The Next Chapter

I am a 56-year old woman who has struggled with my weight since I was in second grade. I’ve tried every diet out there and had some success (Weight Watchers) but nothing that really clicked until I found Beachbody and the 21-Day Fix. In 6 weeks I have had great success and I am excited about continuing on this journey.

I hate to exercise. Five years ago I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia. Everything hurt. Exercise was out of the question and since I hated to exercise, this was the perfect excuse not to work out. I did walk everyday (6000-10,000 steps a day), but that wasn’t enough. I felt weak and old.

That has all changed since I started doing the 21-Day Fix program. I love my 30 minute workouts with Autumn (and Cat…I am the Queen of Modification!). In just the first two weeks I felt immediate improvement in my symptoms. I don’t hurt all the time and I feel stronger.

I have a way to go on the weight loss end, but that’s not the focus for me. I am focusing on becoming stronger. At 56 years old, I am no longer waiting to die, but finding new ways to be strong and vital. My 21-Day Fix, the workouts and the Shakeology are key to my wellness.

I am a full time professor at Full Sail University where I teach in the Media Design Masters of Fine Arts program and I am also a student working on my PhD in Texts & Technology. I recently got married for the first time and my life is just beginning! I’m excited to see what lies ahead!

#healthyhippiechick #letmehelpyou #coach #21dayfix #Shakeology #RA #Fibromyalgia #GettingStronger

https://www.facebook.com/HealthyHippieChickOrlando/

“It’s me, Dave!” Another Version of Wanee Toast/Toasted

At music festivals you run into the craziest people.Face painters, guys in tutus, girls thinking they’re fairies. Then there’s Dave.
.

Dave is a guy that found us on the second day of the Wanee Music Festival. He came right up to my husband and said that we were the coolest people at Wanee. He went on and on about how cool we were and he had an infectious laugh. He wandered off only to come by our spot in the grass hours later. He grabbed John’s arm and said urgently, “It’s me, Dave.” As If we wouldn’t remember him. He desperately wanted us to remember him. We cracked up laughing and that line, “It’s me, Dave” became our go to line to blurt out when the moment struck.

The dude was wasted at one point (he’s actually asleep in the photo above), but he managed to hang all night, frequently stopping by our chairs and getting all fanboy about John and how cool he was.

We saw him the second night and he again reiterated that we were the coolest couple at Wanee and I took his picture with John. Dave wandered away after that and we didn’t see him again.

Maybe next,year when we return to the Wanee Music Festival, a guy will come up to us and say, “it’s me, Dave” and we’ll know it going to be another crazy fun weekend.

Wanee 2014: A Toast to Music

Here’s to another great time at the 2014 Wanee Music Festival in Live Oak, Florida.

The lineup was amazing and exhausting. Our musical adventure started on Thursday night at the Mushroom Stage (an intriguing venue under a canopy of trees) with Hot Tuna Electric. As usual, Jorma and Jack did not disappoint. These gentlemen live and breathe their music and their passion is evident. This was our fourth time seeing them in three years. Yeah, we love these guys!

Jorma and Electric Hot Tuna

Friday began our 12-hour music day with a huge surprise…probably my favorite event of the festival. First let me tell you that we weren’t sure who Galadrielle Allman was so we showed up thinking it’s another Allman kid that was going to sing. Turns out she is Duane Allman’s daughter and she was there to do a reading from her new book, Please Be With Me, A Song for My Father Duane Allman. I went to a music festival and got to hear a reading from an author. BONUS!!

Gregg Allman surprises his niece Galadrielle Allman onstage during her reading.

As she and Butch Trucks were speaking, her uncle, Gregg Allman, appeared onstage. She was totally shocked and for the 50 people who were standing in front of the stage, so were we! Gregg, Butch and Galadrielle shared stories about Duane, stories about the band and joked with each other. It was such a treat!

Discussing Galadrielle Allman’s book, Please Be With Me, A Song for My Father Duane Allman.

Friday afternoon, once I recovered from the excitement of seeing Gregg Allman five feet in front on me, continued on with Bobby Lee Rodgers, Ziggy Marley, and Umphrey’s McGee. Heatstroke nearly overtook me (we had absolutely gorgeous weather with sunny skies and no rain, but being in direct sun for more than 30 minutes makes me a bit loopy). By the time Lynyrd Skynyrd hit the Peach Stage, our chairs were in the shade. Skynyrd was great! The last time I saw them was at Nassau Coliseum in 1976 (before the plane crash). They played every hit song and really worked the crowd. After Lynyrd Skynyrd, we watched the Trey Anastasio Band while eating corn dogs (more on Wanee food in another post). Way past 9:30 that night, The Allman Brothers finally took the stage. They played for two hours, some of their hits but mostly jams. By the time we got back the the VW Westy, we were exhausted! It was a long day of dancing.

