New Year's Chills

It's the second week of January and the mercury dropped to freezing last night along coastal Carlsbad, and even lower ten or fifteen minutes inland.  Baby, it's chilly outside, and inside too.  The funny thing about Californians is that we go outside in the winter to warm up, because it's always nice in the sun.  Inside the house, the chill from the night before lingers, so we pile on layers to keep warm.  Only when it's excruciating do we turn up the thermostat while the sun's still out.  Climate change is everywhere, the paper says, with extremes in all directions. 

Before the planet turns into another ice age or fiery ball, I've decided I'd better document my resolutions for 2013.   For some reason, throughout the past many years, I've been a fairly faithful goal setter.  I equate it to a positive attitude about life overall.   If you say what you want, you just might get it.  Seems to work a lot of the time.   So here goes -- my list for 2013:

• Enter a post on my blogpage at least once a week
• Add a warm yoga class to my exercise routine, for 3 days of yoga plus 3 days of gym a week
• Take another UCSD class on fiction writing (check -- last Wednesday)
• Ship my YA novel off to a publisher/editor/agent by April
• Hike at least once a month
• Eat really good food during the week and kick alcohol and other treats to the weekends
• Pull up worn carpet in the living/dining room and lay down hardwoods (check -- on Monday)
• Do something with my daughters monthly and my sister at least twice a month
• Do something fun with grandkids at least once a month
• Plan more time with writer friends and girlfriends
• Do a good deed for someone outside my family daily
• Host another bitchin' Kentucky Derby Party the first Saturday in May!

Okay, I want to travel too, but that's something I wouldn't ignore or have to motivate myself to do.  Dan's bridge and golf pursuits take us to the desert once or twice a year where hiking options are plentiful for me, and a timeshare in Cabo is on the calendar for March.  Maybe I'll add a girls trip or other trip on top of that.  Mostly, in 2013 I'm excited about a brand new year full of promise and possibilities.  In fact, most days bring a smile to my face.  Sometimes it erupts into sheer joy -- for being alive and healthy and thriving in the USA!

The holiday time is here with lots of good cheer, holiday spirits and a few extra pounds.   Here's a summary of our year, in place of the holiday letter you may not have received.

Dear Friends and Family,

We have much to celebrate this holiday season.  But it’s also been a year for good-byes, which leaves us a little sad and more aware of entering a new stage of our lives. These days, Dan and I find life more poignant and our friends and family more precious. 

Thank God for miracles.  As many people know, our son Craig suffered a hangman’s break (broken neck) on March 31, and was spared the death that occurs in 99% of these cases and the paralysis that occurs in the other 1%.  He spent the month of April in the hospital and three months in a halo -- a device of metal rods and bolts screwed into his skull, to stabilize his broken cervical vertebrae and preserve his mobility.  As you might guess, that life-changing event came with unbelievable challenges for Craig, Danielle and their kids, McKinley and Taylor. But they rose to the occasion and showed us what they’re made of….amazing strength, perseverance, compassion and joy!  We can’t say enough about everyone who supported them and us, with babysitting, prayers, meals and endless good deeds.  Thanks to their Village, Craig has worked since May, is now in a small neck brace, and will start the physical therapy on his neck soon. 

 The other members of our amazing family had shining moments throughout the year.  Our oldest grandkid, Dane (18), graduated high school in June and started UC Santa Cruz in the Fall.  It was a great time when the Hoffman side of the family traveled to Santa Cruz for Thanksgiving, to enjoy Dane’s tour of his campus and dorm.  Younger brother Riley (15) is the family pianist, taking lessons twice a week this summer and banging the ivories the rest of the year.  Cousin Westin (15) took to the ring and is our boxing champ.  On the Beck side, Noah (11) and Beau (8) are major jocks in baseball, soccer and surfing, winning championships and keeping their parents busy with a steady roster of games.  McKinley (8) and Taylor (5) played soccer, and McK made all stars.  She is ViVi’s theater buddy, and we went to The Sound of Music at San Diego Junior Theater in November.

Dan and I celebrated our 26^th anniversary with a trip to Europe in October.  We lucked out with a fantastic group of fellow travelers – 10 souls from Australia, Canada, South Africa and the U.S. on the back roads of England; and a mother/daughter duo from the U.S. on the back roads of Ireland.  There were fabulous tour guides, charming inns, breathtaking scenery and tons of history (that we still can’t recall) all along the way.  I also took 11 riding lessons this year with a handsome thoroughbred named Gerry, and continue with UCSD writing courses to polish my Young Adult novel.  Dan is ever busy with bridge and golf adventures – and won his club’s match play tournament in January.  

