Day 25: Never have I ever... juice fasted

Spring cleaning is a great feeling. Out with the old, in with the new. I decided that this year, I need a slightly bigger refresh than cleaning out the closet and dusting behind the couch. The long winter made me feel downright sluggish, like, on a cellular level. So I decided to try a juice cleanse (a.k.a. a juice fast), which is rumored to be a detoxifying wonder.  I have wanted to test it out for a while now. 

Background: Fasting is a practice that almost every major world religion incorporates in some way or another. Jews fast on Yom Kippur and Tisha B'Av. Catholics offer the symbolic fast for Lent. Hindus fast on certain days of the month or week, and Ghandi utilized fasting as expression of "suffering love" in modern Hinduism. Fasting is the Third Pillar of Islam, and requires Muslims to fast from sun up to sundown for the entire month of Ramadan. The Bahá'í faith also incorporates a month of daylight fasting (Àla'). The only notable exception is Buddhism, which only encourages the day's meals fall between sunrise and noon, but doesn't call it fasting, it's just considered the most optimal time to fuel up. Holistic healers and nutritionists have long been advocating fasts of varying degrees for all sorts of ailments and cleansing effects. And fasting has many symbols and practicalities in both religious and modern life: Repentance, remembrance of suffering, simplicity, renewal, cleansing. No matter how you look at it, humans have been exploring the concept and effects of fasting for thousands of years. Having never even so much as skipped lunch, I'm a bit curious. And people who swear by it, they really swear by it.

My approach: I looked into the Master Cleanse and two pre-packaged juice cleanses, one called Blueprint Cleanse and one called Cooler Cleanse. The Master cleanse is just too intense for me right now, at 4-5 days of nothing by water with fresh lemon, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup. Ummm, I'm just not there yet. BluePrint Cleanse and Cooler Cleanse are 2-5 day programs of pre-packaged fresh juices made in NYC and delivered right to your door, to the tune of $60 a day. Thought tempting for the convenience factor... $60 a day to not eat? You've got to be kidding me. But, I don't own a juicer. Luckily, thanks to the fact that I live near plenty of health food stores and juice bars, I just decided to do my own thang. (I pretty much used the same juice combos found in the Cooler Cleanse, which looked the best to me.) 

Preparation: Before a juice cleanse, one is supposed to "eat clean" and rest up for the days preceding the detox. No refined carbs, no meat, no sugar, no alcohol, lots of a fruits and veggies. You know, how we should eat all the time, anyway. Yeaaahhhh. I didn't do that. On Friday, I went out to a deliciously decadent Italian meal, had far too many drinks, and went to bed at 3am. On Saturday, I had a near-squeaky clean breakfast and lunch, and then thanks to a packed day of family visits, I ended up eating a Whopper Junior at 5PM on the road with my nephews (ewwww, I know) and then two squares of L&B red-pie sicilian pizza at 9PM. Nutritious. 

Day 1: Sunday. I set out to do a two day cleanse. (Baby steps.) I woke up, and guzzled some water to start the day. For "brunch" at around noon, I headed to the local organic restaurant and ordered the Energy Rocket: 16 ounces of the juice of fresh greens, celery, apples and a shot of wheat grass. A tall glass of bright green liquid arrived, and it tasted grassy and a little sweet. But this bevy ain't a chugger. The strongly verdant flavor requires that one sip the juice very slowly, which is exactly what all juice fast blogs suggest anyway. Even with my patient consumption, I had the distinct feeling of "swimmy stomach" after the meal, and definitely wasn't feeling my best... a little nauseous, tired, drained. My body wanted more nutrition. I denied the pangs, and came home to rest until my only mandatory obligation of the day, a three-hour long Treble business meeting. I was not looking forward to that tedium on an empty stomach, and was feeling cranky. The blogs also told me the first day was the hardest. I can understand why. 

