of the fun.

Here's what I'm currently considering.
1. Trip to NYC. Nope, been just about everywhere else except to the Big Apple. My fun friends who life there text me at least 1Xmonth asking me when I'm coming so I SWEAR I will be there before the end of the year.

2. Trip to Dominican Republic. Have a friend of a friend who lives there, sounds like a nice country to see, never been there either.

3. Help with a Habitat for Humanity House. One friend's daughter is doing this in Atlanta and she is loving it.

4. Publish a book. I have one that's almost finished (I have a compulsion to keep tweaking it) but even I am realizing it's time to stop and get the darn thing printed. More on that one later.

That's my list for now. Hmmm...40 more to go....

4. Start a Blog--and actually post something

I forgot to put this one in here, since this is my first one. I'm thinking that if I'm going to have a blog, I'd need to post more often. So here is my resolution: post something instead of just thinking about posting.

Lego My Birthday

Who knew? I'm not the only one turning 50 this year, so is Lego.

3. Cook (and eat) Brussels Sprouts

This is the kind of thing that happens to me when I read another book about eating locally. This time it's Michael Pollan's book, "In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto. I've also devoured (so to speak) his previous book, "An Omnivore's Dilemma", where I learned that if I'm not careful, pretty much everything I eat is just a form of soy or corn, or that what I eat eats soy or corn. Made me go out and plant a bunch of lettuce in my backyard (what else do you plant in November in Louisiana?) to assuage the anxiety I was feeling upon discovering that Big Food Business has taken over my diet to its bottom line benefit and my health detriment.

Upon reading the latest, in which he recommends to "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants", next thing you know, I've made a beeline down to the local farmers market and danged if I didn't end up with a passel of brussels sprouts. I didn't even know how to spell them, had to wiki them to see what they actually were: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brussels_sprout

Now you know as much as I do.

It makes intuitive sense to me to eat food that is locally grown. We all (sort of )share the same biological and ecological environment, and perhaps our respective bacteria, enzymes and other micro-stuff are compatible. I like being able to look the farmer who grows my food in the eye and assess what kind of person he or she is. I know that every week I can go back to their booth at the farmers market and let them know that I liked their food or that something wasn't quite up-to-speed with it.

I eyed the Brussels sprouts with skepticism, remembering childhood meals past when I took tentative micro-bites of boiled, tasteless miniature cabbage-looking things drowned in the ketchup I used to make it palatable, in the hopes that I could swallow without gagging. 'This is my year to Try New Things', I thought, bravely poking a container of Brussels sprouts with my finger. They were kind of cute, actually, mini-cabs that would look right at home as a boutonniere. "How do I cook these?", I asked the grower. As luck would have it, I was standing right next to a caterer, who was also buying Brussels sprouts to serve at a party that night. I was surprised by how her face lit up when she jumped in with a cooking suggestion.

"Boil them for a couple of minutes, then sprinkle olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper and that's all there is to it," she said. "Some people roast them, too." Her eyes sparkled. Could it be? Were they actually edible, as some people claimed?

I was in. It was a sign from the Locavore Universe--it was my time to try my hand at making something scary taste good. Was I up for the challenge? I forked over my $2.50 for a carton and enjoyed the smug feeling I had as I walked back to my car. Why, I was practially healthier already!

Later, back in my kitchen, I decided to roast them instead of boiling. I was afraid boiling would make them too bland. I cranked up the oven on broil at around 400 degrees and spread out the Brussels sprouts on a cookie sheet. I drizzled olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and cracked pepper and salt over them and stuck them in the oven and checked them every few minutes. In less than 15 minutes, the tiny leaves around the base had turned crispy, and the core had softened. Amazingly, the taste was intriguing right off the pan but I wasn't satisfied yet. What if I grated fresh parmesan cheese over them? What if I added pumpkin seeds for crunch?

The result was delicious! There is a slight bitterness that the parmesan and the pumpkin seeds offset. I'm not a big fan of cooked cabbage, and there was a slight cabbage-y flavor that ultimately wasn't bad, but I still wasn't a fan. On a scale of 1-10, 10 being the best meal I've ever eaten, this fell into a solid 6. In the grand scheme of things, it feels really good to eat food that is whole and healthy, and I admit that often I succumb to a busy schedule and pre-prepared food, rather than taking the time to cook veggies in a way that I like, but often don't want to do.

