Space and Time

"Wherever we are, it is but a stage on the way to somewhere else, and whatever we do, however well we do it, it is only a preparation to do something else that will be different."

--Robert Louis Stevenson

I went to the orthodontist on Friday. I don't want to talk about it. Let's just say this is going to take forever.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons why I've been turning my eye to the past this week, and to times when I've felt myself to be brighter, deeper, more in focus. I'm taking out these moments, and turning them over in my mind as thought they were glittery jewels. I'm delighted by them. I'm also tortured by them.

I went to a party on Friday night at The Gowanus Ballroom In the cavernous industrial space, Morgan O'Kane played extraordinary banjo mountain music as aerialists performed feats of elegant strength 20 feet above. We walked among the huge art installations and lazed within in an enormous iron replica of Genie's bottle. The floor shook with fantastic, frenzied dancing, and I was transported back to 1995 when art and bluegrass and frenzied dancing were weekly occurrences. It felt odd but so satisfying to reinhabit that time and place.

I read this today at from Adventurer's Club:

While it's often fashionable to dwell upon what might have been, what's usually overlooked is that really and truly, it couldn't have.

Because, invariably, any romanticized versions of how things "might have been," are based upon fictionalized versions of the past.

This is such a useful quote. Those moments, no matter how pretty and significant, were merely stepping stones to this one, as this one will merely be a stepping stone to 2012 and beyond. Whatever has happened stays static in the past, though alive and beautiful in memory. As one of my professors said in class in 1995, quoting EM Forester, "In space things meet, in time things part."

What is meeting in the space I am in right now? My teeth are beginning to meet each other in the right places. I've been meeting my yoga practice everyday, faithfully, for two weeks now. And I'm soon to meet a new year and everything that it may hold.

Very curious about the glittery jewels to be found there...

Hello

“Quietly go to work on your own self-awareness. If you want to awaken all of humanity, then awaken all of yourself. If you want to eliminate the suffering in the world, then eliminate all that is dark and negative in yourself. Truly, the greatest gift you have to give is that of your own self-transformation." --Lao Tsu, Hua Hu Ching

Well dang. If that's the case, having braces is something near to angelic, and instead of brushing my teeth I should be shining my halo. I'm being facetious here because I'm not feeling anywhere near the seraphim lately. I start off on a good path and then find myself taking the easy road, when taking the more involved road is tiring but more satisfying. This is getting proven to me time and time again, in small ways, and yet I still insist on having that free bagel when it's offered, that extra cup of coffee with cream, and tell myself "manana, manana" when I think about my yoga practice or running in the park. My body is so soft, my anger is so easily roused, and the zen that I once prized in myself is seeping out of me. The shameful part is that I've willingly let it happen. I have blamed the braces, but that's also the easy road. It's not these bits of metal in my mouth, it's something else.

I want to catch myself like Holden Caufield catching little ones in the rye, and eliminate all that is dark and negative in myself. It's done with ample sleep and green vegetables, and yoga. It's done with dance parties and exotic travel and moments of silence. I have not done any of these things in a long time.

I found myself trying to make friends with my teeth last night. I was consciously thanking each tooth for all of the incredibly hard work each molar, each canine has done over the last two and a quarter years. I actually felt each tooth throb in each root as if to say, "You talkin' to us? Fo' reals? It's about damn time you said hello!"

Perhaps that's all it takes for the real transformation to begin...

Quote of the Day

Over brunch with Brad and Nina (after a full morning of cheering on NY City marathoners) Nina asked, "When do the braces come off?" I answered with a casual, "Who knows?" Her reply, an indignant, "Forget Occupy Wall Street, it's time for Occupy Orthodontist!" was the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me.

Hidden Treasure

26 months.

I've been to the orthodontist three times in the last two weeks. Let's just say I had to go back twice to have him fix his errors, and that the subsequent pain was so intense, I went back and made him figure out how to fix THAT. He has now introduced me into the world of "orthodontic elastics" aka rubber bands, connecting my upper left molar to my lower left canine in an effort to move my whole lower jaw over to the left to properly align the teeth. The great irony here is that the pulling has actually made my teeth feel better.

Time Out New York's Joke of the Week is this:

Lil Wayne told the women on The View that his diamond and platinum grill was actually "his form of braces." I'd love to meet the orthodontist who looked in his mouth and thought, Hey you know what might fix this overbite? Treasure.

Though Robbie Collier meant this to be funny, I can't stop thinking about it. I love the idea of slightly hidden treasure--when the mouth is closed, no one can see it, and the mouth is open, Abracadabra! Jewels! I'm starting to view my own mouth in this way, as I can finally start seeing the fruit of all of this 26 months of labor.

In yoga class yesterday, our teacher introduced the concept of santosha which is broadly defined as contentment, but in the context of not needing more than you have to achieve contentment. He challenged us to find the ways that one can feel content moving within and in harmony with one's circumstances, even if they are difficult, whether it be a complicated yoga pose or life situation. I feel like I'm moving into a new phase of all of this, a certain santosha, that no matter what gets thrown at me (including rubber bands moving my jaw diagonally across my face) it doesn't seem to cow me the way it used to. I am simply looking it in the eye a and letting it look back. As Joseph Campbell said, "It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure."

Lil Wayne and I may disagree on exactly the nature of that treasure, but for now, I've made my peace. I'm in a state of santosha. Whenever anyone asks me how much longer the braces will stay on, I answer with "Who knows?" I told a friend I'm getting very AA about it, just "letting go, and letting God." It's up to the universe to decide, and I'm not fighting it anymore. I'm looking it in the eye. I'm inviting it to tea, and offering scones.