On my way to the subway at 3PM, I stopped at the local health market Pelandra, which also has a juice bar, and ordered the Brooklyn Sunrise: beet, carrot and orange juice with fresh ginger, but I subbed in apple for orange because I read that avoiding the acidic juices was best. This juice was delicious but thick and foamy, and again, required slow sipping. At the health food I also bought some raw organic cashews. I read that a very small quantity of nuts on the first day can really help if you're in a downward spiral. I wasn't hungry at all through the business meeting, and stayed in a relatively good mood, though I did have to endure watching the other ladies munch on Crumbs cupcakes, peanut M&Ms (my favorite), chips, pretzels and who knows what else. I couldn't even look. I drank my juice and chomped three nuts to make it through. Will power, will power, will power. 

After the meeting, some of the girls were going out for drinks. I wanted to go! I agreed to join with my large canister of lemon water, just to be social. On the way there, I said "maybe I'll just say 'fuck it' and stop this stupid fast and get a beer!" I was dangerously close to quitting. Though my friends were highly supportive of this option, I decided to reward myself with a little self discipline, turned around, and hit the 5 train home. 

When I did get home, I was starving. I mean, I really wanted food. And the entire apartment building smelled like fried chicken. I was quickly back to wrestling with my inner quitter, but instead, I headed back to Siggy's for my last juice of the day. The wafting aromas of Fascati's pizza next door to Siggy's was just plain...cruel. I went in and ordered a carrot, celery, cucumber juice, with one apple and one beet for sweetness. This time I got to watch the juice guy make the juice, and I was happy to see an entire bucket of veggies going into the machine to produce my little cup of liquid. Like seriously, a mop-the-kitchen-floor-sized-bucket. Hello, nutrition. I finished my juice feeling OK; the hunger subsided. As per fasting instructions, I downed two tablespoons of olive oil just before bed, and said buh-bye to Day 1. I made it. 

Except............... Day 1 didn't want to end so quickly. It was going down fighting. I had no luck falling asleep; I was hungry, and my body knew it. There was no food coma to lull me into sweet slumber. I tossed and turned...and thought about all the children who go to bed hungry most nights...and how hard it must be for them to go to school the next day tired... and how I really need to do something more to help....and maybe I could get a job working for the Food Bank of New York City.... I hear they are a really great organization... and doesn't that celebrity chef Madison Cowan work with them? My mind raced. And my stomach made strange, low grumbles. At some point, one or both of them gave up, and I slept. But not soundly. 

Day 2: I woke up in fitful starts in the early morning. I felt headachy. Blegh. I was able to go back to sleep for a bit, and then finally got up to begin my quest for today's big juice feat: Homemade almond milk. I looked for it in stores and juice bars, but it's impossible to find fresh almond milk. The pre-packaged brands all have preservatives of some kind, and that seems to go against the very idea of this two day torture-fest. So I bought a big bag of organic raw almonds, and soaked them overnight. In the morning, they were squishy, fleshy teardrops, and the skins popped off with ease. After shelling almonds for 30 solid minutes, I put 1.5 cups of naked nuts in the blender and covered with purified water. I pulsed until they were chopped, and then beat until they were blended evenly. I added in more water, some cinnamon and honey, and blended until the liquid was creamy, frothy, and thick. Next, I strained the liquid through cheesecloth and squeezed all the milk out in batches, leaving only the dry almond pulp behind. The milk was now crisp, nutty and delicious, and I enjoyed 16 ounces of homemade almond milk for my first drink of the day. Delicious. No preservatives. 

This "juice" was far more nutritious and held off the hunger like whoa. I was fine until the afternoon, when I had to go teach a music class in the afternoon. At 3PM, I downed the next juice of the day, a fresh coconut water. It was very sweet and left a weird taste in my mouth. But it felt nourishing and hydrating at the same time. 

Throughout Day 2, I can sum up how I felt in one word: stupid. As promised, Day 2 of the juice cleanse was much easier than Day 1 in terms of overall energy and food cravings, but my brain was simply not functioning properly. When I typed, I was mixing up words like 'their' and 'there', 'you're' and 'your', and making other completely idiotic pet-peeve grammatical mistakes. In class, I was having trouble with musical rhythms. My short-term memory was foggy. I left my phone at home by accident, and I parked my car on the street and forgot to check the parking regulations. Where was my head at? 

