In the fall of 1994 I was in art school studying fashion. I took classes in draping and pattern making, figure drawing, flats and specs, costume design and history of fashion, just to name a few.
One day I mosied into class where my teacher had set up a television and VCR.
I remember exactly what I was wearing that day, as I do for every important event in my life; a Betsey Johnson flowered jump suit with belled legs, green clogs and a short bolero sweater that wrapped high around my waist. My hair was cut in that pixie way and it was platinum blonde. I once was quite the risk taker.
Galliano, Fall 1994 began to play.
It was the first time that I was spellbound by a show. My physical reaction was a mix of surprise, wonder and heart palpatating excitement. Tears welled up in my eyes, the emotion was pure joy.
Fashion as art; art as fashion.
This morning I logged onto the computer and learned that last night was the Metropolitan Museum of Art Costume Gala. I’m so out of the loop, I didn’t even see it coming.
The Met Gala is the fashion equivalent to The Oscars. The risk taking and beauty of the fashion choices leave me with bated breath like Galliano’s hoop skirts did that day in the second floor classroom on New Montgomery, downtown San Francisco.
Unlike the Oscars, the choices are not always safe. Personality is more appreciated as evident in Sarah Jessica Parker’s Valentino choice and Diane Kruger’s Purple Prada, Coco Rochas’ vintage jumpsuit and Alicia Keys’ harem tux.
My smile is wide this morning, my heart has skipped a few beats and the energy from the artistry has left me charged. I love fashion for it’s ability to do this to me.
What is art to you? Who are some of your favorite artists, in fashion or life?
Exactly one year ago, upon my return from the ING Miami half marathon, I tried a cleanse. I didn’t do it (primarily) because I was searching for better health. I did it because my running partner Sandra had just finished week three when we met at Loews Miami and she looked so darned good in her tiny bikini (lounging by that beautiful pool), I wanted a little of the zex appeal that the cleanse might provide for me.
As soon as I got home I bought a juicer. I read the book CLEAN, a cleanse by Dr. Junger, and cut out the “elimination” foods like dairy, coffee, wheat, strawberries and peanut butter (apparently bad for the gut).
I ate garlic sandwiched between apple slices, a ton of kale, and chia seeds for a snack. My one real meal of the day was at the lunch hour, usually salmon and a steamed green, but Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop Detox had a delicious chicken recipe that I cooked a lot, too.
Overall I felt great, but there was a weakness I didn’t enjoy. I fully expected to complete the three weeks that the plan called for, but on the last day of week two came down with the most horrendous flu like illness, complete with fever and shakes and all, and the cleanse had to be forfeited. I threw up the white flag and begged for some macaroni and cheese.
I had lost seventeen pounds and as you might imagine, it crept back onto my bones with a quickness.
It wasn’t a complete loss however, because it gave me the opportunity to analyze my diet. The ways in which I thought I had been eating healthily were (in truth) more about deprivation.
For me, food is like alcohol and drugs to those who abuse those things. Once you get off the stuff and climb aboard the wagon, you have to put in the effort to stay there.
I’m a busy girl. I’m a girl whose physiology makes too much sugar in the blood a very bad thing. Running has been used in place of metformin and has allowed me to stop pricking my poor little finger tips. I am addicted to sugar and once I start to ingest it (after a period of near constant analysis of life without it), it’s really hard to stay focused; much easier to grab a donut and plummet back down into Candy Land.
As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, I’m back on the healthy eating wagon, but not entirely for health related reasons. I’m vain and I like skinny jeans. I’m going to try really hard to stay glued to my seat instead of swinging off the back end like some rodeo rider looking for a quick fix.
Unlike the full cleanse, I’m choosing to continue to drink coffee and dairy. I like peanut butter and strawberries, so those will stay too. Instead of reaching for a bowl of cereal the moment I crawl out of bed, I’m going to follow Gwyneth’s lead and have a glass of room temperature water with lemon to jump start the system. I wasn’t a huge fan of the almond milk that was a staple of Dr. Junger’s plan, but I will have an afternoon snack of chia seeds and chocolate milk, because the enrgy it provides is what I need at 3:00 p.m., otherwise known as the witching hour.
Since the day I joined Jenny Craig at the impressionable age of seventeen and throughout the next twenty three years, I’ve learned a lot about a good diet. Much of what I learned has been tossed away, some has remained, and new things that work for me have been added.
Learning to manage one’s health when it comes to food (and happiness with race photos) is a cumulative effort. A personal and lifelong cumulative effort.
Last night I stood at the pink lamp and bent into a forward fold waiting for both girls to finish their books. Sophie was a bit wound up and decided to read like her sister instead of rolling over to sleep.
I should have known that planned enlightenment would be disturbed by my Sophie, who can’t resist spontaneous yoga.
In a flash she was out of the bed and before I knew it the three of us were in head stands against the closet doors. It soon became a free for all, so I moved away and watched little legs swing up, bellies protrude forward and legs crash back down.
The determination to get upside down makes the ease of the transition more like a race.
Gathering them back to their sleep spots felt a lot like sheep herding. Eventually they were tucked back under the blankets and fast asleep in less than two minutes.
A four miler is on the agenda for today, although I wonder if tomorrow would be better. My left glute flared up a little at the end of my mid-week seven yesterday and my calf muscles are tight, probably from tip toeing it up the hills.
Saturday is my first fourteen miler. I’ve never run that far and am feeling anxious, but excited. During yesterday’s run I realized at about six that I must have a “book on tape.” It’s the only way I’m going to ward of the boredom.
The question is, what do I want?
I’m wavering between Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop suggestion of Dr. Dyer’s Excuses Begone, and the novel, The Help. I paged through The Help at Target one day, and although it’s gotten good reviews, I’m not sure I’m that excited to read/listen to it.