Saturday was another full day that started at the Mushroom Stage for Pink Talking Fish, a cover band that plays Pink Floyd, Talking Heads and Phish songs. We headed over to the Peach Stage next for the Chris Robinson Brotherhood (there’s history here with my husband working security at Chris’ s wedding to Kate Hudson and rescuing Goldie Hawn’s dog, Peanut). We were not impressed with his new band because they didn’t seem to fit into the Wanee vibe. Last year Michael Franti & Spearhead played and they were amazing and really fit into the Wanee atmosphere (bring them back, Wanee people!).

John Poppa and Blues Traveler

The act we were really looking forward to was Blues Traveler. They were awesome. John Poppa rocked and has to be the best harmonica player out there.

We took a quick break before heading back to listen to Tedeschi Trucks Band. Earlier that day there were fans carrying giant heads of Derek Trucks and Susan Tedeschi, which were funny yet freaky at the same time.

The giant Tedeschi Trucks heads were dancing around the festival all weekend.

It wouldn’t be Wanee without Warren Haynes and Gov’t Mule. It was the first time in three years that Gov’t Mule didn’t get rained out. It was nice to finally hear their whole set. Warren kept popping up and playing with other bands throughout the weekend.

Our night wrapped up with another show by The Allman Brothers and this time they played more hits, but Gregg didn’t sing lead on all the ones he usually sings on so that left us wondering…

AWP Toast [toasted]

It’s been a week since I left Seattle after attending the AWP 2014 Conference. What an amazing journey it was. I did so much at the conference that my brain ended up as a dried up piece of overdone toast left out on the counter overnight. I’m surprised I made it back to Orlando. It’s taken me a week to catch up and get my writing mojo back, so here’s a recap of what I did. I learned so much I want to attend one of these conferences every month!

The first session I attended was “4 Ways Blogging Benefits a Writer” and I got some valuable information. Ann Hedreen, a documentary film maker and writer says you should blog about what you love. I loved this conference, so I’m blogging about it. It’s okay to change the focus of your blog. Mine started out as a food blog, but has morphed into something more. It still revolves around “toast,” but the multiple meaning and variations of toast.

The next session I attended was “Hawaiian Writers: Talking on Da Kine.” It brought me back to the days of the Hawaii International Conference on Arts and Humanities. The two times I attended that conference was life changing. Note to self: start saving money to attend in January. Kristiana Kahakauwila read from her book, “This is Paradise: Stories” and I immediately downloaded the book to my iPad. What an excellent read. Her book brought me back to the short fiction genre. I hadn’t read short stories since college and forgot how fun those small nuggets of story are. As a result of Kristiana’s book I also downloaded:

• How to Breathe Underwater by Julie Orringer
• Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried
• Mark
Richard’s The Ice At the Bottom of the World
• Z.Z. Packer’s Drinking Coffee Elsewhere
• Jhumpa Lahiri’s
Interpreter of Maladies (and her novel The Namesake is amazing according to a friend)
• Karen Russell’s ZZ’s Sleep-Away Camp for Disordered Dreamers 

The next session I attended was “Essay Writing Reviews” and what I took away from this one was a new writing genre to try. Jocelyn Bartkevicus was on the panel and she read some her writing. She tied in literature to her reviews and this gave me an idea for my own writing.

Another session that resonated with me was the readings from the fourth wave Native American writers. There’s a whole new path to the research on Native American writers with this new wave of women. Note to self: get ahold of some of their work and see where it leads. 

I attended the reading of many famous authors including Eric Larson (who make a negative slap at screenwriters – boo!), David Gutterson, Ursula LeGuin, Kathleen Fraser (that’s a another post…my 30 minute discussion with her), Anne Waldman, Gary Snyder, Tobias Wolff, and Sherman Alexie. It was amazing to hear from so many writers whose work I’ve admired and worked with.

Anne Waldman was a hoot. She does an imitation of William S. Burroughs that will crack you up. “The Tribute Embrace of William S. Burroughs” was one of the best sessions I attended. Waldman also read her work at the Naropa anniversary celebration.