I came home feeling uninspired about the juice fast. My body didn't feel any different, but my mind sure did, and I didn't like it. Considering a job interview was scheduled for the next day, I started worrying about whether I'd sleep OK, and how quickly would my brain refuel itself? And at dinnertime, I got really hungry again. So, I decided that 46 hours without food was quite enough, and I got a healthy dinner of a spinach & strawberry salad, and filet of sole with asparagus and leeks. Food tasted so good. You are supposed to break a fast, even a short one with just a small amount of food, but I just went for the full meal. I read that after even a short fast, your body will feel sluggish and heavy after your first meal... and that's exactly how I felt. Like I just needed to lay down. But I definitely slept much better after a real dinner!

Status: I feel pretty lame that I almost made it two whole days and then gave up at the tail end of the fast, when all I had to do was suck down one more juice and go to bed early. But I can't say I was mega-impressed with the juice fast results anyway. I mean, sure, it took will power. And that felt good. And I did feel "lighter", that's undeniable. But the experience wasn't transformative at all. Something tells me I'd need at least 3 full days, if not more, and with a lot more self discipline to get any palpable sense of detox. 

Results: FAIL. But I tried. 

Side note: People have really strong reactions when you say you're juice fasting. Most people said "That's stupid, stop that,"or "Seriously?? WHY?!?!" Though a handful of folks were curious, and had considered the process themselves. If you're considering it, I suggest trying a short fast, and making sure that you're either not working over a weekend or long weekend. Clear your social schedule because you won't feel much like going out. And definitely don't drink the olive oil. It did nothing, except make me want to vom. 

Day 24: Never have I ever... taken a spinning class

The dark, sweaty cave of spin

I am trying to get myself in better shape. In the six months leading up to my blog (which many of you know were some of my, ahem, toughest ever), I never exercised, gave into daily carb cravings, and next thing I know, I'm winded by climbing two flights of stairs. I've done pretty well by my health in 2011, but I want to keep exploring new activities that will keep me engaged and committed to exercising. 

I thought spinning would be a perfect fit. I love bikes! And I like the format of group exercise classes, mainly because you're peer-pressured into not quitting. So today, with water bottle and towel in tow, I hit the New York Sports Club 6:30 p.m. spinning class. Here's how it went: 

6:30  Instructor arrives. The room lights are turned off, save for some red & green mood lighting. Thumping club music is pumped through the speakers. Instructor mounts his bike.  
6:33 Warm up pedaling; It's warming. 
6:35  Instructor shouts garbled commands. Pedal faster? Sweating. Like, beads of sweat. 
6:38  No one seems fazed that instructor shouts inaudible commands.
6:40 A loud shout makes everyone stand up and pedal. 
6:41  Return to seat. Heart pounding. Guzzle some water.
6:43  Dear Lord, I'm sweating. 
6:45  Standing again. Turn resistance up. Pedaling to music's rhythm. Get in groove. 
6:55  Why are we still standing and pedaling and when is he going to let us sit down??!?! 
6:56  Sit; Guzzle more water. Room now has a stifling sweaty stink. Woman next to me is wearing a strong deodorant or perfume. Need fresh air. Should have put on antiperspirant. Tell self to ignore smells, including self-smell. 
7:00  There is no way I'm going to make it 25 more minutes. 
7:02  Water is gone. 23 minutes left. Can you die of dehydration in 23 minutes? 
7:05  He wants us to stand again. Ugggghhhhh. Ok, upsy daisy. 
7:12  Long set of standing is slightly easier. Keep groove consistent. Ignore instructor's possible commands to pedal faster. 
7:15  Sit down. Oh thank God. 
7:16  Cool down. Instructor slowly brings pace down. Class is panting and dripping. 
7:20  Instructor shouts something. Everyone stops pedaling. We're done?! But there's five minutes of this sweatfest left? I'm relieved, but also disappointed because I was prepared to pedal to the bitter end. 
7:21  Instructor leads 5 minute cool down session, and my muscles cry for help. 
7:25  Face is bright red (see below). I'm sweating through my shirt. I feel great. 

