Play It Again, Sam

So the Groupon that led me to the hip-hop class a few posts down led me, tonight, in even deeper. It led me into a Tease N Tone class. Known by some as stripperobics. Imagine Pussycat Dolls style moves - mostly MTV dancin' with a tiny bit of burlesque thrown in.

The class was 30 minutes of cardio - tough cardio - followed by 30 minutes of learning less than a minute of a choreographed dance, 8-count by 8-count, just like in the dance classes you took as a kid.

As we counted in, over and over, on the intro of the hip-hop song, the singer announced herself as the beats ramped up. "Nicki. Minaj." in a bad-ass voice, followed by the announcement of her guest singer, "JUUUUUUUUSTIIIIIIIN!"

Three, four, five times. As we learned each new chunk of counts, 4 or 8, I was thinking, when is Justin Timberlake going to start singing? Nicki keeps announcing him.

Oops. You guessed it.

Justin Bieber.

(im)Maturity

Is it a sign of maturity or immaturity when in the middle of making a mistake or acting in a way you know you will regret, you recognize it - immediately?

It doesn't happen later... it happens exactly as the words are coming out of your mouth. Precisely when you're standing there quietly, and failing to ask for what you want and is completely reasonable.

This little, tiny, tinny, scratchy voice inside whispers, "It's OK to stop talking about this and abruptly change the subject. Couldn't be more awkward than it already is!" Or, "It's OK to ask for one of those to yourself - it wasn't assumed you would even share in the first place, so don't be forced to. Just ask."

Maybe someday, when I'm all growed up like a big kid, I'll recognize these mistakes the split-second before they happen? Instead of during? Or after?

But, ah, perhaps that right there is the height of immaturity.

Before? So you can be what, Emily; perfect? Serene all the time, and never ever unprepared, never stepping into muck or talking faster than your mind can think?

So the same quiet voice may in fact be saying to me right now, as I try to let the last week or so go and fall asleep, "Be grateful to recognize the mistake at all, much less in the bungling middle of it. That's an improvement! And don't cling to the notion you'll stop making mistakes. You only do that when you're dead. These mistakes are going to keep coming. The grace is in refusing to let them clobber you. And in going to sleep without feeding them."

But I'm NOT Sorry!

In the last month, I've noticed an uptick in saying sorry. Someone bumps into me; I say sorry. Someone emails me incorrect information; I reply, "Sorry, can I clarify, you meant the 19th not the 18th, since that is Friday, right?" Someone paid to provide a service arrives with a smile; I begin the interaction by apologizing for needing their service at all.

I don't think, typically, I'm a very apologetic woman. (Ask my husband.)

Whence does this uptick come?

Perhaps it is that as I embrace the start of middle age, I find everything greying out... not in emotion; far from it. Rather, I see things are more complicated - I am less sure of the black and white in life - I can understand another point of view even if I don't, or won't ever, share it. With this grey, is this apologizing some sort of uncertainty in my own authority creeping in, too?

Or perhaps it is sheer laziness. Plain ol' backsliding into the fierce cultural habits we're raised with as girls, all sugar and spice and everything nice. I'm certainly more tired than I've ever been - because it's true! It takes longer to recover from injuries, illnesses, nights out partying in middle age - and so maybe I'm putting my energy elsewhere and just forgetting to Stop Saying Sorry.

When was the last time you apologized? Were you really sorry? Was the error one of your making?

Another silver lining

Today I took a hip-hop class and watch out world! I am terrible!

Well, that's not exactly true, but I was pretty anxious - it has been 18 years since I took a formal dance class - and I was pretty intimidated by the "beginner" class participants. What if I taken the beginner-intermediate class!? I may have had to dismiss myself!

But while the choreography was challenging, and my memory for eight-counts could use a little work, the one place I was totally successful was in general fitness. I was sweating. I was panting a little. But I could have gone another hour - and I made it through all of the sanctioned warm-up push-ups and crunches, plus the drop-it-like-it's-hot squats that were part of our routine, over and over again.

So, first, I've checked off the "try something new" box for the month - 'cause hey, if it's been 18 years since I did this, we can all agree this is "new" to me as an adult.

And second, the silver lining to spending one's youth off the court, outside the track, sidelining at the game and passing on weight room is that at age 31, I can genuinely say I'm in the best shape of my life, and I don't have to lament that what was possible in my energetic youth is now gone (Big Macs and marathons!). Heck, I can save that certain lamentation for my next decade! Ha!

A thing I did not see on the street while growing up in Montana, which I saw today in Portland.

A woman walking toward the MAX train, pushing a baby stroller. The baby was asleep inside, covered in blankets, and both handles had swinging grocery bags hanging off them. Her hijab was maroon and very tight; so tight, in fact, that she had a flip-phone cell-phone tucked into it, and was chatting away. Take that, Bluetooth!

Trick or Treat!

Pretend you are 9 again. This is my own meme...

Best candy overall? Reese's peanut butter cup.

Best candy for school lunch? Sugar Daddy - it lasts the longest.

Worst candy? Raisins.

Candy your brother is dumb enough to trade for? Smarties.

Candy Dad steals, but you don't mind? Almond Joy.

Candy Dad steals, but you do mind? Butterfinger.

Best candy-gathering bag? Pillow case, of course!

You get an apple. You do what with it? Believe it or not, never happened.

Best book about Halloween? Blubber by Judy Blume, of course. It taught me the word flenser and made me realize how quickly the tides can change when teasing is concerned. It also made me endless jealous that there were places in the world with dried, crunchy leaves on Halloween, rather than drifts of snow.

