Holiday Beading Success, Employee Abuse, Coke Zero envy, the greedy Astrologer, Tai Chi Master Surprise, Ms. Sanchez

It is hard to imagine a sense of satisfaction greater than that felt when the answer to "Where did you get that, I love it," is truthfully, "I made it." But indeed ladies and gentlemen, I anticipate many such exchanges to be on the horizon for yours truly, as today was a triumphant beading day for me. Unfortunately this cannot be said of the rest of the crowd in attendance at this morning's holiday beading class, a.k.a. The Bead Goes On or Don't Worry Bead Happy as it is referred to in the Ranch program schedule. The class did not start out on an energetically positive track as one of the guests, let us call her Martha, arrived a full 10 minutes late and swept into the Pavilion in quite an attention seeking huff. Martha, it is worthy to note, is in her mid-70's, and unlike the majority of Ranch guests, neither dyes her gray hair nor differentiates between her and her husbands sweatpants. Martha does however have a most vindictive nature, as you will soon see. Donna, the beading instructor, who incidentally was wearing a silver leather belt she had adorned with Swarovski crystals to a truly bedazzling effect, paused her in depth explanation of the difference between the metallic and ceramics beads to ask Martha if she was all right.

"Well, I guess you could say all right if you ignore the fact that I just spent the last hour in medical."

Without further prompting, Martha began a detailed and bitter recounting of the morning's events. While she was leaving the Clubhouse and walking behind an employee of the Ranch, a new guest appeared on the horizon and called out a greeting to the employee. The employee slowed down and responded to the greeting with an effusive and wide gesturing of her arms in a V-shaped air hello. As her hand flew with apparent jet propulsion up into the air, she caught the side of Martha's weathered face. The force of this contact was apparently sufficient to cause Martha to seek out medical treatment, and although there were no signs of injury on Martha’s face visible to the naked eye, she assured us all that her jaw was now clicking.

Donna quickly told Martha that she was sure the employee must feel terrible about the incident, to which Martha replied, “Well, you’d think so.” Donna tried again with a different approach; “I bet her hand must be hurting something awful.” This produced a visible smile across Martha’s face for apparently her clicking jaw injury had no effect on her jaw’s ability to support an effusive ear-to-ear grin. “I certainly think so,” was Martha’s official response. Unsatisfied with this, I leaned in toward Martha and asked playfully, “Do you mean “think so” or “hope so”?”

Martha winked at me with great pleasure and said in a fiery tone unbefitting her benign, baggy sweatpanted appearance, “Yup, you got it.” A few of the fully make-upped forehead sweatband sporting guests (think Olivia Newton John but 70+ and in tranny makeup with reading glasses) were seen to take a few discreet steps away from Martha. Donna continued with her explanation and I quietly moved my things to a table on the far side of the Pavilion.


I returned to fight my way through what can only be accurately described as a bead frenzy. Age spot covered hands were diving madly in and out of the many containers of beads spread out according to color on the tables. Beads were flying as the ladies’ acrylic nails clawed in the turquoise and red holiday beads. I avoided the frenzy almost completely by sticking to the pearl and earth tone beads, which were surprisingly unattractive to the Olivia impersonators. “Don’t cha wanna a-yedd a liddle culla fah oomph doll?” one Jackie from Cincinnati asked. I decided to sit next to Jackie for in spite of her black sweatband, I liked that she cared about the quality of my output. While Jackie struggled to find the holes in her ruby and turquoise beads through which to thread the wire, I quietly began stringing my bracelet together. Upon my asking Jackie from Cincinnati what part of New York she was from originally, Jackie dropped her bracelet in apparent shock that she still had a discernable accent. I helped Jackie from Cincinnati collect her beads as she explained how she was actually born and raised in Brooklyn but had lived in her adopted home city for the past 54 years.

When I had crimped my last bead, I tried on my bracelet and Jackie declared it to be “ah-eb-sa-loot-ly gohgess.” If you look at the photo attached, you’ll see it is hard to disagree.

