On getting a reminder from the universe: mindfulness and practice

So I'm playing a little guitar with Dan the other evening, and we're aiming to dervish our way through "Blackberry Blossom" when I keep seeming to hit the wrong chord every time I went to play a C.

What the hell? Did I suddenly go terminally out of tune? Did I hit a peg and not realize it?

I kept going, thinking the problem must be on the fretting end, and in the dim candlelight I'm twisting the guitar and my body the way one does when you're trying to see what the fingers on the left hand are doing. Still couldn't see very well, so I called for a time out and simply tried the G-C-G-C transition a couple times.

Finally figured out that a confused index finger was going to the wrong location.

Seriously? My fine muscle memory spaced how to play a C chord? How long have I been playing C? Isn't this something that should work completely on auto-pilot?

Guess not.

So I did what I guess kind of amounts to a guitar version of a hard reset on the C chord, and everything went pretty smoothly after that.


(Well, except for trying to play "Blackberry Blossom" along with a Tony Rice version on my iTunes. That was just funny.)


Anyway, that happened a couple of days ago now, and the memory is still tapping at my consciousness. And it has me take pause this morning to think about how many aspects of my going about life operate on something like autopilot, and whether any of those might be a bit out of tune (so to speak). Maybe I'm not even aware of it, given how the thrum of everyday existence can be so cacophonous, I don't even hear my own contribution through the din. But even if my addition is small, it is something. Wouldn't it be well to be more mindful of even its small components, and make my existence ring as true and harmoniously as possible?

Sangraia Love, with notes on how I went about making it

What follows is the recipe that is the inspiration (that makes a pitcher-sized amount), line by line, where each line is followed by what I actually did in making a cooler full of the yum for final faire weekend. All ingredients just get dumped straight into the container.


Official fancy cooking magazine title: Peach-Riesling Sangrai.


1 750-ml bottle dry Riesling
I've got 3 bottles I picked up at Bev-Mo; I'll start with that.

1/2 cup peach schnapps
Hmm, so that's a cup and a half since I'm tripling it...shake bottle. There's so little left - what the hell, use the whole thing.

1 1/2 cups white cranberry-peach drink
I know from past experience this drink will knock a person on his or her ear after a glassful, and the cooler's looking mighty empty. Drop in 2 to 2 1/2 bottles of the drink.

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice.
And I'm making this in the last second; do I really want to take the time to measure 9 tablespoons out? Nah. Halve a couple lemons. Yup, they're nice and juicy. I'll call that good.

2 tablespoons sugar
To add up to 6 tablespoons of sugar - seriously? No effing way. I do use 2, for a token sense of completeness.

1/2 vanilla bean, sliced sideways.
Damn these things are expensive! But the vanilla bean really makes it special. I use a whole one - use the thumb to scrape out the seeds, and deposit them and the beans themselves for extra good measure.

2 1/2-inch-thick lemon slices
I've got 2 lemons leftover from the store, in case I didn't use enough lemon juice before, I'll slice up the lot.

2 1/2 inch-thick orange slices
I've got 2 oranges from the store; slice up the whole lot.

2 peaches, cut into wedges
I bought 3 peaches at the store - is there really a thing as too much tastey fruit in sangria? Not where peaches are concerned - use the lot.

10 raspberries
And I bought 2 containers of raspberries. Add in one - stir it up. How does the balance of sangria goodness to fruit look? Sure, we can use more raspberries. Empty in the second container.

Ice


There ya go! For best results, let it sit overnight so the flavors can all blend.

Coupon fashion victim

I'd like to be the kind of person who saves money by using coupons, but it is ever disappointing to see the cover of the coupon section of the newspaper announce "save $30!" but upon looking inside find discounts for:



Makeup

Hair coloring equipment

More makeup

Age-defying emollients

Cheap cat food

Credit card offers

Checks with cute kitty and doggy pictures on them

Frozen pre-prepared food

Home alarm systems

Hideously ugly bras

Axe stinky soap stuff

Frozen pizza

Microwaveable brownies

Prune juice

Olive Garden

More pre-packaged frozen food

Yet more pre-packaged frozen food

Chocolate milk

Followed by kid's sized vibrating toothbrushes

Freight tools?