Candy Mom steals? Trick question; she never stole any - she's Mom!

Date upon which Mom throws out Halloween candy if not all eaten? The weekend before Thanksgiving.


And yes, I was a kid who meted out my own candy, to myself, a couple pieces in my lunchbox each day, to make it last and last and last... and be at risk for parental theft... and then I eventually tired of it - or was left with nothing but suboptimal Mr. Goodbars and Three Musketeers and Raisinets and plain ol' raisins by Thanksgiving, dried out in a crumb-covered pillowcase on the pantry shelf. Happy Halloween!

It's (d)Evolved to This

My day job, increasingly, causes me to be less and less interested in political conversations. Now that we are a bit over one month out from Election Day 2012, this is what passes for a political conversation in my house:

Me: But at least I get to see Gloria Steinem speak! I think everyone should see her once. It's something I'm glad to check off the life list.

John: How come?

Me: Because she is one of the mothers of feminism! She was there! She, like, helped start it!

John: I think feminism is a failed experiment. Like California.

*cue laughter*

*cue gratitude for a witty joke rather than any attempt at a serious discussion of 

feminist history in the U.S. over the last 40 years*

What's New?

Is it weird to answer, when asked what is new in life, to say, "I have really been flossing a lot more in the last month and I hope that at my next dentist visit in two weeks they will notice - and compliment me on it."

Hmmm.

Kindred Spirits

I suspect a whole lot of people out there find Deb, goddess of the Smitten Kitchen, to be their kindred spirit. I don't begrudge them - 'cause heck, I join them - but in one way, Deb speaks to me with the pure clear voice of a prophet. I've known the truth all along, but her persistence in spreading the gospel of both word and action is an inspiration. And that way she speaks about a birthday cake.

Like her, I am shocked and genuinely, deeply upset by the thought of a store-bought birthday cake. A special dessert from your favorite bakery for a holiday, for an anniversary, for a graduation, for a reunion? Go for it! Dream of it for weeks. Spend $38 on a pie from Random Order (or something like that) because they are really, really, really good.

But on your birthday?

Even if you are drafted happily onto Team Pie over Team Cake in debates and at parties, it is your birthday, gosh darn it, and you should have a towering layer cake, made by someone who knows you, likes you (loves you, even) and bakes well. This is a commandment in the House of Emmy, and I've been known to bake cakes for the birthdays of friends of friends - even coworkers of friends that I barely know.

But.

This month.

My month.

I get to make a birthday cake for myself! You might think this is a disappointment, and that I want a cake baked for me (which, OK, in the interest of blog-world full disclosure, yes, I admit, I would not turn my nose up at Deb's Pistachio Petit-Four Cake made by some other hardy soul since I fear the complexity) but the opportunity to make EXACTLY what I want, on EXACLY the timeline I want to make it, and share it with EXACTLY who I want - divine! Just like Deb, I'm on the hunt for the right recipe. I'm thinking about almond, I'm thinking about raspberries, I'm thinking about seven-minute frosting with some other flavor to dress it up.

And candles!! 31 of them...

Friday Sermon

I know you think that I'm going to give you a sermon right now, and I admit, that is something I've been known to do - from, oh, time to time - but - no - in fact - instead I'm going to summarize the best part of last week's sermon in church, because it has stuck with me all this week - and it's worth all of us going into the weekend together, thinking about it.

The title of the sermon was, "And the Greatest of These is Love." If you're like me, you sort of cringed just now. Your body tightened. You thought of all the weddings you've been to where Corinthians was read... love is patient, love is kind, love is not boastful... you know the bit. Needless to say, lovely as these sentiments are, this was not in my wedding ceremony and I always find it a bit, mmmm, ambitious, for a young couple. Maybe for a new parent, it makes sense as a parental vow. But at the outset of wedded life? Hmm, I say. Hmm.

So Reverend Bill read the familiar lines to us, and mentioned that they were, many years ago, in HIS own wedding ceremony. Then he stopped. Never insists on its own way? Endures everything? He admitted to falling short of those standards, and who doesn't? But that's not a description of human love, he went on to explain... that's a description of God's love.

Whoa. Hold the phone.

I bristle at the phrase "God's love" - but I work hard to translate it. I hear "the love of the universe" or "the love of the infinite" instead. Because if the language, and concept, of a knowing, or patriarchal, or authoritative God/god is troubling to me, I still can't un-know that someone watches the watcher. Some part sees the seer, and observes even the most conscious of my behaviors and actions. I mean, how can I observe my own thoughts? How can I sit back and see myself? I only do so from the perspective of... yes, a soul. A spirit. A calm, content, wise and loving center within me - within each human being - that is infinite and unaltered by the tribulations of any given day.

So Reverend Bill, what you're saying is that within each of us is a love that can bear all things - even the accidents and deaths we think will break and kill us - and endure all things - even the endless madness of polls, politics, people voting against their own self interest - and hope all things - even if past behavior is the best predictor of future behavior, the world might change, and so might my family - and believe all things - even that my mind might not be the Very Best Judge Of All Happenings Planetwide, and there might be things I don't understand, or even things that contradict each other but are simultaneously true.

So of course we read this at weddings. Of course we want our partner to be perfect, and for the holy sacrament of commitment to make the new "us" perfect - for the reading to infuse guaranteed success.

But what we forget is that it's already within us. Heavy stuff, to be sure. But remember that that love is within you this weekend, while you're out there in a rather mean, cold, dangerous, unlucky world. Because if you forget it's there, you might get way, way, scarily, off the path. And even if only one other person in the world loves you, they'll miss you on the path with them a whole lot.