Faith of the Heart

The following lyrics are so fabulous. I feel energized (not necessarily Enterprised) whenever I hear them. Also, I find Russell Watson’s slightly gravelly voice to be enormously appealing.

It’s been a long road
Getting from there to here
It’s been a long time
But my time is finally near

And I can feel the change in the wind right now
Nothing’s in my way
And they’re not gonna hold me down no more
No they’re not gonna hold me down

‘Cause I’ve got faith of the heart
I’m going where my heart will take me
I’ve got faith to believe
I can do anything
I’ve got strength of the soul
And no one’s gonna bend or break me
I can reach any star
I’ve got faith, I’ve got faith, faith of the heart

It’s been a long night
Trying to find my way
Been through the darkness
Now I finally have my day

And I will see my dream come alive at last
I will touch the sky
And they’re not gonna hold me down no more
No they’re not gonna change my mind

‘Cause I’ve got faith of the heart
I’m going where my heart will take me
I’ve got faith to believe
I can do anything
I’ve got strength of the soul
And no one’s gonna bend or break me
I can reach any star
I’ve got faith, faith of the heart

I’ve known the wind so cold, and seen the darkest days.
But now the winds I feel, are only winds of change.
I’ve been through the fire and I’ve been through the rain.
But I’ll be fine.

Cause I’ve got faith of the heart
I’m going where my heart will take me
I’ve got faith to believe
I can do anything
I’ve got strength of the soul
And no one’s gonna bend or break me
I can reach any star
I’ve got faith

I’ve got faith of the heart.
I’m going where my heart will take me.
I’ve got strength of the soul. And no one’s gonna bend or break me.
I can reach any star. I’ve got faith, I’ve got faith, faith of the heart.

It’s been a long road.

Shake, Rattle & Cringe

We recently returned from one of our many business trips to LA, so it was particularly disturbing to hear about the earthquake. I was at the gym when it happened, and the owner dashed into the workout room looking for me because he knows the city is my former home and my current second home. “Did you hear?” he asked excitedly. Given the fact that I was doing squats on the power plate with a large ball between my knees, I hadn’t. I hurried to the TV monitors, but the news was so recent that there wasn’t much information available.

Over time, the 5.8 magnitude was reduced to 5.4, which is still considered moderate. And to me, scary.

I experienced one earthquake while living in mid-Wilshire—a weenie 3-point-something—and I was terrified. It was the middle of the workday, and I was home alone in the loft that served as my studio. Suddenly, everything on my desk started to slide off. I looked out the window, and the pool was churning as if someone had turned on a wave machine. My husband was at a client meeting, so I called the management office of our building.

“Was that what I think it was?” I asked, a discernible tremble in my voice.

“Oh, it was just a little earthquake,” came the casual reply.

“You don’t get it,” I answered, trying to stay calm. “I grew up in New Jersey, and there’s no such thing as a little earthquake.”

Clearly, we get used to the weather patterns we’ve grown up with, and everything else becomes alien. My younger son has been living in the Midwest—California boy that he is, he’s paralyzed by the tornado warning sirens. I have a friend in New York who thinks it’s crazy to live on the west coast because of all the faults, but she probably wouldn’t blink when a hurricane hits the Jersey shore. That’s simply what happens, so it feels perfectly normal.

As for me, I doubt I’ll ever get used to the earth moving beneath my feet.

Charlie Brown for Congress

This afternoon we are hosting a fundraising house party for Charlie Brown, Democratic candidate for Congress. I’m not what you would call a politically active person, so my designated responsibility is food. My husband can quote Charlie’s track record if asked—all I know for sure is that he likes chocolate. (Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating my ignorance just a tad. It’s just that I’m married to a man who knows so much about so many things, and I’m in awe of that.)

I’m very excited about what will happen here today. A man who is committed to making a difference will speak to our friends…our neighbors…to share his beliefs, goals, and insights. I can only hope that my artichoke frittata does him justice.

http://www.charliebrownforcongress.com

Oh, How I Love LA!

Several years ago, when my family was planning a business-related move that would take us from Northern California to Los Angeles for a year, we received a lot of negative feedback.

“How can you even stand the thought of living there?”

“What a terrible place. I hate it there.”

“La-la-land…they call it that for a reason, you know.”

“Ooooh…it’s so fake.”

“Filthy air.”

“Too much traffic.”

“Too blonde.”

I found it particularly amusing that a significant majority of the people who were dissing LA had never even been there, but apparently they thought they’d read enough tabloids to have a pretty clear picture of the lifestyle.

But still—to hear so many bad things about the place that was about to become our home was rather disconcerting. Both my husband and I had spent our fair share of time in LA over the years, but it’s one thing to visit and quite another to join the masses. So it was with a bit of trepidation that I packed my bags and headed south.

We had rented out our house in the Sierra foothills and found a two-bedroom-plus-loft apartment—complete with every imaginable amenity—in the mid-Wilshire area of LA. On our first day there, I managed to get lost in the parking lot beneath our building. Undaunted, I continued driving in circles until I finally spotted a glimmer of sunlight. With that one small glitch behind me, I proceeded to do what every self-respecting Angeleno does—I fell in love with the city.