Really ugly flannel shirts

Therapeutic "cozy-toe" socks

Chuck-E-Cheese



Le sigh.

Seasons

In an idle but interesting conversation the other day with the OM and Anders, we were pondering which, if any, season we like best. The conclusion I reached was that in sooth I enjoy them all, but what I really like best is the sensation of their changing. To my perception, there's a difference in the air, sometimes subtle, sometimes more distinct, that announces itself as not just another fall/summer/spring/winter day. I find these assorted environmental whispers and declarations of change exciting.

It might be that even though the temperature and degree of cloud cover is similar to the day before, the air has a peculiar sort of briskness to it that announces: fall. Or, it might be that one day it suddenly hits me that the daylight is sticking around for a lot longer that it had been of late, and that communicates to me: summer (or, alternatively, that it's suddenly apparent that the light isn't, broadcasting: winter). Or, that the rain, as ever present as it had been on consecutive winter days, seems to possess a degree of gentleness and the scent of the earth emits a burgeoning potential that signals: spring.

It's kind of interesting. I know that there's a lot of noise made about the equinoxes and solstices and about how these astronomical alignments analytically define the first day of fall or summer or whatever. But in the fullness of my astronomy geekdom, I put little stock in that. At best, these points in the Earth's orbit around the sun mark the relative number of daylight to nighttime hours, but that's about it. To my mind, the seasons come with a change in the sorts of activities they sponsor or afford. And it's interesting, to me at least, to reflect on different places I've lived and what those affordances are and how the environment has signaled to me their statuses changing.

I've got Chicago on the mind now, and it's setup there of having, say, 9 months of winter immediately followed by 3 months of summer. Or something like that. I remember, after my first runthrough of the Windy City's seasons, how it was to my mind that right around Labor Day the temperatures would drop on friggin' dime, and it wasn't a "oh, this is just a chilly day, the temperatures will pick back up" kind of drop. I made that mistake in interpretation my first year, and spent several months of going "what the fuck? What the Fuck?!" No. Chicago's hit-you-upside-the-head drop in temperature broadcasts: "break out the waterproofing for your shoes and the tubs of winter clothes, because now I'm going to kick your ass and make you wonder how you manage to say alive. Now." It's a peculiar sort of overwhelmingness and sense of inevitability - that everything is about to Massively Change, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. Except gird your loins and waterproof your shoes.

In the Bay Area here, the change in seasons is more of the subtle variety. As with Chicago, there seem to basically be two, where here they are (1) persistently cloudy and often rainy, and (2) sunny and warm(er) with the occasional hot. And these of course do not neatly overlap with an ordinary sense of "winter" and "summer," for as those who live here or have visited know, while the rest of the northern hemisphere is enjoying their summer, it is unobligingly chilly (for the tourists, at least) and San Franciscans I believe are now heading in the autumnal months into the sunniest and warmest part of their year.

All the same, there are fallish signs. The air, in the morning at least before it warms up, does have a fall kind of briskness to it. The trees that can are starting to change their color. There are noticeably more dead leaves on the ground. The varieties of produce at the farmers market are changing. The days are remarkably shorter. Some nights are very chilly. All these signals transmit to me an upcoming change of activities. A difference in the foods we prepare; slow-cooked stew and pies; hearty fare whose long oven or stove times are welcome as they also help heat the house. The fireplace no longer is a mere dust-magnet, but beckons becoming another source of heat. The chances of rain in the weather forecasts are starting to shift, in places, from 0% to 20%, and maybe will afford me a car wash courtesy of mother nature.

Do the changes in the environment trigger in you your own sorts of behavioral differences?

Ecstacy

A gorgeous sunny afternoon in San Francisco
Sitting in Patricia's Green, that little park there in Hayes Valley
Puppies
Smiling, friendly people all around
A cute couple sitting a little down from me
Blue Angels flying right over top the skyline, just above us
The girl in that couple who got just as squeaky excited a I did, when the planes came close.
This great art piece, titled "Ecstasy" that I had hitherto thought was made of wood, but upon closer inspection see that it is constructed of metal.