(And adding perhaps a bit of rum to that tea is treasure indeed.)

Perspective

"Be patient with the process, and with yourself, okay?
It’s going to take some time.
That’s not a problem; it’s the point."

~Bernadette Birney's insightful blog on the Anusara Yoga certification process

25

25 months. We are officially over two years.

Dang.

The ortho was once again frustrated at how slowly that back molar is moving (as am I). I imagine he thought he was being reassuring when he said that "Cosmetically your teeth are straightened and done. It's just your bite that needs work." The only problem is that I never went into this process wanting cosmetic changes. They were a nice side effect, but it's the correctness of the bite that was always my first priority. He put a stronger wire on my bottom teeth this time in an effort to "move your molars in and underneath your top teeth." Do they hurt? Um, yeah.

He said that the outermost limit that these braces will still be on will be six months, but I'm not counting my chickens before they hatch. I suppose I should pluck up courage at the fact that he has never been definitive about time before, and that he has given me a true timeframe. But it's little consolation when I cannot feel true faith in his estimations. I still feel just as shackled by these braces as I did over two years ago.

And yet. I was getting off an elevator today, and as I left the man in the elevator said, "Thank you for your big smile, " and then as he left, he turned and cut me a look, and in a surprisingly flirty way exclaimed, "Showoff!"

Universe, you make me laugh!

20/20

It was my 20th high school reunion this weekend.

I will admit, that I did not want to go. There were over 600 people in my graduating class, and I didn't know half of them in high school, let alone trying to remember them 20 years later. I recognized few of the 175 names on the RSVP list. My friend Natalie was anxious to go, but I tarried sending in my check. I was curious, and I thought I might regret it if I didn't go. I'm trying to say more yeses than no's these days.

Natalie looked gorgeous, as she always does, but I was full of apprehension as we approached the door of the venue. The first person we ran into was our class president, who took one look at me and said, "My god, you look exactly the same...but better." That, my friends, was the right answer.

Now, there were plenty of people there I didn't know, and a few awkward moments. There were conversations that petered out almost as quickly as they started, but the ones that lasted were tangibly warm, as though I could literally see the lines of connection strong between us. We all marveled at how good everyone looked. There were no stereotypical paunchy, bald men, and the women were svelte and pretty. Indeed, for the most part, we all looked the same...but better. We reminisced, we cooed at baby pictures of children, we grieved for those of us who are ill, or no longer with us.

Afterwards, there was an outpouring on Facebook from attendees who were so delighted, moved, and fulfilled by the evening. I am loath to admit that this had me confused. I had a nice time, but my heart was not filled or emptied, my soul was not aroused or impassioned. I enjoyed the evening as I would enjoy a nice meal or a good day at work. Fine, but not life changing. I couldn't help but wonder if I had a hardened heart, or why my normally sentimental self was feeling anything but.

And then it hit me--during the course of the evening, I was told more than once how happy I seemed. If I am to be honest, I truly am happy. I didn't need a nostalgic trip to make me feel something palpable when my life right now is already wholly lived. This 20 year reunion coincided with a reunion with friends met in Morocco who happened to be in New York, and that evening was more full, alive, vibrant and soul touching to me. The past can stay in the past, my peace is with it and I wish it, as well as my 18 year old self, well. My 38 year old self, on the other hand, is proudly, proudly living out loud.

They say that hindsight is 20/20, but I am amazed and rather tickled to realize that my eyes see everything in this moment, crystal clear. Anais Nin said, "We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are." Yes, oh yes, we do.

Time Machines

It's a sad day.

I have been trying to avoid any TV news reports today--it's just too much to deal with all of this nonstop coverage of 9/11. That day is still very much a part of me, as it has been whether we celebrate a one, two or ten year anniversary. Most of my friends here in NYC feel much the same way--that this arbitrary date doesn't make it any more important or any less awful. I cannot look at footage of that day without tearing up, and have spent the better portion of today getting irrationally weepy at movies like Becoming Jane, Original Sin and Miss Congeniality (yes, I've had TBS on all day), as well as getting insanely furious at IKEA when they didn't have the items that I had come to purchase. I decided to get industrious and clean out my closet, and finding my father's sweater in there put me over the edge once again. The sadness seems to be in the air, easily plucked and accessible, and the cold air and gloomy clouds fit the somber mood of the day.

I had spent the night before at a secret party in some warehouse space somewhere in Brooklyn, themed to 1930s Morocco. There were elegant flapper dresses paired with bobbed hair, djellabas, kaftans and turbans galore. (I wore the hot pink and silver djellaba I purchased in Tangier in June.) There were belly dancers and live musicians, tarot readers and henna tattoo artists. We danced and danced and it was so delightful to be truly transported to another date and time, far away from this time, and this place. I realize that only the best, the prettiest and the most exciting and delightful parts of the 30s were celebrated last night, but all history is in some way revisionist, and it is those who triumph who decide which parts endure.

I want to honor my friend Melanie who volunteered at the medical examiner's office 10 years ago. I want to honor my brother and sister-in-law who housed me for a full week after the towers fell. I want to honor all of us who fled to the hospitals to give blood. I want to send love to all the souls that were scared and lost on that day. I want to remember that my father was still alive 10 years ago. I want to thank whoever designed the Towers of Light that stand each year where the towers used to be, and how comforting I always find this tribute.

I love this quote by Albert Einstein. I'll leave you with it:

"Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to a divine purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: That we are here for the sake of others...for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day, I realize how much my outer and inner life is built upon the labors of people, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received."