After the toil of beading, I decided to sit by the flagstone pool near the Double U Café and read in the sunshine while sipping on one of the Coke Zeros I had smuggled into the Ranch on Day 1. My carcinogenic beverage acted like an open bottle of male pheromones and soon I had women of all ages and sizes approaching me to demand I tell them where I got the beverage and whether I had more. I had mixed emotions about this, for on the one hand I had empathy for these diet soda-deprived women, but on the other hand I felt contempt for these same women who clearly did not love their delectable slimming fizzy drink enough to have planned ahead and smuggled some in for themselves. I explained that they could get their very own by hiring a car to take them to the Circle K and eventually collecting my things and moved on; I knew I was no longer welcome as they sipped jealously on their unsweetened boysenberry iced tea.

I entered the Catalan Room excited for the lecture on Astrology. Katherine, the chief Astrologist at the Ranch was there and greeted me warmly, even offering me a piece of Dove dark chocolate, which I accepted gratefully. Katherine looks exactly like what I would imagine Terri Garr’s older, food obsessed sister would look like. She also speaks in a similar ditsy yet charming manner, employing multiple run on sentences that are colorful if often hard to follow. We were joined by Mona, a Ranch vet who appeared to be separated at birth from the new football coach on Glee, and Kelsey an adorable 20 year old from Atlanta visiting with her Mom.

Rather than teach us the basics of Astrology and how it is used to guide ones life toward enlightenment, Katherine spent much of the first 30 minutes showing us screen shots on the projector of various financial astrologers and talking about the incredible price increases in gold and silver. She then projected the chart of the United States of America and explained how it will be a full 12 months until we begin to emerge from the current financial turmoil due to the squaring of Uranus with various other planets apparently responsible for the movement of money.

At Mona’s behest she also pulled up the birth chart of Barack Obama, and paused in silence once it was on the large screen before us. “Well, you can certainly see how hard he’s working and what a tough time he’s having.” In truth I could not, I could see nothing but a series of numbers and squiggles. Fortunately, Mona had to excuse herself to prepare for some intense athletic feat and I left to join the lecture on Spiritual Anchoring in Turbulent Times next door.

The class was full and so I sat on the carpeted floor at the very back of the room. I noticed Hispanic Tom Selleck and his much older sugar momma sitting in the chairs in front of me listening intently to the speaker’s pointers on the importance of anchoring oneself with spirituality before allowing a situation to turn into a problem. I am still unclear on the distinction between a situation and a problem, although I am clear that a problem is much worse karma and dharma wise. I am also unclear on what dharma really is, but I digress. The fourth step in anchoring is to breathe. According to the speaker we forget to breathe and this is to our detriment. Having never personally forgotten to breathe, I can nonetheless imagine how doing so might prove problematic if not fatal. At this point Mr. Selleck raised his hand and asked the speaker if he might lead the class through a brief breathing demonstration that would underscore the power of breathing as well as its simplicity. Having always found breathing quite simple myself, I was curious as to how to make it even easier. The speaker asked how long Mr. Selleck thought such a demonstration might take, an experienced speaker move, and he said no more than time it takes to take 4 or 5 breaths. Permission was granted and we were handed over to Mr. Selleck.

As it turns out Mr. Selleck is no ordinary boy toy. He informed us that he is the 1998-1999 World Tai Chi Master and that breathing technique has been the key to his success. He spoke slowly in thickly Mexican-accented English.

“Feerst ju tekke a deep clensen bref, en led id ow bery bery slow. Nex’ ju pud jour ton on dee roof a jour mao, en exhale bery bery slow.” We all did as instructed. “Pee-chure in-chaling piss and ex-chaling war, pee-chure in-chaling love and ex-chaling chate, pee-ture in-chaling li’ an ex-chaling death.” After 5 such rounds he gave us a brief explanation of the physiological changes we had just undergone as a result of the “deep clensen bref’ and the room exploded into spontaneous applause. Mr. Selleck was very pleased and his blinding smile shone proudly.

Later at the spa, I was awaiting my 100-minute Ashiatsu treatment when Mr. Selleck’s sugar momma walked in. The door from the spa waiting room to the massage rooms opened and a woman with a clipboard called out for "Mrs. Sanchez, Mrs. Jane Sanchez," and Mr. Selleck’s sugar momma stood up, “Yes, that’s me.” And so, it became clear that Mr. Selleck was far more than the sum of his oversized pearly whites, he was indeed a true master. Kudos senor, kudos.