We said good-bye to my precious aunt, Joey, last December, to our beloved friend, Bari Lynn Cardiff, in November, and to our neighbor Mary Laver and Betsy’s father-in-law, Denny Crimmins, this month.  We feel blessed by their lives, and yours as well.  Keep in touch and come see us soon.  

Lots of Love, Vicki and Dan  

       

What a summer for live theater -- Broadway and local summer stock varieties abound.

 The dramatic journey starts at the La Jolla Playhouse with the provocative Gifts and Guns which had a run in New York before it took to the road. From the opening curtain to the closing bows, it's a winding political tale with the backdrop of wars in Afghanistan, politicos in Pakistan, and magnificent performances by actors and characters alike. The audience is privy to a rare birds-eye view of each country's key representative on the ground -- American, British, Russian and Afghani/Pakistani. That last one is a double because the setting for the story is Pakistan, but I was never sure if the key guy was Afghani or Pakistani. The partners change with the trends of war and terrorist bands, so the bad guys become the good guys, and the money and guns to fight evil support it in the end. Tangled.  And I do mean more than a head full of long blonde hair falling from a Disney castle window. The never-ending loop of history has more than a few bewildering moments. Sad news is that it's likely to stay this way until the next partners dance and ultimately discover the bonds of ancient tribal loyalties and cultural practices are beyond their wildest understanding and hopeful optimism. But that's a pessimist talking. If there's going to be peace on earth (Middle East), let it begin with the women and schools, not the tribes and guns.

Alas, the unpleasant taste left by familiar tragedies of politics and war is quickly forgotten in the recent production of Wicked at San Diego's Civic Theater.  The blonde, cheery, playful Glinda witch offers a striking contrast to her more serious, studious sister witch, Elphaba, whose green skin is her burden to bear in this life. Elfa's fate was sealed at conception, when her mother and the Wizard of Oz engaged in a tryst that led to sips of his, yes-you-guessed-it, green potion. The two sisters struggle to be separate and then together, to claim the same man (guess who wins that one), and to support and deny the animals a place in their world.  But these subplots are upstaged when the third sister witch, Nessarose, spirngs up from her wheelchair and dances around the stage! My personal favorites among the cast were the agile monkeys of Oz who pranced and leaped and crouched on the sets, including a tall structure of ladders that spanned the entire stage, reminiscent of a jail number in Chicago. A moment of unexpected levity arrives when a door in the floor is lifted and slammed shut, to keep "that little farm girl from Kansas" imprisoned below. The production quality and performances were worthy of praise, and offered an abundance of opportunities for an eager audience to clap and shout their approval.

If good girl witch Glinda has any aspirations for acting, she might want to audition for the role of Elle, the female lead in Legally Blonde, at Vista's Moonlight Theater.  Her blonde, cheery outlook on life, albeit naive, is well suited to Elle’s stereotypical reputation as the dumb, energetic blonde that no one takes seriously when she arrives at Harvard Law School to win back the guy who broke her heart when he left UCLA.  The musical numbers crackle with energy.  At once memorable is the number with Elle’s hairdresser and her soon-to-be-husband, the UPS delivery man, who takes the lead in a chorus line of characters in an Irish dance reminiscent of Riverdance.  A real-life UCLA student, the actress who plays Elle is an engaging performer with talent to spare.  Her vocal delivery and timing are outstanding as the lead of a considerable cast of worthy performers who spin a yarn that turns everything sideways before Elle demonstrates her brainy chops and recognizes true love.

Lessons Gerry Taught Me

After a brisk yoga class to stretch and strengthen my sometimes reluctant body, I made a beeline for my Tuesday lesson with Gerry.  He's the handsome chestnut thoroughbred who's won my heart over the past four months.  He hangs with his buddies on a quaint horse farm nestled behind a hillside fence of bright fuchsia bougainvillea in rural San Marcos.  The two-lane highway that leads to the farm is a welcome respite from the craziness of everyday life.  White-topped greenhouses sprout between the rolling hills where long stretches of fencing form a peaceful setting for elegant thoroughbreds and their equine cousins.  My lessons are held in a dusty corral backed by tall palms and bougainvillea plants, the California version of the Kentucky horse farms scattered along highways where I grew up.  This would be my last lesson in a series of eleven, but at the time, I had no idea that it would be the most dramatic and surprising lesson, forever etched in my memory. 

When I found him, Gerry was following another horse around the exercise ring.  It's like a wooden merry-go-round with live horses, their heads bent down as they circle the ring in time to the cranking of the wooden frame and its heavy metal parts. Each horse is attached behind a bar that serves as a spoke in the large wheel, turning at a steady pace to keep them moving.  The soft dirt cushions their feet as muscles warm up and loosen for lessons or riding events.  A helpful worker released Gerry from the ring and handed his leash to me.  With the leather strap in one hand, and my other hand tightened on Gerry's halter, I led him down the narrow, gravel driveway to the stable for grooming.