Come on Irene

I'm hunkered down and waiting for Irene with a full fridge, buckets and pots filled with water and a glass of low country lemonade in my hand. (I owe that recipe to a South Carolinian friend--lemonade, peach schnapps and mint. Yum!)This sums up my morning:

I found this on the Be Better Blog, and it is SO true. Liquor was purchased earlier today. Witty complaining took place. Hurricane party with urban crew started at Thistle Hill Tavern and moved on to the 12th Street bar. Discussions of french press coffee were serious. We compared shopping lists for all the necessary provisions--Roquefort cheese, prosciutto, figs, Lambrusco, and yeast for bread baking.

I love my life. I even love this hurricane.

So Come on Irene! To quote Dexy's Midnight Runners:

These people round here wear beaten down eyes
Sunk in smoke dried faces they're so resigned to what their fate is,
But not us, no not us we are far too young and clever.

Hee!

Cotton Mouth

Two whole years.

Over 730 days.

I told my ortho that it was our two year anniversary. He looked at my chart. "So it is, " he said. "Did you buy me flowers?" he asked, laughing. I made a charming remark, but what I was really thinking was, "You should be buying me flowers, Mister!" For the first time in two years, he was unhappy when he examined me. He said that since my last session there had been no movement in the back tooth he's been trying to turn 90 degrees. (He has been trying to turn it for the last six months.) His theory was that the wire had "slipped out." I knew it hadn't. I had a feeling that there was something wrong when one of his assistants did my adjustments last month. It didn't feel right, and I had terrible headaches--skull aches in fact--this past month. Another month wasted.

This would turn out to be my most dramatic session with him yet. It took him quite some time and elbow grease to force the wire into the molar tube which made me understand firsthand that song "Be a Dentist" from Little Shop of Horrors. Despite this, for the second month in a row he insisted that we are in the home stretch. I would like to believe him, but I don't see how he is going to accomplish everything he wants to accomplish in the next six months. Heck, that back tooth has only turned 45 degrees in since February...I think he upped the ante on it to make up for that lost month because it hurts tremendously, and I can feel the tooth turning. It's also affecting the tooth next to it and it all feels completely out of whack. I understand the adage that things sometimes get worse before they get better. I can't help but wonder how much worse, and for how long.

The traditional two-year anniversary gift is cotton. I want to be swathed in fine cotton sheets, thick cotton towels, even wrapped like a present in a cotton sari. I want to have softness all around me until it muffles out every instance of discomfort and leaves me as refreshed as a good night's sleep on those fine cotton sheets, and as certain as a Maharani in full regalia.

Bracedlets

When I was eight, I loved those black jelly bracelets that everyone seemed to have in the 80s. I didn't wear them up my arm as was the style, a la Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan: In fact, I only had two, one white, one magenta. (I was never a faddish girl) So one would think that happening upon bracedlets would summon a sense of nostalgia or even a smirk of whimsy. But I have to say, that I was kind of appalled. If I was 13, I'd love it. I'd revel in it. However, at 38, the thought of wearing the power chains that cause me so much pain each month for a fashion statement is akin to wearing studded belts or spike earrings. I get that those things are worn as messages, or in some cases, badges of honor that show exactly how much pain the wearer can and will endure. How much of a badass they are. But these supposedly benign bracedlets are completely misleading. I would much rather wear this:

This was designed by Lorinczi, and I love how it makes this smooth, metal showcase for that perfect toothlike pearl. I mean after all, isn't that what this process is supposed to be about? Not holding on to the painful parts, but finally creating the space for the pearls (or pearly whites) to shine? I think the spotlight might be just left of center...but it should be aligned in the right place in, oh, about six months.

Feelings Are Facts

23 months.

Almost 2 years.

The ortho put on an even tighter wire last week (what is this the fourth in 5 months?) and everything has felt off kilter since. I wake up with the right side of my jaw hurting, teeth not lining up in a way that I can comfortably chew, and feeling like I've been hurtled back in time a year when it felt exactly the same way. I convinced myself that I could pay two years of penance and then this would all be over, but now my timeline has been extended by six months, and possibly more. We're optimistically looking at December.

I signed a contract, both literally and emotionally, to go through this process for two years, but now that the terms of that contract have not been upheld, I am in a word, angry. If I don't have to keep to the rules of this contract anymore, then the renegade revolutionary is coming out. Guns blazing.

My boss said to me today, "Feelings are facts" which I thought was so wise. The reality of any situation doesn't matter, it's the perception of it, the feeling of it that rules one's existence. ("Nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so" said our fair Hamlet, and his perceptions were not always correct.) I've had my own misperceptions about what I look like, how I feel, even how I'm supposed to react. My friend Mick had a come-to-Jesus moment with me the other night when he emphatically told me that these braces do not make me any less in any way. Mick has this great voice and earnestness that makes it easy to believe him. With this broken two year contract, I'm now angry enough to believe him.

I've reset the clock on he right hand side of the page. We're back into the 100s when we really should have been in the low single digits. Nothing left to do, but in the words of Usher: push it to the limit give it more. Thanks to my niece, this is my new theme song.

The 20s Are Roaring

The 1920s are following me.

A few weeks ago I attended the Jazz Age Lawn Party on Governor's Island which was like stepping into one utterly fun time machine. Flappers did the Charleston to sounds of Michael Arenella's Dreamland Orchestra as onlookers tapped their feet and danced on the sidelines. We found a picnic spot by the vintage cars, sipped San Germain cocktails and watched triumphantly as our friends participated in a massive game of tug o' war. It was utterly charming to see all the men in their classic get-ups and women in their flapper finery pulling that rope. And doubly charming to see how delightful simple pleasures are. There is no computer game that could possibly compare with the thrill of simple, focused competetion--with incredibly fashionable participants! What a scene!

