the more injuries you get, the smarter you get.
mikhail baryshnikov
yes, it’s a sports injury.
no, i was not
playing in a world cup match
representing the u.s.a.
i was
walking in the house
while singing bohemian rhapsody.
with gusto.
opera style.
a door jumped in my way.
out of nowhere.
now my baby toe is broken.
and feels a little jacked up.
i must be a genius by now.
—
image credit: nationalgeographic.omc
as i watched team u.s.a. hold their ground tonight against portugal
it reminded me of where i was 20 years ago.
it was 1994
and somehow
i talked my boss where i was an advertising intern during the day,
and my boss at the hotel where i worked as a cocktail waitress at night,
and my professors where i was taking classes at all hours,
and my ex-husband who i shared my daughter-time with,
into agreeing to work around my special schedule for a few weeks.
i applied to work at the 1994 fifa world cup here in detroit.
4 matches would be played on my turf.
and i told fifa i would love to do it
before i had negotiated any time off
but
i knew it would be a once in a lifetime extraordinary experience
and that i would find a way to do it.
—
my job was to work in press operations in the media center.
helping the press with credentials, schedules, seats. access and information.
and then
it became a reality.
we were taught about the nuances of soccer
the role of the press
how to deal with the passionate fans
and the customs and languages of the countries participating
learning helpful things like,
‘if a russian offers you a shot of vodka, it’s an insult to say no, so you’ll have to find a diplomatic way to do so.’
this was our transportation around the pontiac silverdome lot
where we met many enthusiastic fans along the way
and also
interesting press from all around the world.
on my first day,
a photojournalist
based in hong kong
working for the french press
of dutch and italian descent
walked in.
he was smiling
as i gave him his credentials,
answered his questions
and told him to enjoy the games.
later that night
i left the media center
and turned back into
a cocktail waitress.
as i approached a table
and a man at the table turned around
i saw that it was the journalist i had met earlier in the day.
we were surprised to see each other again
and he told me some of the press corps were staying at my hotel.
and i told him that i worked there on some nights.
very, very small world.
and we parted ways when his group left for the night.
each day at the world cup was a new adventure
i was able to see the matches
and enjoy the frenzied air of competition and excitement.
and many times
out of 78,000 people
the journo and i kept crossing paths.
between his schedule and mine
and ever changing locations
and job commitments
and no cell phones
and no computer
we kept trying to set up a time and place
to meet away from the stadium
when neither of us was working
to have a real conversation.
finally
it was his last night here
and the final match in detroit was being played.
i was finished in the media tent for the day
and we planned to meet at a local bar
after he filed his report.
i went to the bar
and found the brazilian fans there celebrating
it was total madness and fun and frolic
and then
the police came
and shut down the bar
for the first time
in history.
the brazilians’ exuberant enthusiasm
had somehow overflowed
to the outside
and they were dancing
a samba line
down woodward avenue
a major thoroughfare in the detroit area.
the bar was done for the night
and the crowd dispersed
and we never were able to find each other that night
we had no backup plan
for a place to meet
and we went our separate ways
armed with addresses
and the beginning of a friendship.
and i went back to my jobs/school/life
and he continued on with his assignments
and flew back to hong kong.
mp on assignment in new guinea
—
and we began to write letters
and we have been pen pals for 20 years now
and we send hand-written letters
and postcards
back and forth from all over the world
and we’ve gone through life together on paper
and stayed friends
who never dated
and maybe one day
we’ll find ourselves in the same country once more
at the same time.
and we can continue our conversation.
There is no distance too far between friends, for friendship gives wings to the heart.
– author unknown
my brother, scott,
who is also the father of my nephew, hazen,
who i miss every single day.
on aljazeera america.
once again, trying to spread the word and not giving up the fight.
https://www.facebook.com/SolvingKidsCancer
In case you missed the segment Solving Kids’ Cancer which aired on Al Jazeera America,
here is the link below:
—
credits: aljazeera america, javier perez artwork, solving kids cancer
It was a splendid summer morning and it seemed as if nothing could go wrong.
John Cheever
—
image credit: hypersloth.me
The Running of the Goats at Sunflower Farm
After a day of grazing with the herd, our 44 Goat Babies go for a little adventure while their maaaaaas take a break and enjoy some grain in the barn. They love to run back and forth following their human friends! They often beat us on the way back! There is not much cuter than the pitter pat of all those feet. (Rest assured…Our goat kids are sold to great families in pairs as pets or future milking goats.)
—
credits: sunflower farm
yesterday
i wrote about my world of baking.
today
you can see a bit of where the magic happens.
and yes,
a good bottle of red,
hearts of all sizes,
animal head toothpicks,
and sparkly puffballs
are sometimes a part of the kitchen experience.
