I Survive the Reunion

Ok, I am trying to jot off a quick blog before I settle down and transcribe an interview for an article due very soon (too soon).

It’s a cold, rainy day in Marin County and I’ve decided to work in the library in Corte Madera because if I go home I may disappear into Facebook or MASH DVDs and I’ve got too much work to do…so to comfort myself, I’ve snuck in some healthy food (tempeh, daikon, carrots and broccoli–the uninitiated palate may disagree that this counts as nourishment, but I’m healing my nose from getting a skin cancer patch removed so am diligently being healthy–even though I wanted so, so badly (heart-poundingly badly) to order a mocha latte from Peet’s–but I didn’t. I bravely ordered a large (go wild!) Genmaicha (green tea with toasted brown rice). Which I also snuck in along with a baggie full of supplements. (I still love pills.) So now I’m tucked into my little study carrel, breaking library law. But enjoying myself. Kind of.

But the reunion, you say, how was it?!!

Fantastic!!! In the photo are people I have known for 29 years. People that have known all sides of me and still love me. It’s wonderful to see people build lives and realize dreams…to see the wild bunch become parents. To see that everyone looks better with a little age on them.

Some things never change, though.

Dinner at Houston’s in Bethesda was a scene! 9 of us crammed in a booth. People asking to be moved away from us because we were so loud–a $700 bill–more than half was alcohol I’m sure. Love this about my diehard friends. Even though I gave up drinking and drugging long ago, they still go at it with the same Olympic enthusiasm that they’ve possessed for three decades. My stomach hurt from laughing so hard.

The event itself, held at The Barking Dog, was super fun. Reconnecting with people who remembered eating stuffed mushrooms at my prom party (Darren Cave!), playing pool with Mike D, my brother Chris and my surrogate brother, Brett. (I could go on, but there’s this interview I’m supposed to be transcribing…)

My brother and I drove all around Rockville on our way home, getting all nostalgic and weepy (I was anyway). Rockville High School, Wood Junior High, Manor Country Club, our old house. Scotty’s house, Babette’s house, Mike and Diana’s house, Betsy’s house, Brett’s house, Delpo’s house, Chris Steed’s house, St. Patrick’s church. Coming face to face with some of the best parts of my past and some of the worst (I did not always behave well under the influence of tequila). Returning to salvage friendships and reframe the past as a rich tapestry–a little threadbare in some places, a few snags, but all in all, a beautiful work of art.

Countdown to 25th High School Reunion

It has been a busy week for me–getting ready to go east for my 25th high school reunion.

25 years.

Of course I have butterflies in my stomach about the ex-boyfriend and whether or not he’ll be there. Of course I have butterflies in my stomach about all the stupid things I did and whether or not anyone will remember them. I’ve already been reminded of the time I got caught peeing in the parking lot on a road trip to Ocean City after consuming large quantities of Budweiser. How come these people smoked as much pot as I did and can still remember these things? Even now that I’ve been sober awhile my memory still sucks.

Going east is hard enough for a Californian. But going east AND going to a high school reunion is a new level of pressure. And the dress code for the event is “Business Casual.” Help? I teach yoga and wear stretchy pants and tank tops. On a fancy day, I’ll throw a little skirt over my pants and add a necklace. I don’t own khaki. I don’t want to buy khaki. I cannot support khaki in any way.

My daughter has become a little fashionista while I have slid far down the fashion hill. I mean, come on, my hometown’s slogan is “Mayberry on Acid.” Not that I don’t love fashion–I just don’t bother with it much, except to watch it like a spectator sport, on the street or in Sex in the City videos.

So I was pretty proud of myself with the outfit I pulled together. Thinking it was the perfect combination of casual-California-yoga meets suburban-Washington DC-business casual, I tried on my outfit and showed it to my daughter, awaiting her approval like she was the popular girl and I, a mere wanna-be.

She took one look and shrieked in horror. “MOM-MEE! YOU LOOK LIKE A HIPPIE OLD LADY!” Now, even though I take this with a grain of salt, I could kind of see her point. My stomach sank. She crossed her arms across her chest, saying with maternal firmness, “You can wear the shoes..and the bag..and that’s it.

That evening, on red alert, I borrowed a bunch of dresses from my girlfriend Debra (the Carrie Bradshaw of Marin County). None of them worked.

My mind started scurrying over all the possibilities for salvaging my wardrobe with only two days left before lift off and no time to shop. At this point, my bedroom looks like the dressing room at Macy’s after the Thanksgiving Weekend sale. This is not who I am. It usually takes me about five minutes to get dressed.