My beet-red face post-class

Status: Though I love biking, spinning isn't a "fun" workout. But it's a darn good one. Along with everyone else, I spent most of the class watching the clock obsessively. These are some long minutes, 55 of them. I would definitely do it again, as it torched calories and gets me in much better shape for bike season which is just around the bend. But the difference between biking and spinning, is that you bike to get from point A to point B, so there's a sense of adventure, of travel. Plus, my point B is usually involves pizza or ice cream or tacos or beer, and the promise of any of those makes an equivalent ride go much more quickly. Guilt propels the ride home. 


Results: Success! (ok... fine. I sat down about a minute early on one of the long-standing sets. dock me.) 

Never have we ever had so much fun!

The large recess between my last post and this one is thanks to another sort of new project that I've been working on. It was a weekend-long festival for the quirky and fun world of a cappella, and we called it VoCALnation.

Treble readies in our dressing room

The event was presented by the leading national organization for our little aca-world (CASA), and my a cappella group, Treble, served as the event's local "host". That meant that we had the privilege of performing at the Saturday night headliner concert, and also held much of the event planning responsibility. As part of an event production team of 4 from Treble and 2 from CASA, we spent 14 months creating a brand new event in New York City designed to bring the growing community of post-collegiate singers together. We're the kids who just couldn't leave the glory days of college a cappella behind. You probably remember us as your friendly campus music dorks. Now, we just wear that badge proudly by singing in bars, snapping with one hand, holding a dirty martini with the other. This dork life ain't so bad. 

In the days or so leading up to VoCALnation, I decided to pause on my new experiences blog because I wanted to focus on the event, and still make time for the joys of job-hunting. One of my friends argued that the event itself should be a part of my 30-day project, and I did consider it. But, this event was much more than a one-day new experience. It was months of planning, hundreds of emails, dozens of rehearsals, and three days of the most fun and joyful music event I've ever been a part of. With all do respect to these here interwebs, it's just simply more than a blog post. 

Where the magic happens

It was a fantabulous event. And I don't use amalgamate adjectives often. Semi-pro groups came in from all over the country: North Carolina, Boston, Memphis, LA, Vermont, DC. Our headline act, the Grammy-award winning Swingle Singers, came all the way from London (and blew everyone's minds; if you don't know them, check them out). The evening concert was held at the beautiful Florence Gould Hall, which is a dramatically steep black-box theater with vintage orange-marigold velvet seats. There isn't a bad seat in the house. There were FIVE standing ovations during the performance: one for Duwende, the infectious first headliner that rocked Michael Jackson and Prince, and a whopping 4 standing O's for the Swingles, every one of which they deserved.

Both the Friday night and Saturday night after-parties went until last call. New friendships were made, old ones were enjoyed, none of us wanted the weekend to end. But, we kinda needed it to. We were exhausted. And we just can't party like we're in college anymore (well, OK, seems like we can. But only for a weekend...)

It was a blast, and I'm so grateful to have been a part of this project with the production team, the ladies of Treble, CASA, all the instructors, performers, volunteers, attendees and singers, and especially my incredibly supportive family and friends, who have graciously sat through more a cappella concerts than any human should ever have to endure.  

I'm back to the bloggery, which, admittedly, is dragging on wellllllllllll beyond the 30 days. Oh well, it's fun! The longer, the better. I do plan to wrap up soon, and I have my final "new" experience all planned and booked, and it's a goodie. It won't be happening till April 15, so stay tuned, friends. 

*For those wondering, the odd capitalization in VoCALnation stands for the "Contemporary A Cappella League" which is a membership-based alliance of post-collegiate, semi-pro groups. In other words, we're the grown-up groups. Most of us perform regularly, are known in our local communities, and mostly take only paying gigs, but we don't make a living by doing it (and yes, some groups actually do.) 

Treble's on-stage moment

Duwende, sound-checking

The Swingle Singers, being inhumanly awesome

all photos [except top photo] by Michael Eldredge, (c) LivingFiction Photography 

Day 23: Never have I ever... attended the St. Patrick's Day parade

It's St. Patrick's Day! I'm Irish and unemployed... Parade here I come!

Marching Band

I've never done the St. Patty's Day thing in NYC. I have been in Chicago when they turn the river green, and that is pretty cool. But, I'm generally not into huge mob-crowds. They're oppressive, annoying, and potentially dangerous. But I decided that I'd probably be OK if I got to the parade by noon. How drunk could people be by noon? 