I do like to cook; I’m sort of a mad scientist in the kitchen.
Kyle Chandler
my desire to bake began when i was just a little girl.
i was beside myself with joy when santa brought me an easy bake oven on my 6th christmas.
i imagined myself cranking out pies and cookies and cakes and cupcakes.
and making my first fortune.
i’d set up my bakery along with my lemonade stand.
and people would flock to my store.
and i would spend my days baking and going to first grade.
finally came the moment
when i whipped up my first cake.
put it in the oven.
realized it was cooked by a light bulb.
and would take a while.
and everything was miniature.
and each cake would serve a small mouse or two.
and i had no way to buy more mixes to bake with.
and it was a dream i’d have to wait on.
–
years passed.
and i grew up and continued baking.
using a trial and error method.
and i especially loved to make cupcakes for people.
for any and all occasions.
the brits call them fairy cakes.
and that is the perfect name for them.
you love mexican chili chocolate?
coconut lemon cream?
caramel and pecan?
no problem, i can do that.
i wanted them to be pieces of art.
with flavors, and colors, and designs, and surprises.
all wrapped in pretty little papers.
but they didn’t always look that way.
–
so.
i decided to take a six week cake decorating class.
i signed up and bought all of my supplies.
tips, turntables, icing knives, pastry bags, pans, colors and flower pins.
and went to my first class.
taught by a seasoned cake decorator.
my classmates –
were a mother and angsty daughter who had never decorated before.
and three teenage employees of the local ice cream store.
i figured i could hold my own with this group.
homework assignments
were to bake cakes and cupcakes and bring them in to decorate.
my kind of homework!
and i imagined myself doing this.
and this.
but –
once we started mixing the frostings, the icings, the colors
my area actually looked more like this.
i had color all over the place, under my nails, in my cuticles, it dyed my hands and arms and my frosting got too warm and didn’t mix to the right consistency and i had a hard time filling the pastry bag without it getting all over and had to bite the tip off of it as i lost my scissors somewhere in the fray and i had to change tips to make flowers and edgings and all kinds of things and my book was covered in color and was wet and i clogged the class sink when i had to scrape off my buttercream frosting and start over a few times or so.
and somehow, the mother daughter team excelled.
and were naturals, working in sync like a precision ice dancing team.
and the baby teens perfectly piped their cakes, with nary a misstep.
and i wondered how they did it.
and i noticed the ice dancers preloaded their pastry bags at home.
using the colors they wanted, with the tips they needed, and closed off the ends.
and the teens just chose simple designs and one color and one consistency.
aha! that’s it!
but, as the weeks went on,
i never really got better at the process.
luckily our teacher was very kind and diplomatic.
and she liked my ‘shabby chic by accident’ and ‘evil clown’ style cupcakes.
and we all bonded in our mutual creative endeavor.
and shared stories and laughed a lot.
and i accepted that each week i would leave with a different color of skin.
and when we all made our final cakes for graduation day.
the mom and daughter and teens all had beautiful cakes.
and when my teacher saw my final cake
(at the top of this post)
she said she had never seen a sheep and dachshund and polka dot cake before.
and it looked like a wonderful piece of art.
and she wanted a picture of it to keep in her book.
to show future classes.
and i was a happy baker.
Stories aren’t the icing on the cake; they are the cake!
Peter Guber
patrons of third street in detroit go nuts for a world cup goal by the red, white and blue.
—
‘The applause is a celebration not only of the actors but also of the audience.
It constitutes a shared moment of delight.’
John Charles Polanyi
—
photo image: Hell Yeah Detrroit
in memory of my father, a funny and gentle man
who was about as far as you could get from a bad ass.
but instead,
he was just my dad
who was a busy madman in the ad world during the week.
but
who i watched this movie with,
many times.
along with every other
wwll, madcap comedy, western, and crime caper,
on saturday afternoons.
in our family room,
with sandwiches, and burnt popcorn and lemonade.
thanks for the gifts
of shared time,
a boundless imagination,
and a love of the magic of the movies.
—
For me, the cinema is not a slice of life, but a piece of cake.
Alfred Hitchcock
while much of the globe is preoccupied with the world cup from june 12-july 13,
here is an alternative championship that could give fifa a run for its money.
the world toe-wrestling championships.
in 1976, when pubgoers in derbyshire, england grew bored with arm wrestling,
they began locking big toes and trying to pin their opponent’s foot to the ground.
rules state that competitors must yell out ‘toe much!’ if they want to throw in the towel.
competition is serious.
world champion, alan ‘nasty’ nash
has come home with broken toes nine times!
—
just play. have fun. enjoy the game.
michael jordan
—
credits: cameracrewgermany.com, bbc news, mental floss magazine
I didn't have my glasses on.... 