Smile

We’ve reached our half year mark. Six months. The point five. If only I could pluck the wings from time. We have yet to finish our thank you cards. We’ve done most of them, except that we’ve lost our check off list and can’t remember who we’ve sent them to. We have not weeded through our wedding photos. I have not boxed my wedding dress. We’re just terrible, terrible newlyweds. Honeymoon date undecided, but the destination is Paris and Rome.

We’ve come a long way since our wedding. A new job. A new name. A new home. A new neighborhood. A new lifestyle. A new car. Anew.

It was a normal day. We were sticky and dirty from boxing. I made a fresh pear mache salad to start and followed with roasted perch and garlic kale. He wished me a happy six month anniversary with a smile. I couldn’t believe that he remembered. That’s why he’s my sweetest of the sweets.

So step off you feeble minded skeptics and pessimists, all is in bliss in Kitchenville.

LESSON: Little grasshopper must remember there is big meaning when preserving small words in a glass jar.

Cough. Hack. Spit.

I took it easy on Saturday as a mild cold and allergies took homage in my body. I tried to push hard to get to my boxing class, but my friendly cold and allergies were holding a parade in my chest that had me coughing up some fun friends.
In the past, I'd push my deathful body to an hour's worth of exercises than follow with a series of homemade spicy ginger tea, that always resuscitates health back into my frail body. Mind over matter, I keep reminding myself. Most of the time, it works like a charm. Besides, I detest stewing in my germs. It’s foul! Normal people are held hostage to their bed, blanket, tissue box, and television. Yuckee.

Flashback: December 20, 1984, the flu virus had attempted a successful coup on my immune system. As I shivered in hot and cold sweat, my brother Steven swathed me in my comforter and plucked me from bed. He had just finished the Christmas decorations on our house. Across the street, my family waited for me to enjoy the festive decorations. Lights, Santa, Action! As my brother held me on his back, we adored our home that twinkled with the Christmas spirit with "ooohs and aaahs". For a second there, my sickness dwindled into a smile, laughter and glee. Christmas coincidence or a Christmas miracle, either way it was mind over matter.

As my bones shivered and my body fell further prey, I was not going to let it win. I was not going to lay on this couch while the sun blared in my face as I sat pathetically on the couch watching television surrounded by a flurry of dirty tissues! I proceeded to do the nonsensical and drive. As incoherent as possible, I got in the car and drove myself to Pharmeca, my friendly holistic store, to the end all of this ailment nonsense. I drove to Cole Valley picked up my herbal meds and was so excited to get a loaf of brioche from the french bakery on the corner. I was still miserable, but it was nice to get fresh air into this stale body. It felt good. The drive did me well, I could feel the need for a pedicure. In fact, my heart was doing the jump and jive at the idea of shopping.

In case you were wondering, where is Shane through all this? My dear husband had a 10:50am tee time in halfmoon bay.

LESSON: A sagacious grasshopper is one that escapes an army of fire ants by kung fu grip.

Exhausted

I hate squat thrusts!!!!!!! I’d rather stab a bag of rusty nails into my eyeballs!!! Why oh Why? I loathe. Loathe. LOATHE!!! Squat thrusts sucks Godzilla’s buttocks ten times over.

I know the whole point to exercising is for fit and health reasons, but good lord on a popsicle stick does it really have to be that painful? Today, I'm in great pain and I would like to exclaim to everyone, "THANK GOD FOR FRIDAY!" Now butler, bring me my bib and wheelchair quickly.

Lesson: When Grasshopper can walk uphill on rice paper and place no tear, than you may eat from the rice bowl.

Free yourself!

Wondering how my progress with hip hop classes are going? Unfortunately, my fickle heart has moved forward. Boxing. Ah yes, the wonderful world of endurance, punch combinations, fancy foot shuffle and concussions. For as much as I enjoyed dancing, I was missing that “umph” that “kaboom”! Hip hop was like sex without the orgasm. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but never gained anything tangible. It’s been almost a month and I’m noticing differences in my attitude and body. Fit world roll out your red carpet, enters the princess to heed her throne.

Flashback: I was eight in the summer of ’79. Put these gloves on you lazy bums! Dad, a former boxer in the marines, lived and breathed for boxing. Nolan, my younger brother, jumped around as he was convinced this fight was tucked under his belt. I, on the otherhand, was certain that KO was just a few combinations away. My other six brothers bickered and yelled and traded dollar bills as the neighbors took their front row seat on our lawn. I couldn't recall the stupidity behind our argument that occurred fifteen minutes ago! At dad’s command, Nolan’s jabs entered my zone like rapid fire and in my furious, but weak attempt to defend myself, it was always the same fight. I sat in the black corner – consciously subconscious. Dad never coarsed us through the strategy of the sport. We were mere entertainment, and it was a reason for discipline. I forever cursed boxing.

As usual, my life consists of different shades of whims and flights. I was in the search for something different. I was hungry for a direction uncouth and physical. A route that took me away from meditation and the dull "om". There it was Third Street Gym! A mighty gritty world. Raw. Dirty. Voltaic! Can I stick to boxing? Do priests play frisky with their alter boys? Who knows. If I am provided an objective, than I will seek that goal.

I’m just over the idea of trying to heal my body exclusively from the inside out. I’m all about the new age hippy health organic movement, but godamnit! I want to feel my motivation aching through my muscles in pains and jolts. I will never compete as a boxer, because I’m just too much of a chica (well than again I shouldn't say never), but I do enjoy the strategy and the art of boxing like no other I have felt.

This is dedicated to my dad who I have come to respect and understand his passion and love for boxing.

Lesson: A grasshopper is only modest when he does not revel in the height of his jump.

Heart to Heart

It’s that time of year again when the female species expectations shoot through the roof and the males cower to make sure all is as expected. For some, today is a let down, a dissapointment. February 14th, the day the price of a dozen roses is more than my car payment. Where are the lost days of a simple card filled with love and good wishes? Valentines Day has turned into a shoe box of roses, balloons, chocolates, jewelry and pre-fixed dinner menus.

All in vain of St. Valentine, yet who is this mysterious masked villain and why do we celebrate this holiday?

Legend #1: Valentine sent the first "valentine" greeting. While in prison, it is believed that Valentine had the hots for a hotsy totsy -- who was the jailor's daughter, who visited him during his confinement. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter, which he signed "From your Valentine."

Legend #2: This legend contends that Valentine, a priest who served during the third century in Rome during the reign of Emperor Claudius II. The Emperor decided that single men made bad ass soldiers than those with wives and families, hence outlawed marriage for young men. Valentine, realizing that this is whacked, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers on the DL aka Down Low. When Valentine's got the 411 on Valentine's actions, Emporor C ordered a cap in his ass.

Like Christmas and Thanksgiving, today is a very lonely day for many. I have been victimized by this vicious holiday for many years until I realized that it wasn’t the holiday, but me. It is good to feel loved and wanted, not by a lover, boyfriend/girlfriend or husband/wife, but by friends and family.

If you want to make today special, pick up the phone and call your parents and wish them a Happy St. Valentines day. Perhaps, a dear friend who could use a warm smile today. These are just a few suggestions that are more heroic than a box of chocolates.

I phoned my mom who is thousands of miles away and wished her a Happy St. Valentines day. That, my friends, is what St. Valentine would have done.

Lesson: To become wise grasshopper, one must learn how to give and expect nothing in return.