Flag bearers

The answer: Very drunk. People were shoving and pushing, and I felt like cattle being herded onto the slaughterhouse truck. I nearly stepped in puke. And there were more stupid outfits than Halloween at a frat house. Felt leprechaun hats, bouncy shamrock headbands, spray-painted green hair, even green tulle tutus. Everyone was decked out, I was practically blinded by all the reflective green sparkles. 

The un-stupid outfits were all IN the parade. I have to say, the parade itself is really cool. Huge bands with elaborate outfits, bagpipers with kilts, Irish dancers in gorgeous dresses, color guard and flag bearers in uniform. It was festive, indeed. Though it was very difficult to see over the throngs of people. I can only imagine that the people along the front barricades had been there since 8am. You gotta really LOVE St. Patrick's Day to do that. 

All in all, watching the parade on a beautiful, sunny March day with a cold Guinness in a cop-friendly thermos was a lovely treat. This is something that I would never ever take the time to do in regular life, but I'm so glad that this project afforded me the chance to do it. 

A wall of American Flags

Though I probably won't do it again. Because with rare exception, these are the main crowd demographics at the St. Patrick's Day parade: 

1. International Tourists
2. Teenagers
3. Bridge and Tunnel Assholes 
(And to clarify, I'm not saying all B&T'ers are assholes...)

Grand Central Station. Mid-day.

Walking down to the subway, every bar was packed. I picked up the 4 train from Grand Central, and I have never seen it so crowded in the middle of the day. It looked like 8:45 a.m. on a Monday morning. Except a really weird Monday, where everyone is wearing green and falling down the staircase. 

Results: I came. I saw. It was fun. I went home before things really got ugly. 

Status: Slàinte! 

Day 22: Never have I ever... taught a high school music class

I was thrilled when an a cappella friend asked me to volunteer at his after-school music program. He is a volunteer teacher for the program, as well. Every Monday, he works with a group of teens in a high(er) risk high school on the Lower East Side where his wife is a teacher. 

The Alto Section. Go Altos!

Since my music and theater experience are my fondest memories of high school, and it helped me make friends, discover my passions, and find a tiny morsel of teenage confidence, it's an educational offering that I feel is so important. I am totally with VH1. Save the Music! (That sounds trite. It's not. So many kids find their inner voice by way of the performing arts.) 

This Monday was my first class. It was a 75 minute rehearsal, and my friend (we'll call him Mr. G) was directing. He is working with the class on an a cappella performance for their school's annual talent show in early May. My role is to serve as the female vocal teacher. 

We started with warm-ups. Mr. G had them sing an "up" which was fairly complex. I was impressed. Then he turned to me and said "Carrie, what does Treble do for a down"? I started singing our warm-up. "Beeyum Beeyum Beeyoh. Beeeeeeee Ahhhhhhhh Beeeeeee Ohhhhhhh" (going down the scale in intervals of a perfect 4th, minor 3rd and major 3rd, for all you music nerds out there.) He said "Wow, that's a bit too hard." Uh oh. I'm there two seconds and already screwing this up. But I just kept singing. After a few scales of muddy notes and confused looks, they... they were singing it. They got it. OK, this is pretty cool. 

Then he moved on to the meat of the rehearsal. The piece Mr. G is teaching is "Just the Way You Are, as performed by Bruno Mars. I admit it: I kind of like the song. The song is a pop-y piece of crap, but it's a catchy little ditty nonetheless. He was only teaching the Alto and Soprano parts for a two-part harmony. Easy-peasy. I was able to sight-read most of it and right away I could hear where the Altos were having issues. I (politely) corrected some of their rhythms; I felt like such a bitch! I guess that's what a good teachers know how to do... correct students constructively so they want to improve. And not be a bitch. 

I was scared of the kids. I mean, they were looking at me. They were looking at me like I knew what I was doing. And I really don't. I'm not a music teacher; hell, I'm not really that great of a musician. I learn music by grit and repetition. But I wasn't there to just teach them music. I was there to teach them how to sing, how to perform, and how to feel confident doing it. 