LA has a spirit and an energy and a vibe all its own. It bears no semblance to any other place I’ve ever visited—in this country or beyond. It’s home to some of the most exciting art, magnificent restaurants, and fabulous shopping I’ve experienced. The people are a kick, the weather is superb, and there are more fun things to do than the average person could possibly expect to fit into a normal lifespan.

We were both so taken with the city…so loved being a part of it…that we opted to stay an additional year. Even thought we are now back in Northern California, we return to LA on a regular basis. As soon as we get off the plane, we are both struck by a sense of being home.

The old nabe

Remembering Forgiveness

When I was ten years old, my best friend Elyse lived one house away. She was nine, and we were inseparable. One day, when I went to her house to ask if she could play, she announced, “My mother has a friend over, and she brought her daughter. I’m playing with her.” End of story. Closing of door. I was devastated.

I immediately decided that revenge was my best option. I headed down the street to the home of Jackie, age eight. Two years my junior, she thought I was God, which I thought would suit my purpose.

“Elyse is being mean, “ I began, “and I want to get back at her. Are you in?” Of course she was in, so I laid out my plan in great detail.

“So here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to make up a great game, and we’re going to play it in front of her house. When her friend leaves, she’ll probably ask us if she can play. And we’re going to say no—got it?”

Jackie jumped right in. As one of the younger kids in the neighborhood, she was smart enough to realize that this was a great opportunity to one-up one of the bigger kids, so she was all for it.

The game I conceived wasn’t exactly earth-shattering, but, after all, I was only ten. The idea was to stand a considerable distance apart, place a bottle cap on the sidewalk between us, and then try to hit it with a ball. We did this for about an hour, and finally Elyse’s front door opened. Her mom’s friend and daughter made their exit right on cue, and before their car was out of sight, Elyse walked up to us.

“Can I play?” she asked with a bright smile.

Jackie looked at me with nothing less than adoration in her eyes. I said it would happen, and it did—precisely the way I’d predicted.

But then something strange occurred—something I hadn’t foreseen. I looked at Elyse and uttered a single word: “Sure!”

Jackie’s face fell, and she looked at me as if I had just run my bike over her cat. Every iota of hero worship made a quick exit as I completely blew the plan. The three of us proceeded to play my stupid, boring game for about another hour, and during that time, Jackie’s expression went from incredulous to disappointed and back again.

Clearly, I have a problem holding a grudge.

Put on a Happy Face

A friend of mine recently returned from Colorado. She said that the brilliant blue skies that are so typical of the state were clouded with smoke from California’s fires. I feel bad that we’re sharing our misfortune with out-of-state lungs, but I have to admit it’s a welcome relief to be able to breathe freely once again.

Dogs can be walked. Convertible tops can be put down. Bicycles can be ridden. They seem like such simple things—until they were taken away. It’s such a strange feeling not to be able to spent time out of doors. At one point, I was literally holding my breath while running from the car to the gym…the grocery store…the dry cleaners. Now, to look up and see blue…to be able to take a deep breath…feels like a gift.

More about Bones and Meds

Since my post on osteopenia received several hits, I thought it might be prudent to add some more information. Please note that I do not claim to have any legitimate medical knowledge—I’m simply reporting my own experiences.

Since my initial diagnosis, I have talked to several professionals in the healthcare field:

•    An orthopedist said (off the record) that he would rather see me do regular weight-bearing exercise than take medication.

•    An endodontist said that women who take the drugs recommended for osteoporosis and osteopenia are more likely to develop osteonecrosis of the jaw (ONJ). ONJ is a disfiguring and disabling condition where the bones of the jaw suffer literal bone death through infection and rotting that can result from exposure to bisphosphonates found in these meds.

•    The tech who performed my bone scan explained that bones continue to grow throughout one’s lifetime. The old bone cells slough off and new bone cells grow in to replace them. (To keep this process running smoothly, the body requires calcium and vitamin D.) Some of the meds on the market do nothing more than keep the sloughed-off bone from breaking away, making the bones appear, on a scan, to be stronger than they really are.

If nothing else, all of this information is worthy of further inspection.

Building Stronger Bones—It’s Not Just for Kids Anymore

Two years ago, I had my first bone-density test. The results revealed osteopenia in my spine, although my hips were fine. The doctor I was seeing at the time prescribed Boniva, made popular by the ever-bubbly and still-adorable Sally Field. After reading about the drug, I decided that it didn’t sound like something I wanted to take. It’s tough on the esophagus and the stomach, and well…it’s a drug, and I’m just not a big fan of popping pills unless they can promise some sort of life-altering effect.

So I made a deal with myself that I would continue taking calcium supplements and would also boost my time in the gym. If my bones continued to weaken, I would capitulate and agree to go on medication. Since bone-density tests are usually recommended once every two years, that’s how long I gave myself to try to change things on my own.

My regimen was, and still is, as follows:

• 1000-1500 mg of food-based calcium every day
• Two weight-training sessions with a personal trainer per week
• Two spin classes per week
• Short walks (hills included) three to five times a week

Two weeks ago, I had my second test. My doctor called today to report that the results were excellent—no sign of bone loss or osteopenia, everything within acceptable ranges.