Things in the car

organization thinking while I have one last cup of coffee

hay
dirt
my new hood ornament
(also on the car, with decorations courtesy of Dan)
cooler
beer
water
pedialyte
scotch, single malt
hard boiled eggs
yogurt
watermelon, bananas, cantaloupe
ground turkey
did I say beer?
salami
truffle mousse
a sandwich
odwalla juices
ice
flannel sheets, pillow, blankey
fuzzy boots
costume
other clean clothes
jackets
knaekebrod
freeze-dried camping food, for just in case
geek light
lantern
books
air horn
no, not really
yoga mat, in case I get up and 6 and feel inspired
air mattress inflater thingie
bathroom stuff
washcloths, towel, makeup, sunscreen, noxema, toothbrush, floss, toothpaste, contacts, saline, moisturizer
camp chair & stool
pretzels
music

2 guitars

I think that should do it.

So, how many policemen DOES it take to extract a naked man from a hot tub?

I now know, for I was at the Kiva spa place yesterday - where, allow me to say up front - according to all persons talked to, This Sort of Thing Is Not Normal.

Now, Kiva I've learned is a really sweet place just off Water Street in Santa Cruz. I'm tempted to call it a bathhouse, but being a fan of bathhouses of the Asian variety, I'd withhold that descriptor.

The bathhouses I've frequented have lots of showers and sit-down scrubbie stations where, in short, you bathe. There are also employees who, if you ante up, will obligingly scour several layers of dead skin off your body. And then there are the hot tubs and warm tubs and cold tubs and dry saunas and steam saunas. Fancier places offer massages and facials and cups of sea salt for taking into the steam room, and jugs of ice water with lemon slices and iced dishes of sliced cucumber, and low-level mellow new-agey sounding music. But to be sure, even the most basic kind of establishment fine by me. As long as the sauna is seriously hot, it's golden.

But being ever-ready for the new experience, and having heard good reviews of the Kiva, off I and the Other Michelle (the OM) went. And the reason for not wanting to call it a bathhouse, is that although there are showers there - well, a single one but big enough (and set up, plumbing wise) for 2 - that's all there is to taking-a-bath part.

One of its perks is that the tubs are outdoors, and the sensation of sitting in a huge jacuzzi tub of warm water with jasmine flowers floating in it that have fallen from the surrounding plants, on a nice cloudy chilly coastal day whose temperature caused steam to rise off the water's surface was sublime. This tub is near the exit from the changing rooms and adjacent to a station where there is hot tea and cold water. Next to is a grassy lawn, where you can sit on a bench or lay out a blanket and have a little picnic. Continue to walk back along the stone pathway, and there is a smaller hot tub and a cold tub; they both look like giant half-barrels buried down into the ground.

Always all around are these beautiful plants, and further back still is the dry sauna. It's really big, with 3 levels of seating you can choose from. It could easily hold 20 people, probably more. It smartly has a vestibule so that every time the door opens, the hot air doesn't easily escape. The shape is interesting - the ceiling is domed, and the room is round; it was quite nice. And very hot. Awesome. After getting all sweaty you can go right outside for a cold shower, or walk further to take a dip in the cold tub, or do what I did, which was to spread the towel on the grass and have a sit down in the garden and just enjoy the oxygen.

They also have private hot-tub rooms, one of which I got to enjoy because - as I remarked in the title here - there were police and a not-wanting-to-leave-naked-man in the bigger, warm tub there by the changing rooms.

When the OM and I had arrived, we were the only ones there, which was totally fabulous. But during the time we both had our massage, I could hear voices and the sounds of more people opening lockers downstairs, so I took a look outside to see what the situation was. The massage room I was in had a window affording a view of the back where the tubs and all were. And that's when I saw some uniforms. Hmmm.

They were talking to the guy in the warm tub, who was fully submerged except for his arms which were resting along the edge and his head which was resting upon his arms. He was talking to the police. Hmmmm.

You might think, "what the hell was a naked guy doing there in the first place? how did you >know< he was naked?" I should say more about how the Kiva rolls. My previous bathhouse experience always had it such that if it was co-ed, men were in one wing and women in another. Or, if there were not separate wings, then only men go on some days and only women on others. Or, if men and women attended together, then it was clothing-mandatory - an option that, to my mind at least - really doesn't enable one to reap all the benefits of going to a sauna.