A soprano that I worked with one-on-one

I noticed one of the Altos missed a coda and got lost in the music. So, during a pause, I asked her if she knew where to turn back to the coda. She didn't know what a coda was. Well... guess it's me that should explain this concept to her, because, um, I'm the teacher. Right. Ok, this is challenging... how do I explain, in words, a concept  that is now just intrinsic for me? I used the good old "show n' tell" method, and she seemed to get it. Wait, did I just teach someone about codas?! This made me very happy. 

We also worked on where singers should feel the sound  at different points in their range: head, throat, nose, etc. They were really interested in this! Finally, we worked on increasing volume while staying on pitch. I showed them a volume exercise where you sing the same note at increasing levels of volume from pianissamo to fortissamo. Sounds easy? Try it. Yep, try it right now in your living room/office/wherever you are. Try singing a note soft, then a little louder, then a little louder still, without changing your pitch, until you are at your full volume. It's harder than you think! The ladies liked the challenge and we agreed that next week we'd all do it together. Mr. G was pleased to see them engaged. 

The class was winding down, but I didn't feel ready to leave. The energy of the students was incredible. The giggles, the funny comments, the camaraderie, the enthusiasm... I loved being around these girls. In a world where teenagers are being constantly overexposed  and over-sexualized (thank you, MTV's Skins) it was so refreshing to be around kids who just seemed like... kids. They talked about college, graduation, being excited and scared to sing in front of their whole school, being excited and scared to leave high school. They were so relatable. They were just... honest.

Results: I'm not sure how much I really did for these kids, but I'm psyched to go back next Monday, and every Monday until their performance. And I plan to be front and center, clapping loudly, when these ladies perform at their school's talent show. 

I also had a tiny little window into the world of teaching. I have some fabulous educators as friends, and I've never respected and admired them more. Ms. Berkman, Ms. Behrman, Mr. Mosteirin, Dr. Brown, Mrs. Balsam, and all of my former teachers... I'm talking to you. Learning how to teach effectively is tricky. Connecting with kids is HARD. Thank you so much for doing that every day. Where would any of us be without our teachers? 

Status: I'm not the judge of this one. The kids are. 

Day 21: Never have I ever... been to a Trampoline Park

[For the time-conscious... skip  down to the bottom and click on video montage of our hour at the trampoline park. And try not to laugh too hard at my outfit.] 


Somewhere on these great interwebs, I heard about a trampoline park in San Francisco. It looked amazing. So, I looked up the generic search term "Trampoline Park" just in case there were others like it... and found them to be more widespread than I had thought. In fact, there was one in Boston. And it just so happens that my best friend lives in Boston! Score. 

Weeks ago, we made plans to go to the Trampoline Park during my next visit. We did not, however, plan for her to break her ankle the day before my arrival. (Sad face.) Unfortunately, trampolining was out of the question for her. But since she had to work during the day, I decided that I could still find time to check it out. And I enlisted a friend! Our pal Courtney, visiting from the deep South, graciously agreed to accompany me on a spunky afternoon adventure. She had no idea what she was getting in to. 

We arrived to SkyZone and immediately realized that this was no typical quiet Friday afternoon. There were children everywhere! Why weren't these rugrats in school? Oh. Spring break. Great. 

Check out those sweet sneaks

First, they give you some supercool high-top sneakers to wear for a) ankle support, and b) to ensure everyone is jumping in smooth, tread-less shoes. Getting over the gross-factor of sharing these shoes with thousands of sweaty children (yes, they handed me a boys' size 6 to wear), I actually kind of liked wearing high-tops. Brought back memories of 1992 and my sweet L.A. Gear kicks. Oh yeah. 

Before we could jump, a young referee had to give us the "rules speech". I believe the rules were: 1) If you need to rest, come off the court, and 2)  Don't jump on anyone's head. Got it. 

We were in. It was basically like jumping on a trampoline except you could jump all around, and even off the walls. The sensation immediately brought me back to being 11 years old. Weeee!! I'm jumping so high! I'm like a superhero with super jumping powers!!!

But I quickly realize I am not 11 years old. My heart feels like it might explode. So does Courtney's. We are sweating. We are panting. We look at each other, embarrassed to admit that 7 minutes of this activity is potentially all that we can handle. The kids are flying by us like the gummi bears, bouncing here and there and everywhere, laughing and talking and not winded at all. We are old. 