I just finished reading The Paris Wife, a wonderful book about the life of Hadley Hemingway, Ernest's first wife. I was never a big fan of Hemingway--too male, too misogynist, too...Hemingway. I read A Farewell to Arms in college and I remember nothing more than hating the book. But now, after The Paris Wife, I'm lightly obsessed with Hemingway. He wants me to read him, seducing me in much the same way that he's coaxed his lovers to come to him despite his forcefulness, his narcissism, his his ego. I read this in A Moveable Feast just recently and it is what I think he is calling: "I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now, whoever you are waiting for and if I never see you again, I thought. You belong to me now, and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil. Then I went back to writing and I entered far into the story and was lost in it."

And as if that wasn't enough, I saw the lovely Midnight in Paris

and was further enmeshed and enveloped by 1920s Paris. If you haven't seen it, go. So delightful, so wonderful, and perhaps, so apt. I, too, would like to be invited by partygoers in a vintage car to go back in time and meet with history's heroes to advise me how to become my best self. Heck, I'd be happy to simply to go back to a time when I was unshackled by braces and this crazy oppressive heatwave we're experiencing. (It's 11:30pm, and the temperature has dropped finally to 90 degrees...)

The 20s are trying to tell me something--in fact its roaring in my ear with all its modernity, possibility and freedom: "You belong to me now, and all of New York belongs to me. I belong to this computer, and this blog. Then I went back to writing and I entered far into the story and was lost in it."

Back In Brooklyn

I do apologize for the long break in writing but as some of you know, I've been traveling quite a bit, and after taking in the wonders, scents, spices and life changing adventures of Morocco I've been craving sitting still and simply being a Brooklynite. Last night I had a magical evening on TJ's roof with 10 other friends where we ate all sorts of nibblies, had cocktails mixed with Absolut Brooklyn (which might be my new favorite thing) and watched the sun set over the Manhattan skyline. When it started to get dark, we lit candles and chatted and laughed and relaxed in the lazy summer night.

A few houses over, someone set off a bunch of fireworks from his roof and we all ooohed and ahhhed like little children for the few minutes that they blazed in the sky--a common side effect of fireworks. When the sparking hullaballoo was finished we clapped and hooted in appreciation only to hear many pockets of other Brooklynites on their rooftops clapping and hooting as well. We all giggled, thinking we were alone at our rooftop party only to find that everyone in Brooklyn, it seemed, all had the same idea.

After eating a full spread of appetizers and a few pizzas (and a nightcap of TJ's homemade bourbon cherry cocktail) I woke up this morning feeling the need to run off my excesses in the park at 8:30 in the morning. I haven't gone running in close to a year, and the need to get out was so strong that I didn't fight it. I did the whole 5K loop, sometimes walking, sometimes running, but fully proud that I went the whole distance. On the way home I saw a family--a mom a dad and two small towheaded children--sitting on the stoop eating their breakfast of toast and large smile-shaped slices of watermelon. The papa was holding a fancy teacup and saucer which looked Moroccan in its design. Witnessing this calm morning scene, I fell in love with my neighborhood as much as I had the night before.

Henry James said, "One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things." What a double delight to have the sights of Morocco still fresh in my eyes, and the sights of Brooklyn seen anew!

Sadhu Tooth

I caught the train with my friend Nicole the other morning and updated her about the teeth. The extra time involved, the crazy torquing of the left side of my face, and my bewilderment at the fact that my ortho has still ignored the one molar on the upper left side of my jaw. This tooth has had no bracket, no wire, no attention at all since this process has started. From day one my doctor has always said that he will get to that tooth later. It is pure rogue.

"It's your Sadhu tooth," she said, laughing. When I asked what a Sadhu was, she said that they are wandering mystics in India who wear saffron colored robes and have chosen to live a life apart from regular society to pursue their own spiritual practice. I read on Wikipedia that the root of the word "Sadhu" comes from the root sadh which means to "make straight" or "reach one's goal." (I got a chill when I read that--could it be any more appropriate?) Sadhus focus their attention solely on the fourth and final Hindu goal of life which called moksha, meaning liberation from samsara, or the eternal cycle of birth, death and rebirth.

I have said many times that I go through a monthly cycle. First, my teeth get tightened and I am left feeling exhausted, ugly and diminished for at least a week. Then I feel the teeth move and settle into their new place. Then my strength and power and invincibility return to me in my final week and then those feelings dissolve once the teeth get tightened again. It is my own dental samsara of sorts. I suppose when my Sadhu tooth is finally bracketed and wired, and reigned in to return to the fold, as the final piece of this process it will signal the achievement of orthodontic moksha and then I will experience true liberation.

Is it possible that enlightenment can be reached via braces?

Upping the Down

20 months.

My ortho, for the third month in a row has placed yet an even stronger wire on my top teeth and made it his mission to turn my back right molar a full 90 degrees. Yes, it hurts as much as it sounds like it does.

You may have noticed that the countdown clock on the right side of the blog has gone from 116 to 177 days left. That's because, when I pressed him, my doctor said that it would look more like 6 more months than 4 to complete what we need to do. (I told him I needed to mentally prepare for how much longer this will really take.) To me, 2 months more won't do much and the work that needs to be done will probably take me to the end of the year. I would love to be proven wrong, but I'm trying to be realistic. The disappointment I felt when I convinced myself that this would all be done in 18 months is something too crushing to revisit.

I just finished reading A Visit From The Goon Squad and in that very well done book (which just won the Pulitzer!) it is time that is the eponymous goon. After my appointment today, I can attest that time is indeed a goon.