Another session that resonated with me was the “The Greening of Literature.” Having studied and written about ecofeminism, I wasn’t sure where this session was going, but I ended up learning about another direction in environmental writing. The speakers discussed point of view and how you should prioritize your art over politics.

Some of the sessions I attended were not that good. One to note was the transmedia session. The presenters were not up to speed on all the aspects of transmedia and the one speaker who created the first “digital literary magazine for the iPad” barely said anything and when he did speak, he didn’t say anything of importance. If they are going to present on something as ever changing as technology, transmedia, or augmented reality, they better be up to speed on their research.

The lingering feeling of awe and inspiration is still with me a week after leaving Seattle and I want to keep that feeling alive. The toast has morphed into a new challenge. I headed across the country by myself to attend a writers’ conference with 12,000+ people not feeling like I was a writer, but I came out realizing I should write and I can write and I will write.

Thanksgiving Toast: Perfectly Piled Peas

It was another 90-degree Florida Thanksgiving, my 37^th with these people and everyone was there: Geoff, my twice-divorced brother, Tony, my little brother and his wife Anne, my Mom and me. Mom did all the cooking. The table was beautifully dressed with the good china and there was enough food to feed the neighborhood. My mother believed in leftovers. “Who wants to cook the day after doing all this cooking,” she said in her thick New York accent.

I sat there quietly pushing peas into a neat pile on my plate when I looked across the table and was stunned by what my little brother was doing. He had made a nine-and-a-half inch high mountain of food: turkey, stuffing, cranberries, green bean casserole with the mashed potatoes holding the mountain intact. He poured gravy over the pile of food and it flowed like lava down the side of a volcano.

This is what set me off. It reminded me of volcanoes – a fear that dates back to second grade when we watched a filmstrip of Krakatoa that showed a young boy and his dog running from the approaching lava. The next scene in the filmstrip showed the actual archaeological artifact of the boy and his dog frozen in lava. The boy was stopped in mid-step and covered in what looked like gray cement, but with a dusty texture. The look of terror on his face was forever frozen in time. When the close-up shot of the dog appeared, I shut my eyes. I couldn’t bear to see an animal hurt. That view was so vivid in my mind and I remembered it at this moment because of gravy.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked Tony.

“What?” he said annoyed.

“Look at your plate. That’s disgusting. You don’t have to put everything on your plate at once. You can go back for seconds,” I said.

“Shut up, look at your plate. Nothing touches. How weird is that?” he said, always quick to point out that I’m the weird one in the family, like the time he told my mother that I was talking to the yellow-robed moonies in Chicago’s O’Hare airport during a trip to visit our older brother in the late 1970s or how I always had to cartwheel down the hallway instead of walking like a normal person.

“Oh my God,” my mother said as her fork dropped onto her plate. “Your father used to do that.”

I looked up at them stunned. My father had been gone since I was nine, so I don’t remember what he did with his food. One of the few food-related memories I had of him was his telling my little Spanish grandmother, his mother-in-law, that dinner was “no good, Ma,” and she would giggle on her way back to the kitchen to retrieve the always-forgotten cranberry sauce.

Looking down at my plate I saw what they were talking about. My beautiful antique dish had everything on it arranged beautifully. The three slices of turkey laid one on top of the next, each 1/2-inch down from the previous slice. The gravy flowed down the center of the turkey-steps and stopped precisely at the last slice. The round portion of cranberry sauce was placed concisely in the center of the plate. The peas were piled perfectly to the left in unbounded formation, as if they were little green army men. The mashed potatoes were packed neatly with a concentric well dug in the center for the gravy. Not one drop of gravy was allowed to run over the edge. Nothing touched. Only the gravy was granted permission to touch another food.

So, my food was neat and organized. That can’t be a bad thing. Was it? I remember my Dad being a fussy eater – a meat and potatoes only kind of guy. The only vegetable he liked was asparagus, my favorite. It was in that moment, as I looked down at my picture-perfect plate of food, that I realized my similarities to a man I did not know. The more I thought about it later that day, the more similarities came to light. He was an avid photographer, shooting all of my older brother’s football games and I was an NBA photographer. After some digging I found out that I’m the only one of his kids with his blood type. I’m built like him and not my skinny fashion model mother and I love the outdoors, backpacking, camping, kayaking. I have his knack for mismanaging money and always seem to be in a financial pinch, the exact deficiency that drove him to abandon his family. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I did know this man I hadn’t been around for 28 years. He was me.