Over in another area we see some women about our age. So we jumped over towards them. Moms!! Yes, moms are more our speed. They're jumping, sort of. In fact, we feel pretty spry next to these ladies. We feel downright nimble! Except for that one show-off mom, who was doing flips and stuff right next to her daughter. She's probably a former Olympic gymnast and beauty pageant queen.

Me and the Ref. He kept us safe. 

Next, I begged Courtney if we could play trampoline dodgeball. The ref told us that due to "our size", we had to play with the "big kids." Thanks. An elastic pen with 14 tweenage boys, 10 balls, and no mothers in sight. It smelled like feet and hormones. The boys were about, oh 12-15 years old, and raging with an angry sense of insecurity-fueled competition. Right away, yellow-shirt-kid sensed my weakness. As soon as I stepped on the court, he waled a ball directly at my face. I ducked. Take that, yellow-shirt. I threw a few impotent balls in retaliation, and then Courtney and I just ducked and bobbed our way around until the ref blew the whistle (THANK GOD), and we scurried off the court. The smiling ref said "C'mon, don't you want to play again?"  Maybe another day, when I'm wearing a hockey mask and have taken some testosterone injections.

As my grand finale, I decided to try to flip.  So, I went over to a crash pad area and was able to successfully hurl my body forward in a 360-degree flip. It wasn't pretty, but I did . I even landed on my feet two of my three attempts! But I didn't stick the landing. Oh well.

Though we had only used 40 minutes of our hour long sesh, we were both exhausted. Now I understand why SkyZone claims that an hour-long jumping session torches 1,000 calories. I believe it. 

The Queen Bees who snubbed me.

Just as we were about to leave, amid a sea of boys, I saw a group of tweenage girls gathering near the dodgeball area but not seeming interested in jumping. I always hate it when girls sit on the sidelines as boys get out there and jump into the world (pun inteneded), so I walked up to them and said "Hey do you guys want to play a girls game of dodgeball?!"..... and.... silence. They looked at me with furrowed tween indifference, and I'm pretty sure the ringleader rolled her eyes at me. A few minutes later, they did line up for a girls' game of dodgeball, but they didn't ask me to join. It was sixth grade all over again, except I didn't care this time, because I'm 30 and can buy beer. 

Courtney and I came down off the court and took our shoes off; the floor felt so oddly unyielding compared with the rubber floor we just enjoyed. We debated if this would be a fun adult activity after a few beers, but we both decided that we'd probably barf. 
 

Results: Oh man this was fun! Possibly the most fun I've ever purchased for $12. It's a novelty experience that I highly recommend. 

Status: Success!!!

Day 20: Never have I ever… made stained glass art.

Pinned to the painting: dozens of
cards from flowers she's received.
Most were from her second husband, Ben,
with sentiments like "You're my darling."
The funniest?"Edie, I never called you STUPID."
Ah, marriage. 

This is a self-portrait of my grandmother. Edie. Artist. She is the most diversely creative person I have ever met in real life. Painting, pastels, charcoal, collage, photography, textiles, even film—she’s explored almost every possible medium with which to express her art. But perhaps her greatest love is working with stained glass. I never asked her what she loves about glass so much… but I’d guess that it's partly the treasure hunt. You can mix any paint hue. But you have to find the right piece of glass. Color, texture, thickness, transparency; it was all about finding the perfection-combination to make her vision a reality. I have vivid childhood memories in her studio…. she’d hold up a pristine, thin slab of glass and declare “Look at this glass against the light. Isn’t the color just wondaahful?” She loves glass.

These are two of her lovely works.

Glass window of my childhood home.     Butterflies are the signature Edie motif. 

Sadly, Edie isn’t in the studio any more. After 80+ years of artistic fuel, she is no longer of body or mind to do the work that she loved so much. And one of the cruelties of life is that you never know when it’s going to be your last day in the studio. She didn’t. So, for the past few years, there has been a half-finished lamp just sitting on her studio’s worktable. It stares at me sadly every time I visit her. It begs to be finished. I shut the door and tell it to be quiet. I don’t know how to do stained glass. 