But if we're going to break it down, "Goon" could also be read as "Go On." So go on is what I'll do.

Toothmares

I had a nightmare the other night, which I rarely have. My company is in the midst of consolidating its office space, and in my dream, all the cubicles were the size of milk crates, in neat, perfect, white rows. These clean rows, in the name of progress and efficiency and all that is streamlined, were too small and compressed. Somehow I realized the office was in my mouth, and all these rows of offices were really my teeth, and they were all too close and constricted even though they were perfectly aligned. I woke up, with my teeth hurting. (I must have been clenching them in my sleep.)

I looked up symbolism of teeth in dreams, and this is what I found online:

"Teeth" in the dream world are most often an archetypal image of the dreamer's sense of confidence and competence in the waking world. Dreaming that there is something amiss with my teeth usually points to insecurities about my ability to "get my teeth into it," or maybe I've "bitten off more than I can chew." Ironically, the very fact that you remember such a dream is a reliable indicator that the you, the dreamer, can deal creatively and transformatively with the problems that life presents. If this were not the case, you would not even have remembered the dream. All dreams (even nightmares!) come in the service of health and wholeness, and no dream ever came to anyone to say, "Nyah, nyah--you've got these problems and you can't do anything about them!" The more emotionally charged, or urgent the dream, the more likely that it points to a creative possibility previously hidden from the conscious mind, in response to a pressing waking life problem.

I feel that with these braces I experience on a daily basis the feelings of not being able to sink my teeth into the things I would like, as well as feeling like the whole process with these damn braces was biting off more than I can chew. (Ah, chewing! I can't wait until that no longer feels like a triumph.) I'm getting nervous, as I usually do, in the days before my next tightening (which will be Tuesday), and I want to be comforted and petted. I want salvation and deliverance. I want corned beef on rye.

Depending on where you get it, corned beef qualifies as a transformative way to deal with braces. Who's down with trying Mile End with me?

The Compass of Pleasure

I am always tickled when a new pattern starts to occur in my daily life. A though or a concept seems to get underlined in everyday conversation, and I start to pay attention like a star student in a classroom. I went to my friend Diana's housewarming party on Saturday night and met lovely people amid bubbly glasses of champagne, homemade meatballs and ziti, a fantastic 20 pound turkey from Prime Meats, and more cakes, cookies, tarts and pastries than you can shake a stick at. I got into a wonderfully intense conversation with one of the party goers who said to me, "It is our obligation to follow our pleasure. That is where the answer to all questions can be found."

I loved this idea. I was so struck by it that I was tossing it over in my mind as I lay in bed long after the party ended.

At the Rubin Museum of Art tonight, I attended a curated discussion between chocolatier Jacques Torres (who could not have been more charming and entertaining!) and David Linden, the author of The Compass of Pleasure which explored the ways that pleasure is processed in the brain. Linden said that the pleasure response in the mind causes the same reaction to our vices (eating fatty foods, drugs, alcohol) as it does to our virtues (exercising, giving to charity.) The mere anticipation of pleasurable experience is enough to set off our pleasure response as well. (To illustrate the point, we were given two pieces of chocolate from Jacques Torres to see what our response was to different blends. I can assure you that as the plates of sweet yummies were being passed, the anticipatory energy was downright palpable.)

Linden also said, which I found fascinating, that the pleasure response can also be activated by our denial of pleasure or our abstinence of pleasurable activities. He said that this may be how some of the ancient Buddhists found their path to enlightenment. I think of Siddhartha who had every sort of earthly pleasure imaginable, but it was only until he cast it all aside that he could find his true rapture, and his true nature.

The last question of the evening was "Why is the title of the lecture 'The Compass of Pleasure?'" Is it truly our pleasure that should be the measure of our direction? Will pleasure show us our true north?"

I loved this question, mostly because I would like to think that our innate pleasures constitute the deepest expression of the soul, and that if one follows one's bliss, then one can never be led astray. The only way everything can be all right, is if we answer yes to the questions our souls ask.

This weekend was filled with pleasures. Parties, friends, challenging yoga, overindulged eating, and the sweet anticipation of my trip to Morocco. And to top it off, I came across this quote to boot: Johann Wolfgang Goethe said, "We are shaped and fashioned by what we love."

I get it Universe. I'm listening. I'm underlining pleasure in red Sharpie.

Spring Mourning

We've reached 19 months.

I thought things were really moving last month when my ortho put a stronger wire on my teeth, and they looked and felt better than they ever did before. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Spring was in the air, it was warm and I felt like I could take on the world. But last week, my doctor put on an even stronger wire and I feel like I've been smashed with a sledgehammer on the left side of my face. I've been off my game ever since. I feel like my teeth are moving too fast and I feel them moving every day. Though it might seem like that would be a good thing, my inadvertent mantra has become "It's not normal!"

But then again, Mother Nature is off her game too. The calendar says that it's Spring, but the snow which came last week, and threatens to arrive again tonight tells another story. I think Spring rushed in so fast that it needed to put on the brakes, regress, and move back to the strange "comfort" of complacent winter. No one is happy with arrangement. We're ready for warmth. We know Mother Nature can bring it to us. So what's the hold up? Why is she hiding the best parts of her when we so very much want to see it shine? Where are my beloved cherry blossoms that are yearning to show their pink finery in April?

I love this poem by Izumi Shikibu, as much as I love the soon-to-bloom cherry blossoms in my back yard. Everything changes, always too quickly and not fast enough.

Nothing in the world is usual today.

This is the first morning.

Come quickly—as soon as these blossoms open, they fall.