I'd do this again, I like eating seasonal vegetables, and think, isn't this the way we're supposed to eat on a very basic level? I'm quite skeptical of how our culture pushes us toward processed food, and am shocked by ingredient lists that contain corn/soy in various forms. Is it really healthy to be a mono-foodie? Don't we benefit from biodiversity? I'm pretty confident that my Brussels sprouts didn't contain one molecule of corn or soy, and I feel pretty darned good about having taken the time to try a new food that I had formerly put in the No Way I'm Gonna Eat That category.

2. Volunteer to serve dinner at a shelter

The day after the talk, I realize I don't know where a soup kitchen or a homeless shelter is. Hmmm. I google 'baton rouge homeless shelter soup kitchen' and click on St. Vincent de Paul's website because I've seen their ads on TV. I go to the contact page, dial the 'volunteer' number and leave a v/m.

Nobody calls me back.

Tuesday I had lunch with my friend Cheri, who is one of the most positive and upbeat people I know. I love our lunches, we always talk about Thinking Bigger, taking risks in life, and we celebrate successes of everybody we know. I tell her about needing a place to volunteer, and she goes, "Perfect! You need to go to St. Vincent de Pauls!" I explain that I had called, but no one had returned my call. "No problem," she says, "You can come with us when we go." Turns out her Civitan group volunteers once a month and extra hands are always welcome. I asked her to let me know when the next one was and she said, "You're on--it's this coming Thursday."

What I didn't know was that you can't just walk up and volunteer, you have to sign up and be part of a group. I kept picturing a school cafeteria with us all in hairnets and big spoons dishing up food from a big kitchen. Cheri told me that each member of her group cooks a dish, and they'd done it so many times the menu was set: roast beef, corn, creamed spinach, bread, salad and cookies for dessert. We all meet at 6 in the dining room for the women and children, and are finished by 7, like clockwork.

What will this be like?
I'd never been around homeless people before. What would they be like? Would I feel self-conscious? Should I wear my jewelry? Would they resent me? I felt silly even thinking these things and wished I felt more comfortable and didn't make such a big deal out of it. Oh well, this is what the List is all about, getting me out of my comfort zone.

Once I got into the room I knew immediately everything would be okay. The room was immaculate, and filled with about 20 women and children who were patiently waiting for us to set up.

We set up a serving line, the director came in and led the blessing, and one by one, the women approached us, and I was struck by how friendly they were. "Hi, how you doin'?" each one said, and politely asked for smaller portions for their 'babies'. I found myself chatting with them easily, all self-consciousness evaporated the minute I saw a beautiful little boy making 'sweet eyes' at all of us with his striking topaz-colored eyes." I took a plate of cookies over to two giggly sisters, who informed me that chocolate chip cookies were their favorite. I could relate.

I wondered later what their stories were. I felt for the children, were they okay during the day and did they feel safe at night? I felt silently grateful for the people in our world who operate shelters like this one, I would never have that kind of dedication, my skills and interests lie elsewhere. But for tonight, I hoped that what I did made a difference.

I'll be back, too. On the way back to our cars I got conscripted. The group informed me that I was now on their email list and they'll expect to see me next month. Maybe next time, I'll bake the cookies.

What's on your list?

The question catches me off-guard.

"What are some of the things on your list?". I'm surrounded by eager faces, three women who had just heard me speak at the Baton Rouge YWCA Connections meeting on the Louisiana Film industry. At the end of my talk, I had shared with them the idea I had to celebrate my half-century year by doing 50 New Things I've Never Done Before and now, here they were, wanting to know what I'd come up with.

"Are you going to bungee jump?", one of them asked.

"Y'all," I said, "I just had the idea for this about three days ago. I don't have my list yet at all, but I'm pretty sure it won't involve bungee jumping or a trip to the tattoo parlor. I want it to be ordinary things, things that you think about doing but never do. Like give $50 away to a stranger, or volunteer at a soup kitchen."

"Oh! That's great, let us know when you're going, and we'll go with you."