But now with some more free time on my hands, I thought, hey… maybe I could learn how to do stained glass? So I watched a BUNCH of online videos. It looked like a manageable process, but I knew that this was a craft that had held my grandmother’s attention for a lifetime; it couldn’t be easy. But I would try. 

Lamp, inspired by the Hearst Building   The lamp, unfinished view.

I headed out to Long Island to spend the day in my grandmother’s studio. After a bedside visit with her, I went down to the studio, put on my Pandora Mozart station to really get into the EdieZone, and began to dust off the work station. The studio was in bad shape after years of neglect. It took me about 90 minutes to get things in order, find the right supplies, and take stock of the lamp’s current state. The lamp is actually in decent shape. It needs the fourth panel finished, and then joined to the other three. The connecting joint pieces also need to be soldered into place. 

Luckily, about 98% of the pieces were already cut by Edie years ago. And I need no practice cutting stained glass anyway, thanks to an ill-fated attempt at a glass mosaic table that lived, unfinished, in my parents’ basement for about, oh, 7 years. I cut about 300 pieces of glass for that project before letting it fall to the wayside. (And somewhere, my dad is shaking his head as he reads this…) Cutting glass isn’t really hard. You just score it with a glass cutter, hold it with glass pliers, and apply some pressure. Snap. Glass is cut. I cut a few triangles with ease, just to make sure I still had it. 

Next up, the glass pieces need to be wrapped with copper foil. This looked so easy on the video! It wasn’t. The thin foil curls and sticks to itself, and it’s nearly impossible to perfectly center it over an even thinner piece of glass. It takes some real finesse. After wrapping, the copper foil must be burnished down on all sides with a notched tool. This wasn’t hard, just laborious. She did this for every single piece for every window or lamp she ever did?  Yikes.

Blurry shot of my fresh solder

Next I laid the wrapped piece beside the half-completed panel. It was time for the tricky part: soldering. I heated up the solder iron. Before you solder the pieces together, a thin coat of flux must be applied to the copper foil. Flux is a chemical compound that is inert at room temp, but once heated becomes highly reductive and allows the tin-lead solder to fuse to the copper wrapped pieces. It's basically stained glass glue. I fluxed the joint with a paintbrush and then cut a piece of solder wire slightly larger than the joint to be soldered. First step is to “tin the tip” which means melting a little starter layer of solder on the tip of the iron. 

Whoa, Nelly! This stuff melts in a hot second, literally! I knew that the tin-lead solder had a low melting point, but I didn’t expect the metal to go molten the second it touched the hot iron. Ok, ok. It’s only melted, scalding metal. It will only give me 3^rd degree burns if I have a little slip-up. No bigs. I really wanted to touch this shiny fluid. How hot was it? I felt like Smeagol; the glistening solder was my ring. I'm sure I could touch it... just one little touch... it wouldn't hurt that badly, would it? I was too chicken, and decided some mysteries are best left unknown. I delicately ran the soldering iron up the joint, leading the metallic liquid into the crevasse as I went.  It produced a shiny, beautiful ridge. It was very gratifying.

I repeated a few more wraps and joints and then decided to go up and visit with Edie some more. Her eyesight is poor and her hearing is gone, along with most of her memory. It’s a good visit if we have few simple exchanges. So we just sit together, mostly. I so badly wanted to talk to about the project. I wanted to ask her how long it took to complete her various works, why the flux didn’t take on one spot, how on earth she made these complicated jigsaw puzzles of glass work?! Then, I wanted to punch myself in the face for not asking her all of this while she was still able to tell me. 

Results: I made some serious progress on my learning curve, and I gained a serious appreciation for the patience, skill, vision and detail required for this art. Looking around my grandmother’s home, filled with stained glass pieces in every room, and thinking about all of her works that grace the homes of our family, friends, and the massive glass installation she completed in her local library, I almost cannot believe the thousands of woman-hours that Edie has devoted to her great love. That's a LOT of copper foil. 

Though I didn’t get too far on the project this time, I think I might be able to actually finish her lamp. She might not get it, she might not even remember starting the lamp. But on some level, I think she’ll be happy that I’m trying.

Status: A good starter success.