This world exists as a sheen of dew on flowers.

Even though these pine trees keep their original color,

everything green is different in spring.

Seeing you is the thread that ties me to this life—

If that knot were cut this moment, I’d have no regret.

Sleeplessly I watch over the spring night—

but no amount of guarding

is enough to make it stay.

Oliver's Twist

This Note From the Universe was delivered a few days ago:

"Sometimes that which you don't understand is drawn to you so that you will understand it. But never because you needed the lesson, and not because all must be so initiated, but only because there had been earlier thoughts of awe, wonder, or criticism. And such thoughts, as all thoughts, must have rearranged your life."

This has been sticking in my mind, and I've been tossing it over in my head like a shiny new penny in one's palm.

I was reading the latest O Magazine and Martha Beck's column highlighted Mary Oliver's poetry, which I've also turned to over the years. In the column, she remembered the poem pieces here:

When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement

And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away

from wherever you are, to look for your soul

Maybe it is because earlier thoughts of awe or wonder or criticism that I am quite utterly amazed by things that are happening lately. A four month old baby was found in the Japanese rubble alive and unhurt. I was embraced and kissed by an Italian stranger in the street yesterday while on my way to get a salad for lunch (!) The temps neared 70 today and all thoughts of winter and blizzards were immediately forgiven and forgotten. And much to my surprise, today I heard "Dear Prudence" by the Beatles for the first time--ever. So I will quote the Fab Four and wish you much amazement in your own day:

The sun is up, the sky is blue

It's beautiful, and so are you.

Nom Nom Nom

The Nom Wah Tea Parlor in Chinatown was today's destination:

Our waitress showed real surprise at the amount of dim sum we ordered, skeptical that we could finish it all. I wanted to title this picture "Nom Nom Nom" while my dining companions wanted to entitle this "Why White People Are Fat." Both work.

Just to bring the point home, this was what we had as an appetizer, not a dessert:

I mean, come on! Little Italy was right there! We had time to kill! How do you say no to Baba Ricotta just taunting you?

I don't think I can keep blaming my weight gain on the braces...

Toofs!

One of my favorite books of all time is Bitter With Baggage Seeks Same

which cracks me up every time I open up the pages. The book may have come out in 2003, but it just never gets old! It's a book of tableaus which follow the adventures of fuzzy toy chicks and their (rather dark) adventures. Dollhouse furniture, candy and craft supplies are used to create the scenes, and the captions are so devilishly biting, that you can't help but go, "Oh, snap!"

I've read other books of the genre (Desperate Cupcakes is a lot of fun, my fellow foodies) and I've been waiting for a such a book to come along about teeth so I could blog about it.

Imagine my joy when I found out about My Milk Toof!

The book will be in stores on March 23rd, but I got an early copy and I'm so excited! The book tells the story of the really sweet adventures of Ickle and Lardee, teeth who were lost at childhood, cared for by the tooth fairy and now have found their way home to their original owner to play and live and stay. (I love the part where, tucked into a comfy bed after his first day back home, Ickle asks, "Can you leave the door open? Just a little? Do you need me to pay rent? Can we eat waffles for breakfast?" Oh yes! Waffles! My teeth want those too!

I had no idea that the book was attached to the My Milk Toof blog, which is so completely adorable, that me and my tooth obsession can't believe that we haven't seen it sooner. I can only imagine the day when my own teeth, shackles thrown off, can seem as cool and relaxed as this:

Hey, the braces are due to come off in August, so I just might be able to join these little toofs at the pool!

Inhae Lee, I think your stuff is awesome! (Dare I say toothsome?) I bow to your incredibly creativity and attention to detail. How's this for a new adventure for Ickle and Lardee: whatever would they do if they encounter braces? I can't wait to see!

Picture Perfect

I took a photography class at the Metropolitan Museum of Art this weekend. Just thought I'd share some of the fun ones:

Empty Grand Staircase

Grand Staircase Hug:

Reflections in the Wishing Pool:

Reflections in the Wishing Swamp:

Reflections in the Temple of Dendur:

Other Photographers:

Little Girl Making A Wish

Eighteenth Amendment

Eighteen months today. Year and a half.

Today began stormy with rain coming down in sheets. I arrived at the ortho's office to find no one, not a soul there. I have never been to his office when there weren't at least 3 people waiting in the waiting room, and each of the three chairs in the examination room filled. It was eerie, slow and quiet, and I had real individual attention. He put thicker wires on both the top and bottom teeth and was pleased with the way the upper molars are turning. He's intent on closing the gaps on the bottoms and let me tell you, in just a few hours, I can already feel and see a difference. He did concern me because he said that he'll need to widen out my top teeth, in order to accommodate the crossbite. This I found scary because I don't know exactly how that is to be achieved. The more I read about its treatment and the necessity of something called an "expander," the more I hope that my doctor can fix this without such a medieval torture device...

I did some research on crossbites and they say that it is often caused by people who have large tonsils and adenoids, who are forced to breathe through the mouth, rather than the nose as children. Fascinating! I've been told by every doctor who has ever looked in my throat that I have extraordinarily large tonsils, and this was the cause of yearly strep infections as a child. (Every time I see a new doctor they are shocked to find that they were not removed.) I suppose it is somewhat comforting to know where it comes from, but I'm feeling a little down. I had convinced myself that I would be done with this whole process in under two years. I was kind of specific, telling myself that 18 months would be the time that this will all end. Now, I'm going to have to make an amendment to that lucky number 18.

The Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution is all about prohibiting the manufacture, sale and transportation of intoxicating liquors--and it was the only amendment to be fully repealed. Right now I could use a glass of intoxicating liquor to ease the disappointment of the repeal of the eighteenth expectation. An After Eighteen sounds like it would ease my childlike hope that all this would have been done by now. Chocolate milk with kahlua and creme de menthe? Yep, that sounds about right.

But then again, in Hebrew chai or חי is both the number eighteen and the word for life. And if I am to look on the bright side, (as I often convince myself to do within the confines of this blog) perhaps there is new life to be had in this eighteenth amendment. What I started thinking of the braces as my greatest strength, instead of my perceived greatest liability? What would happen if I merely started thinking, even for a day, for that to be the case? What sort of life would be birthed? How much wider would I smile?

What if you thought of your worst quality was actually your best? How would your life be different? Let me know, I'm curious.

Grinworthy Sentiments

I got the best compliment today!

I was emailing with a new contact that I met out in California two weeks ago and I told her about the blog. I'm usually a bit hesitant to mix my work world with my blog world, but the two seem to be melding in a very organic way lately. She wrote back, "You know what’s funny, I didn’t even notice you had braces when I met you, seriously. And I consider myself a pretty observant person. Thanks for sharing your blog, it’s great."

This is coupled with another compliment I received while having a conversation with a friend of my sister in law's in Florida. He said to me, apropos of some cultural reference, "You might be too young to remember that--are you even 30 years old yet?" On the heels of my last birthday, I threw back my head in laughter and raised up my arms in victory! Woo hoo!

Both of these sentiments have only served to strengthen the feeling I've had very recently that I need to believe that the braces are no big deal. Shoot, if no one is noticing them, then why am I paying so much mind to them? I'm done with all this. I'm tired of keeping myself on the sidelines. I want in the game and I want to be in it now.

The braces get tightened on Friday. Let's hope that this gladiator-like resolve sticks with me through that. The true test is to be found then.

It seems only fair that I should give a shout out to my California friend's blog, especially her latest entry. It's fantastic, especially for all you book lovers out there!

http://borrowedboughtstolen.blogspot.com/2011/02/organizing-bookcase.html

Enjoy!

A: Alligators All Around

For those of you who read the blog, you've noticed that I've paid special attention when animals come into my my life in a new or unusual way. Alligators/crocodiles have been following me lately--I saw many in Costa Rica in December, and this past weekend, I was face to face with this fellow in the Florida Everglades:

And saw all of these from above:

And my brother and sister in law got me a whole set of Lacoste towels for my birthday (whose logo is, of course, an crocodile). Color? Alligator green, of course!

I read online that Alligators symbolize "the beginning of a new period and the death of the old. Knowledge is transformed by a new level of growth, hidden wisdom awaits. Alligator can teach you ancient knowledge that is currently hidden and gives strength to create your own opportunities. These guardians and protectors of wisdom will show how to move in the waters of the Self. Are you seeing things as they are and not what they appear to be? Are you consumed by the knowledge you are becoming unbalanced with meditation and quiet time? Alligator's breathing awareness will help in balancing out transformations."

Hmm. I do suppose I've been transforming for the past year and a half, certainly. The teeth are merely the most outward and obvious example of this. I do feel that Spring is coming despite forecasts of yet more snowstorms. I saw crocuses being sold for the first time today being sold in my local shop. I can feel warmth in the air despite the wind. I'm so deliciously curious to see what's going to happen in the coming months. If it's half as beautiful as these Spring photos, I'll consider myself lucky.

38 Special

So.

Another birthday has come and gone and that leaves me at 38. People scoff and tell me it's not old. And yet, Andy Pettitte announced his retirement from the Yankees this week. At age 38.

I had a good birthday. I went to a yoga class that was wonderfully challenging. I had brunch with Katina and Alicia and could eat salad for the first time in months. (Hurrah!) I had afternoon "tea" consisting of a pizza with Kristin and her beautiful new dachshund George. (Whom I affectionately have dubbed "Chicken Wing.") She outfitted me in a hot, black lace dress and we went to the French Culinary Institute for dinner with a bunch of friends. I am still dreaming of the chocolate hazelnut cake with earl grey tea ice cream. That was the best part of the whole five course meal. (That, and the free glass of Moscato d'Asti as a gift from the waiter!) Here, have a look:

Fish Course:

Lobster Course:

Digestive Course--the best vanilla poached pears with arugula and goat cheese sorbet.

Duck Course:

Happy birthday, of course!

(It was a hazelnut gianduja cake with earl grey tea ice cream. C'etait parfait!)

Thanks to Brad for being the official cruise photographer! And for everyone who made me feel so special!

Wonderland

I watched The Biggest Loser the other night for the first time in months. One of the contestants used the phrase that she is now in "One"-derland, going below 200 pounds and being in the 100s. I suppose I too am in "one"derland with 192 days to go. I am cautiously optimistic that this is indeed accurate. Fingers crossed, everyone.

I've spent the last week in Los Angeles, mostly for work, but got stranded there for the last day and a half due to weather. Most who attended my conference didn't get out when they were supposed to, and images of snow ravaged Oklahoma and ice covered New York kept me glued to the Weather Channel.

It was cold for SoCal--50s and 60s. I had been expecting much warmer temps and was not properly attired, so I made good use of the hotel gym to warm my internal temperature, waking up each morning at 4:15 am and running for a half an hour. I was usually the only woman in a room full of men at that time (There was a fitness conference going on at the same time as mine.) I doubled my running time within 4 days, and I was averaging a 13 minute mile. (J-Bird! How do you like them apples?) I still ache, but it's such a good ache, and I can't wait to join the Y located up the street with it's gorgeous, freshly built track!