Anyways, another thing that makes Kiva special is that it is co-ed, men and women share the same spaces, and clothing is optional. When I read the information on their website, I interpreted "clothing optional" as meaning that all options would be exercised. But it was indeed as my friend Jack explained last Saturday: everybody is naked.

Thus: naked man in the warm tub. Other men, too. Some not naked. Those would be the police.

(And in case you might be thinking, "what the hell were YOU doing in a place with strange, naked men in hot tubs?" I just have to say, you don't know me as well as you might think.)

It is a safe space. There are signs about warning people off of doing things like unsolicitedly massaging their neighbors, and in the women's dressing room a sign that says if anything at all happens that causes one to feel uncomfortable, to report it to the staff. So, upon viewing the scene downstairs, my first thought was that this guy had caused a woman some discomfort.

I stood up there for a few minutes, but the situation downstairs didn't look to be changing. So I wrapped myself up in my towel, and went to the dressing room where the door was open to the outside and I could hear a little better. The guy in the tub was saying something like, "I have as much right to be here as anybody," and "If you want me out, you have to come in here and get me."

Hmmmm.

So I went out into the lobby. The receptionist was profusely apologetic. This guy had come in, didn't pay the admission fee, and went and stationed himself after undressing in the big tub. So she called the cops. Good move.

It just seemed the cops didn't know quite what to do.

The receptionist offered to let me use one of the private rooms, until the situation resolved. I didn't know where the OM had gone to; I looked around inside for a bit, but then took the receptionist up on her offer for the private room, which was pretty cool. It's also open, up top, to the outside, with its own hot tub and a steam shower.

But after a few minutes I got bored. And right there, just a few feet away, was something pretty bizarre that really deserved to be checked out.

So off I trotted, back to the women's changing room, where I had a big bag of sliced up fruit stored in a locker. I grabbed me a little snack, and stationed myself there by the exit door to take in the show.

There seemed to be more uniforms. Some were outside, and some inside, on the men's changing room side. They were all wearing these blue latex gloves. Two of the fellows outside were helping the man who had been in the warm tub down the steps from the deck. There was one on either side of him, and he slipped on the stairs. I heard a few moments later one of them say, "the ground is level here, you can walk safely."

I thought, "Is he blind?" How on earth does a blind man manage to evade a receptionist, undress, find the jacuzzi, get in, find and harass a woman all before the police arrive? The policeman right next to the women's door leading outside caught sight of me, and asked me to go in and close the door. I guess that was the decent thing to do. So I did. But the dressing rooms are right next to each other, and they're open to one another along the top, so you can hear everything that goes on next door. The police were asking this fellow which locker was his. He thought it was the third from the left on the bottom. They'd know it was his if they found the candy and cigarettes.

Candy and cigarettes? This is not getting any less weird.

But by this point, I figured the show was pretty much over, so I took my bag o' fruit and went back to the private room, and shortly after was joined by the OM. She had been braver than I, and after her massage had towelled up and walked around the scene outside and back to the sauna where folks were all a-twitter about the situation. One person had said, "Can you imagine if this was the first time you had ever come to the Kiva?", and Michelle was, "uh, yeh, I can!" And then they were all apologetic about it, too, stressing that This is Not Normal, and Michelle was, like, no worries.

She had heard the police asking if the receptionist could drain the hot tub. They were trying to figure out a way to get the naked (and possibly blind?) man out, without any of them having to get in. The receptionist declined. Hence the bunch of standing around - what, it took on the order of 30 to 45 minutes? - before he was extracted. The naked man had also, it seems, acted to fend them off by throwing candy at them from his stronghold there in warm tub. There were, as I found later, indeed several multi-colored bits all over the ground, kind of like confetti. I think they were Nerds.

The rest of the time there was just dandy. The people were all really friendly and nice. It would probably be traumatic if you went in full of body-image issues, but then maybe it's a good place to go if you are, to get a lesson on just being, and not hiding behind multiple layers of baggy clothes. There was more eye contact there, than if clothed in a low-cut dress.

But now to the answer you've been waiting for: it takes 7 policemen, and a bottle of pepper spray, to get a recalcitrant naked man out of a hot tub. So: he wasn't blind after all; they had sprayed him to be able to incapacitate him, and that's why he couldn't see. And he hadn't harassed any women, but just had refused to pay the entry fee.