But then I thought, why do I care so much? Why do I want to look just right? Can it be that I am caught up in the high school fever of trying to be perfect? Could it be okay for me to just let go, once again, of the pressure of pretending that I have got it all together? Could I just be myself and trust that that is enough, yoga pants and all?

I think about ex-cheerleaders Angie Maloney and Paige Luther and I’m sure that they are going to have the perfect business casual outfit, chic and cool and perfectly appropriate. I think of the guys in their polo shirts and khakis and am glad I’m a girl. I think about my new found friend, my high school classmate Diana de Avila, (we didn’t hang out in high school–although I was friends with her cute twin brother Mike). She came out as a lesbian and makes kickass music and is courageously dealing with MS. She’s clearly too cool to care what she wears.

So I borrow a little bit of her chutzpah and surrender to wearing something I’ve got. To just being myself.

The Yogis are coming!

This coming weekend is the Yoga Journal Conference in San Francisco! While the jaded part of me wants to stay home and watch old episodes of Bewitched and hide from the crowds, the curious part of me wants to reach out and connect with my ever-widening circle of friends and colleagues.

Although the Yoga Journal Conference may not draw the several million pilgrims and sadhus that India’s Khumba Mela has for 3 thousand years, it’s the closest we can get to this ancient yoga festival (at least we don’t have to smear ourselves with ashes from cremated bodies–although I reserve the right to do so should the mood strike).

Last year I was moved to tears by Natasha Rizopoulos and Seane Corn; the year before Ana Forrest blew my mind wide open with her asana demonstration–showing how limitations can dissolve with dedicated practice. I don’t know what will happen this year and that’s part of the magic. Just letting go into the fire…

New Year’s Yoga…

2008 is going to be great!

My favorite party is going to be home with three 11-year old girls, playing Clue and Cranium and having a dance party with the new Jai Uttal CD “Thunder Love,” which is his best yet and ROCKS (lucky me has an advanced copy–trust me–it’s incredible–look for it in a couple of months).

We’ll probably move into Aly and AJ and Miley Cyrus pretty quickly after that…we may even get really wild and watch some Sponge Bob. I tried to talk them into the big party at YOGA Studio SF, but no sale. That’s okay…I get to celebrate in style with a special friend tomorrow night in the city…

The best thing about New Year’s Eve is coming to completion with the past year (cycle) and having a clear slate of possibilities ahead. My friends and I have been diligently planting seeds and watching the sprouts come up in 2007, so I see great growth and abundant success in 2008. I hope you do too…together, we can do it!

Happy New Year!

(and love)

Green Festival

Go.

GreenWave Hits San Francisco’s Fairmont Hotel

I love the Fairmont Hotels–not just because I feel like a princess whenever I step into one of their locations, but also because this is a company that lives and breathes green.

I was fortunate to be invited to last night’s event “Our Planet, Under Covers” hosted by GreenWave Strategies and the San Francisco Fairmont (in the stunning Venetian Room–who needs to fly to Italy?) to educate local event planners on how to go green and still provide excellence, sophistication and beauty.

Did you know that the Event Planning industry is one of the top producers of waste and pollution? (I didn’t–it’s right behind contruction–higher on the list than transportation) Speakers like Georgia Malki of Seven-Star Events (they produced Al Gore’s Live Earth concerts), John Dickman of Google (he runs their stellar food service program–local, sustainable, organic, fresh) and Betsy Rosenberg (host and producer of the radio show EcoTalk) shared the stage with Jeff Senior from the Fairmont.

I wasn’t sure what to expect–the cynic in me wanted to go home after teaching and eat ice cream and pretend that the world isn’t coming to an end and that my daughter is still going to be able to swim in lakes without getting her brain eaten by amoebas–but I threw on a dress, snuck out the back door of the yoga studio and went anyway.

It was lovely. Even inspirational. To see mainstream companies not only talking about how to be green, but actually showing statistics of their success to an enthusiastic crowd of 200 dining on a dinner of local and organic food (Sturgeon, Butter Beans, Rainbow Chard–it rocked), well, it was a miracle. There was even a little flutter of hope in my chest.

One of the many highlights of the evening was a spin on the traditional “swag bag.” Instead of plying us with useless trashy gifts, we received recycled shopping bags with super cool Sigg bottles–and then we got to fill the bags with fresh produce from a “farm stand” that local farmer’s set up at 9pm at night! I have never seen so many people authentically laughing and enjoying themselves at a business event.

And–I still got my ice cream. Dessert? Local pluots with Straus vanilla ice cream.