“But, wait,” I said. “I was diagnosed with osteopenia two years ago.”

“You may have had it then, but you don’t have it now,” came his reply.

I hung up. Incredulous. Not only didn’t my bones get any worse, they became stronger. It would appear that I actually reversed the problem.

I’m not saying that my methods are right for everyone. My point is simply that I’m thrilled to have taken a stand on how I want to approach this area of my health—and it worked like a charm.

My Airline — by David Owen

The following article appeared in the July 7 issue of The New Yorker. I know it doesn’t seem right to feature someone’s else’s writing on my blog, but where this piece is concerned, David Owen and I share the same brain. As a frequent flier, I admit to having bitched and moaned about everything he mentions, with the singular exception of his Sudoku complaint. Mr. Owen, I applaud you for a brilliant article.

Luggage surcharges are old news at my airline. I’ve had them for years: for second bags that don’t contain golf clubs, for cardboard boxes held together with twine or duct tape, for long, rolled-up things that you bring into the cabin, and for any carry-on item that I have to help you stow or retrieve, or that you jam into the overhead compartment sideways, so that it crushes my sports coat, which I have folded using the time-tested inside-out method, or whose size forces me to place my briefcase in a compartment other than one directly over my row. The charge is fifty dollars, exact change only. From now on, I will also be charging fifty dollars for any piece of luggage on which you have written your name and address in gigantic letters.

Previously, at check-in, I have visually estimated your weight. From now on, you may be required to step onto the luggage scale. You must also certify, before boarding, that no part of your arm or torso will extend over your armrest and touch me or cause my arm or side to get hot at any time during the flight. If the test calipers at the boarding gate cannot be passed freely over your entire body, you will be required to purchase an additional ticket and to sit in the exact center of your two seats. Furthermore, you must keep your feet stowed directly in front of you at all times in such a way that your legs do not touch my legs or penetrate any part of the imaginary vertical plane separating your seating space from mine. Fifty dollars.

Staring blankly at the seat back in front of you for the entire flight is no longer permitted on my airline. If you have brought nothing to read, a book will be provided for your use, at a charge of fifty dollars. Flipping through the airline magazine or the duty-free catalogue in your seat pocket is allowed only while the aircraft is on the ground and other reading matter is temporarily inaccessible. You may no longer hum or do any form of beadwork. If you wish to attempt a Sudoku puzzle during the flight, you must demonstrate to my satisfaction that you realize that the nine spaces in every row and column must each contain a unique digit, and that the nine squares that make up the over-all Sudoku square cannot be completed without consideration for how they fit into the entire puzzle. Do you understand this? No? Fifty dollars.

Laughing out loud at anything in any movie, whether it is playing on the cabin system or on your own DVD player, is fifty dollars per incident. Asking me to turn off my reading light so that you can see the screen better: also fifty dollars.

If you and your spouse are dressed almost identically, or if you are carrying your passport in a thing around your neck, or if you are wearing any form of footwear or pants that you clearly purchased specifically to wear on airplanes, or if you make it obvious (by repeatedly turning around and talking to passengers in seats not adjacent to yours) that you are travelling with a group, the charge is fifty dollars.

As always, tipping back in your seat is fifty dollars, payable to the person sitting behind you, unless you are sitting in front of me, in which case the charge begins at a hundred dollars and my permission is required. Ask nicely, and if we can agree on a figure I will ask a flight attendant to unlock your seat.

I don’t serve meals on my airline anymore. Get over it! What’s the matter— you can’t last two hours without chicken parmigiana? Why are you even going to Indianapolis? If you don’t like waiting in the terminal while your aging aircraft is being repaired, I suggest that you go to the Hertz counter, rent a Hummer, and spend the next five days driving to San Diego. Are you aware that it took Ben Franklin more than a month to travel from Philadelphia to Paris? No, you may not have the entire can.

I realize that you have a choice of airlines, and I encourage you to exercise it. In the meantime, please enjoy the flight.

Okay…Now It’s Getting Really Scary

I haven’t seen blue skies since we left town for a few days last week. Colors are downright eerie: a flat white sky…gray air. (Well, if air had a color, this air would be gray. It is, after all, almost tangible.) In the evening, when it would normally still be bright at this time of year, the suns glows an intense orange. The light becomes diffused by all the smoke and the air turns a frightening shade of reddish-amber, almost as if everything is on fire.

Last night, shortly after sunset, we ventured outside to try out our new garden bench. It was very quiet and still, with no sign of the deer that usually come out to graze in the back of our property. We looked at the immense trees silhouetted against the strange sky. Everything had an end-of-the-world feeling, and I actually felt a ripple of fear.

People are behaving strangely. Conversations begin and end with comments on the smoke. It’s as if a subtle shift has drifted in with the fumes and haze, and it makes me downright uncomfortable.

P.S. This is not my photo, but rather something I pulled off the Internet. I found it after I’d written my post, and it illustrates the mood perfectly.