Wow, I guess this idea is real! If I have people depending on me to line it up, I guess I'm going to have to follow through with my idea. I was kind of hoping a soup kitchen opportunity would fall in my lap but it looks like I'm going to have to make this happen. I liked the external motivation, honestly, and liked the idea that I might have inspired someone to come along.

1. Watch an LSU championship game with friends

I live in Baton Rouge, near the First Church of the LSU Tigers. My house is close enough to Deaf Valley that when the wind blows right on game nights, I can hear the roar from the crowd if I have my windows open. During football season, Baton Rouge essentially coats itself in purple and gold and otherwise normal-looking folks with show up in public wearing tiger-striped blazers and drive around in their SUV's with snappy little LSU pennants waving from the windows.

Let me commit blasphemy here: I don't follow LSU football.

I didn't know that Les Miles is the coach and Matt Flynn is the quarterback. I didn't know that LSU had made it into some sort of special game until suddenly all my friends were heading to New Orleans for the BCS. Huh?

"Melinda, you DO know there's a game on Monday night, don't you?" my friend Marsanne says accusingly. "Um yeah, I heard something," I say somewhat defensively. She goes on to lecture me about how if I've sworn to do 50 New Things then I can damn well start by coming to her house to watch LSU in a championship game with her and some of her friends.

I was caught off-guard. Isn't 50 New Things all about stretching my horizons? Was this how I wanted to start? I agreed and showed up at her house 15 minutes before kickoff.

It didn't hurt that LSU had a phenomenal win over Ohio State, 38-24. And that I was greatly amused watching Marsanne jump up and down every time LSU got a first down or made a TD. I learned that 'BCS' stands for 'Bowl Championship Series' and that the crystal football LSU won was made by Waterford and cost $30,000. I figure I'm practically ready for ESPN.

The next day, I found myself saying things like, "How 'bout that game, huh?" to store clerks and "We showed them, didn't we?" We??? Was I on that field??? I suddenly felt I was part of something bigger, and there was something oddly comforting about participating in a mass event that everyone seemed so happy about. Life is better when you share it with others. But you won't find me in a purple and gold outfit just yet.

50 New Things

Instead of saying, "How old are you?", the Italians say, "Quanti anni hai?" or, "How many years do you have?" In a little over a month, I shall have 50 in my basket of years, something that, quite frankly, feels more than a bit strange to say. I seem to have misplaced the body I used to have, as well as the face that went with it. And yet, I seem to have acquired something that passes for wisdom, in fact, may very well be. So, while I occasionally wish for the body I used to have with the wisdom I have now (think of all those bad relationships I would have skipped! Oh, but wait, darn it, is that where the wisdom came from????), I know that's just my own little fantasy.

How to celebrate my half-century of life on this planet? I've been pondering this for about six months. Do I go around the world? Do I take trapeze lessons in Costa Rica? Do I have a party? I wasn't sure, I just wanted whatever I decided to be meaningful, significant, and enrich my life.

So, this is what I came up with: 50 New Things To Do That I've Never Done Before.

There's a movie out right now called, "The Bucket List", starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. The movie is about all the things they want to do before they "kick the bucket" and the trailer shows them skydiving and hanging out at the pyramids. I'll guarantee that I'd sign up for that list in a heartbeat if I had a good producer and an unlimited budget but since I don't, I'll have to improvise.

Everybody wants to know: what's on your list? Hell, I don't know yet, I just had the idea last week. I do know that it most likely won't involve bungee jumping or getting anywhere near a tattoo parlor. I want this to be ordinary things that you always think about doing, but just for some reason, never get around to doing. Like giving a stranger $50, or volunteering at a soup kitchen. I don't think I'll count things I accidentally do that I've never done before, I'm not sure yet. The idea is to intentionally grow by doing new things.

My observation is that our worlds naturally contract as we get older. We may become physically limited, and become more comfortable with things that are familiary. Or maybe, by the time we've been around 25,550 days (that's 70 years, give or take a leap year), we've simply done a lotta stuff. And some of it we simply don't want to do any more. The 'new' things that interest us enough to get off the couch are harder to find. By challenging ourselves to get out of our rut by trying new things, we develop a habit of keeping ourselves on the vital edge of life, a place I want to always reside.