First Memory Toast (JFK)

I was born in 1960 – the same year Barbie was invented and President John F. Kennedy and first lady Jacqueline created Camelot. I know Barbie was invented on purpose, but I don’t think the Kennedys set out to create a culture as if prodded by image consultants and publicists. America at the time was looking for a way to cement the American dream and the first family illustrated that ideal, especially for my family.

I look back at our family photos now and we seem like the perfect American family of the early 1960’s. My mother, a former fashion model who was always dressed to perfection, clothed her children according to the Camelot standard. Easter meant white hat and white gloves for me, a perfectly buttoned, double-breasted, Peter Pan-collared red coat over my frilly Easter dress with matching white tights and white patent leather shoes.

My two brothers were not immune from my mother’s attempt at recreating the Kennedy mystique in her own home. My older brother Geoff scowls back at me from the photograph dated “April 1964.” He is dressed in a gray suit, white shirt and black tie. His white cuffs peek out flawlessly from the impeccably tailored jacket. What struck me as funny and what may explain the scowl on his face is that atop his head is a black fedora. My brother Geoff is only 9 years old, but he looks like a character from “Death of a Salesman.”

My one-year old brother Tony was also adorned in the highest quality of fashion for 1964. Under his baby blue coat clasped by three black buttons must be one of those shorts outfits I always remember my mother dressing him in. You can see a little of one bare leg poking out from under the coat. On his head is a matching baby blue newsboy cap that covers what all young boys wore in the early 60’s: the John John haircut. Tony is the same age as John F. Kennedy, Jr. and I am the same age as Caroline Kennedy, so my mother had her ideal mannequins in place. The photograph was taken on our front lawn. Geoff and I are sitting on a white wooden bench and Tony is standing on the bench between us.  The lawn and hedges are manicured to absolute precision with not one leaf above another on the privet that graced the front of the turquoise and white ranch-style home. My mother had my father paint the house to match the turquoise color of her 1963 Thunderbird.  It appears as if everyone on suburban Long Island was trying to emulate the Kennedy’s Camelot.

Why not? Our president was young, intelligent and good looking, had a perfect family and a glamorous wife who brought grace, style and elegance to the White House. The Kennedys became America’s royal family and the people of the United States embraced this wholeheartedly. The First Family offset the tenseness of the Cold War by showing a sense of sophistication to Americans with an awareness of dress and social graces. Every housewife on Grist Mill Lane in Halesite wanted to be Jacqueline Kennedy. My mother dressed like her and wore her hair like her. Every public moment was one of Kennedy emulation.

In 1963, the day President Kennedy was shot, I was only three, but I remember I was playing outside when my best friend from next door, Patty Lankford, came running up to me and said, “are you going to make anything for the President?”

“Why?” I asked her and she told me he had been shot. I went into the house and found my mother in the den. The canister vacuum cleaner was running, with its long handle lying on the floor sucking at nothing but the air around it. My mother was sitting on the couch in front of the blaring black and white television.  Her face was in her hands and she was crying. Her teased and sprayed Jackie Kennedy-like hairstyle was bobbing up and down to the rhythm of her tears.

Initial word came over the television at 1:40 P.M. EST when CBS News anchorman Walter Cronkite broke into As the World Turns with a voiceover announcement over a graphic: “In Dallas, Texas, three shots were fired at President Kennedy’s motorcade in downtown Dallas. The first reports say that President Kennedy has been seriously wounded by this shooting.” A few minutes later, Cronkite appeared on the screen from CBS’s New York newsroom to anchor live reports from Dallas and read news updates from the Associated Press and CBS Radio. It was a day that changed America forever.

When I look at the photograph dated five months after President Kennedy’s assassination, I realize that despite his death, America did not want to give up on Camelot. My mother would continue to dress us to perfection for every major holiday and the Kennedy mystique would live on in the house on Grist Mill Lane.

Prius Toast

All I was doing was driving to work. It was a Thursday morning and I was actually looking forward to going to work. I was finally caught up with all my work tasks and wanted to spend the morning editing my script. The first major edit was due on Sunday. I also had plans for lunch with my best gal pal, Laresa and I was so looking forward to it. I was dressed in my dark jeans, leopard ballet flats, green and blue Stevie Nicks-type blouse with gold chains and bling. I noticed as I put on my Ray Bans before leaving that morning that I was having a good hair day.