My dedication to running surprised me, as did the fact that no one, no one, no one batted an eyelash at my braces the way they do here. In fact, I was hit on, rather persistently, by a cynical Chicagoan, and was pimped out by a woman at the conference from Utah who immediately deemed me "a catch" and was determined to set me up with a pal of hers in Atlanta. My friend Linda says that everyone in LA wears braces and that evening alone she counted 5 people who had them. I started my own experiment of counting dental offices and there they were, literally on every block, just like Starbuck's franchises are here in NYC. For the first time in 17 months, I truly felt like I belonged.

Talk about Wonderland. Curiouser and curiouser!

Stray Gifts

We've reached month 17. I visited my ortho on Friday and he was once again pleased with the progress, and I'm once again back to teeth that don't line up, eggs and mashed potatoes, and liquid lunches. I'm back to tripping over my tongue, and yesterday, my throat gave out, but with copious amounts of tea, honey and citrus bioflavinoids, I'm miraculously better. I also had dinner with my dear friend Pete at Ippudo, where I experienced firsthand the healing powers of that incredibly rich ramen broth. (The sake and plum wine didn't hurt either.) I haven't seen Pete in years, and there is nothing like catching up with an old friend to cure what ails you.

That was the first thing to put me in a good mood. What followed after was rather extraordinary.

I got on the train today, and though I didn't get a seat, I was standing right in front of an old man who wore a wool fedora and a 1940s style overcoat just like my grandpa used to. Though he didn't look like him, there was some similarity there, some old-world feeling that I find charming and mannered. I have always liked men of a certain age. My mother says that when I was three years old, I would walk down the Brooklyn Promenade on sunny days and climb into the laps of all the old men. She said that it was probably because I was looking for Grandpa. I think it's because I was just as charmed by gentlemen then as I am now.

He got up to leave the train a stop before I did and we exchanged such warm smiles with one another that my mood elevated even more. I didn't mind the snow that was falling in great flakes outside. In fact, I found it really, really lovely. (The description of snow from The King and I came to mind: "Little bits of lace, falling from the sky.")

I met my brother for lunch and had such a good time with him that I was practically skipping back to my office. A man in the street tried to give me a 50% off coupon for Baluchi's. When I said thanks but no thanks, he said to me, "You look great!" I smiled and walked away. As I was halfway down the block he yelled, "My name is Shawn!"

And then! I had dinner with my friend Alicia who presented me with an enormous flower arrangement bursting with yellow tulips and lavender roses and freesia. (Oh my!) It was left over from a work event, and I was so touched that she brought it for me. My apartment smells like a spring garden. It's nothing short of a dream juxtaposed to the frigid tundra outside.

As Wordsworth said, "Pleasure is spread through the earth in stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find." I am so grateful for all the stray gifts of the day! I can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring!

Party in Your Mouth

Good God. Have you seen these?

http://bits.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/01/21/new-japanese-fashion-l-e-d-lights-for-your-teeth/

As ludicrous as I think they are, they might be really appropriate for when I get my braces off! Anyone going to Japan anytime soon?

Everything Changes

And it can be so beautiful. I love this video for that reason:

Time Lapse NYC Snow Blizzard from K Taro Hashimura on Vimeo.

Feliz Ano Nuevo

My people! I have not abandoned you! My sincerest apologies for not writing for so long. I've been traveling, and decompressing from the rather stressful end to 2010. I don't know one person who wasn't simply thrilled to kiss this past year goodbye.

I took refuge in Costa Rica a mere two days after my last entry, and after being there, something has changed entirely. Nicole and I did a phenomenal yoga retreat in the mountains where I finally got my yoga practice back, lost my seemingly debilitating dependence on sugar, was face to face with a jaguar, a ghost face monkey, a tarantula, quite a few crocodiles and so many beautiful birds. I went zip lining in the cloud forest. I let my heavy heart get light. I slept as I've never slept before. I don't feel the cold anymore. (An affliction I've felt for over 20 years.) I saw rainbows in the coffee fields every single day. Here, see for yourself:

While I was there, I arranged for a massage, where I told the practioner about my struggle and unhappiness with the braces. He worked on my whole body, but at the end, held my cheeks and jaws in his hands for quite a while, simply letting his heat and energy absorb into my face. This struck me as so kind, and so intimate that I wanted to cry.

It was so interesting to find upon my return that Dictionary.com's Word of the Day was "mansuetude" which means "mildness, gentleness" as in "For indeed, it is possible to attain a state of divine mansuetude that nothing dismays and nothing surprises, just as one in love might, after many years, arrive at a sublime tranquillity of the sentiments, sure of their force and durability, through constant experience of their pleasures and pains." -- Honoré de Balzac, Jordan Stump, Adam Gopnik, The Wrong Side of Paris

I don't know why I love that quote so much, but I do. It somehow sums up everything that I've been feeling, and the profound shift that has happened since being in Costa Rica. I feel balanced, unburdened. I want to smile and I don't care what's on my teeth. They look good to me, in fact, and I've caught up with quite a few friends who I haven't seen in months who have been utterly beguiled by how good they look. (And may have inspired a friend or two to take the plunge themselves)

It is no coincidence then, that Dictionary.com's Word of the Day, right after mansuetude was "creolize" which means "to combine local and foreign elements into a new, distinct whole." That would be me. I've been creolized. I've been Costa Ricafied. Quite literally, I've been enriched by the Rich Coast. I am local, and foreign, and a new, distinct whole. Put simply, I am ready. I don't know for what exactly, but I've started drinking coffee again in gratitude, and it feels lovely, warming, luxurious to do so.