A very mellow horse, Gerry stands about fifteen or sixteen hands tall.  His glossy eyes followed me as I fastened his halter to the cross ties for grooming.  Occasionally, he would shake his head to whisk a pesky fly away, but mostly, he stood in quiet contemplation while I brushed and massaged his coat.  The hoofs are the hardest part of grooming, because Gerry's heavy foot rests on my thigh while I bend over to dig the debris out of the shoe. When that job was finished, I positioned the smooth, black leather English saddle over the blanket on Gerry's back and buckled it to the girth underneath, on both sides of Gerry's sizable belly.  Next, the halter comes off and is replaced by the bridle.  Fitting the bridle is tricky, since one hand places the bit in Gerry's mouth while the other hand pulls the bridle with all its straps over a massive horse head and ears. It would be less than honest to claim my skills fully developed in this maneuver.  In fact, when I fumble the bridle, a friendly horse handler is usually close by to rescue me.  With the bit in place, my nimble fingers fastened the thick, supple leather of the brow band, throat latch and nose band.  The latter has to be tight to make sure the bit stays firmly in place.  Gerry's tack completed, I clicked the helmet strap under my chin and led him to the mounting block.
 

Since this was my final lesson of the season, I was eager to master my new skills with confidence --to  maintain the correct posture, hand movements and leg signals. Gerry and I ambled along the rail and drew smaller circles in the middle of the dusty ring.  After a few minutes, my teacher, Sara, stopped us and placed a crop in my left hand, with the length of it running behind  my left leg.  I'd never held a crop, and didn't know why we were using it now, but followed her order to continue as before.  
 

Gerry obviously knew about the crop.  He felt the gentle tap of the crop on his rear haunch and immediately interpreted it as a command to pick up his speed, which came as a total surprise to me.  It felt like we were in a full gallop in a 50s cowboy movie.  I flopped up and down in the saddle as he paced double time around the ring.  Totally panicked, I'd be eating dirt soon.  I yelled for help and braced my thighs against his body.  At the same time, I had to maintain my posture in a firm and upright position for posting up and down, which meant the rein had to wind through my two fingers, and my hands had to extend in front of me, not toward my waist.  All this while the balls of my feet pressed into the stirrups with my toes pointed up.  Too much to master.  Nearly impossible for such an inexperienced rider. 

Desperate, I grabbed the horn at the front of the saddle as an extra safety to steady myself.  Gerry continued his fierce gallop while Sara screamed at the top of her lungs.  Finally, her words became clear.  She was telling me to drop it! She meant the crop, right?  My fingers opened and released the leather grip while both hands pulled on the rein.  I shouted:  Ho!  Gerry stopped immediately, just like he'd taken off.  Relieved and struggling to get my breath, I tried to calm down while my heart pounded nonstop.  

So, what happened?   Sara explained that she wanted to wake Gerry up, because he was moving in slow motion, thus the crop.  The great adventure that resulted was both scary and thrilling -- a Disneyland E ticket ride, courtesy of Gerry.  What I thought was a gallop was only a canter, Sara said.  She applauded my performance, noting that my posture and handling were perfect!  So I did achieve my goal for the last lesson, just not as I'd planned.  When I thought about it later, I remembered another lesson with Gerry, the mellow thoroughbred that delivers  not-so-mellow surprises.   At the mounting block for my second lesson, we stood next to a bougainvillea bush where bees buzzed in and out of the fuschia flowers.  Spooked by a buzzing critter, Gerry stomped his left foreleg down, right on my left foot!   I belted out a loud OUCH as my hand grabbed for my foot.  Thank goodness I wore new boots with hard steel toes that day!  They saved my throbbing foot from a much worse fate.

In eleven short weeks of English riding lessons, I learned a lot.  But most important, Gerry taught me that gentle, 1,500-pound thoroughbreds can surprise you when you're least expecting it. And that it's not a bad thing to end riding lesons while you're still safe in the saddle -- rather than sprawled in the  dirt.  Thanks for the memories, Gerry, all of them. I'll visit, soon, I promise.

It's Spring!   Ah, the beauty of nature.  The calle lillies gently unfurl from tall green leaves into perfect peaks of firm white petals beneath my kitchen window.  I'm reminded of a summer wedding when they bunched together in a ribboned bouquet for a young bride.  Dan's irises, in a far corner of the backyard, burst forth in flamboyant hues of brilliant blues that were the pride and joy of his dad during a lifetime of tending to bulbs and gardens in southern California.  Not to be outdone by the blossoms, frequent flyers have returned to nest above the stereo speaker on the side patio eaves.  They protect new life with warmth and flutters until it scratches a path from its protective shell into a world of new beginnings.