After kissing my handsome husband goodbye and hugging Bodhi, our American Eskimo, I climbed into the Prius and started my six minute drive to work. I love my 2011 Prius with its pearly white finish and the green monkey, Lancelot in the back. What a great car!

Two minutes from the office, as I’m driving 45 miles per hour down highway 436 in Winter Park, a car makes a speeding left hand turn not seeing me. It happened so fast, like a movie sequence:

INT. PRIUS – DAY

She drives the speed limit noticing how momentarily empty the road is. Within a split second a creme colored Lincoln LS makes a flying left turn without stopping and the white pearly Prius has no where to go. CRASH. Airbags EXPLODE. A white curtain with smoke is in front of her. CRASH. The car spins and she closes her eyes.

The Prius flies across three lanes of highway and finally comes to a stop in an apartment complex parking lot. Stunned, she stares then bursts into hysterical crying.

A young tattooed man comes up to her car and she opens the door.

DAVID
I think you better get out of the car. There’s fluid leaking.

ELENA
You have to get my stuff. My two bags in front.

DAVID
First you get out and go sit over by my car. I saw it all. I was right behind her. She didn’t even stop. I couldn’t believe she didn’t stop.

She goes over and sits next to David’s Corolla. He comes over and puts her backpack on the ground and hands her a Coach purse.

ELENA
(Sobbing)
Thank you, David.

Two paramedics show up and end up taking her away in an ambulance. Her chest pain is increasing and she is having trouble breathing. She can’t reach her husband on the phone. She remembers seeing his phone charging in the dining room, so she just keeps calling. She can’t stop crying.

She remembers she was having a good hair day and lunch with Laresa as she is rolled into the CAT scan. In a split second a life can change. No one is guaranteed a tomorrow.

Time to get back to toasting

It’s been a while since I’ve been here. I didn’t want to be after the last post. I felt so crushed. Things have changed in the last year. The husband still rocks, Bodhi is still a super sweetie pie.

We are really lucky. I have a beautiful family.

Biggest change: started my MFA in Creative Writing and I’m writing a feature film for my thesis project…a romantic comedy adventure. I finished the first draft today. I am so stoked!!! I will graduate from Full Sail University with my Masters of Fine Art in Creative Writing in December.

My dream…my screen play sells and I buy the husband a 2014 Harley Davidson Road King and me a 1977 VW Westfalia.

Yes, a girl can dream…

Cruel for no Reason Toast

It had been a great couple of days at our a summit. Lots of ideas were exchanged, new ideas were formulated, a couple of Kumbaya moments. It was great.

Then the subject of concept came up from the one at the end of the loaf, that small half crumbled old piece of toast that should be ignored. In a cruel, backhanded, passive aggressive way he once again inferred that I was incompetent because no good concepts have been created by any of our students, ever and its all my fault. He’s wrong and he’s not worth the breath I’m wasting thinking of him and his vileness.

With all the evil in the world, petty crap at work from a tiny, small, full of himself for no apparent reason “man” is no longer on my radar. This Extra Toastee girl is signing off.

Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me (so I won’t punch him in his scrawny puckered face).

Merry Christmas one and all and to all a good night 🙂

Great day for Strong Women Toast

Spur of the moment. Do it. Get the idea and just jump. Don’t think about it, just go.

Today was a day of strong, amazing women and I got to see both of them at the spur of the moment. Sitting in my cubicle grading, bored, I see Gloria Steinem is speaking at the University of Central Florida, so I jump out of my cubie and drive to UCF. Steinem was so inspiring. “I’m not going to pass my torch, I’m going to use it to light others.” Everyone should get out and vote. Every vote DOES count. If you don’t vote, you just give your life away. Get out and vote. If you do I’ll make you toast…cinnamon swirl toast with some Earth Balance Spread.

Second strong woman of the day: my friend Mandy. She is teaching 10 classes with 380 students and that makes her strong and amazing. I would make her toast but it needs to be vegan toast. First I’ll make her bread from scratch and then toast it. Spread pineapple all over it. She deserves it because she is a good friend.

Third strong woman of the day: Ani DiFranco. That tiny lady can rock an acoustic guitar like no other. Most incredible live music I’ve seen in months. I would make her toast points that she could use as guitar picks.

This was an amazing day. October 19, 2012