The Numbers of Your Life, DJ Dance Party, Tyler Perry encounter, Ayurvedic profiling, Tarot Tarot Tarot

I treated myself to a sleep-in this morning and sauntered over to the dining room for breakfast at 8:45am. The disapproving glares of the sweat stained masses as I was shown to my favorite table did not have their intended effect. Rather than feel "less-than" my compatriots who had no doubt already completed the 8 mile morning walk and an early spin class before their dry egg white omelet repast, I felt "more than". So superior was my mood that I requested a half order of the whole wheat banana pancakes plus a half order of the cranberry pecan gluten free french toast, plus an organic chicken sausage patty and extra warm maple syrup. The sniggers were silenced as I tucked into my feast. "Yes," their eyes said, "we want what you have oh lazy one."

After breakfast I attended a fascinating information session on "The Numbers of Your Life," which was a primer on Numerology. As luck would have it I was sandwiched between two sturdy Midwestern-looking sisters who seemed completely lovely. Of course what became clear was that the big sister (when i say "big" i am referring purely to age although it would be a fair assessment) had hauled the little sister to the session in order to encourage the Numerologist, Diana, to explain why she was unlucky in love so that their late mother could rest in peace knowing that little sister (again purely a reference to age) would be armed with that which she needed to focus on in order to finally settle down and have a family. Diana was somewhat uncomfortable at being thrust between the two pasty faced siblings in this manner, but carried her session out with grace explaining how the numbers are indeed the numbers of your life and you can choose to go with the flow and find the path to happiness or not. As for me, according to Diana, my life's purpose is to self-actualize and create something joyful to change the world. This will apparently become clear to me in the fullness of time but most likely in this lifetime, which is a giant relief as you can well imagine. While changing the world is apparently somewhere in my future, I hope in some small way my blog is currently bringing you a modicum of joy or at least the odd chuckle.

I then made my way to Gym 1 to take DJ Dance Party with a throng of fully make-upped, headband sporting 50 and 60-somethings in various sizes of Lululemon capris and ultra white sneakers. A myriad of chassees, kick-ball-changes, and grapevines carefully choreographed to the latest Rihanna, Katy Perry, and Pink ensued with mixed success. While the V-steps and getting-low moves were less than picturesque, the full upper torso shimmying was quite frankly a deeply disturbing part of the class from which I may require some hypnotherapy. You see dear reader, no matter how fit one tries to be, nor how many elective skin tightening procedures one undergoes, at 67 one's neck and upper arm skin vibrates in a most unflattering manner. Seeing 30 preternaturally tanned wagging wattles while hearing how California Girls are all Daisy Dukes and Bikinis On Top, is not for the feint of heart.

Fortunately, it is only a 45 minute class and soon I was out by the drinks dispenser filling my standard issue plastic Canyon Ranch water bottle with lemon infused water. Suddenly I spied a tall and rather wide African American gentleman, the rarest of guests at the Ranch which tends to the chubby east coast Jewess and the lanky Atlanta-bred Wasp. The occasional make guest is most often the significant other of the former two categories of guest. He looked somewhat familiar yet I could not place him. He might be a retired professional athlete whose erstwhile muscles had turned to fat, or a character actor from a quick cancelled cable sitcom. He approached a 70 year old Jewish looking gentleman with a partial comb-over and shook his hand warmly in greeting. That is when it struck me, this looked like a scene from a Tyler Perry movie where the old Jewish man would be played by one of the Wayan's brothers in heavy prosthetic make-up. And like that, I realized that the gentleman was in fact Tyler Perry, billionaire movie producer and frequent house guest of Oprah and Steadman. He is very friendly and has tiny little teeth that are bright white. He also looks good in royal blue basketball gear but between us is not a great shot.

Soon it was time for lunch and I noticed a number of 70 year old women with 50 year old boy toys. I don't know how I had missed this phenomenon before but it was as though a tour bus full of semi-attractive middle aged male escorts had just been dropped off to entertain the senior women. One couple caught my eye, she was Caucasian, slim, in her early 70's, and likely grew up in a warm climate where she was overexposed to the sun in childhood. He was a bucktoothed, Hispanic version of Tom Selleck from the Magnum P.I. era. His hair was dyed jet black to cover his graying roots and gave him a slightly comical air, as though he were dressed as a caricature of a somewhat upscale cholo boy toy. His prodigious overbite was rendered all the more pronounced by the nearly luminescent white veneers that covered all of his teeth. No doubt a present from his sugar momma. And though I found the scene largely hilarious and tried to imagine how an SNL skit might be constructed using this subject matter, it was remarkably sweet to see Mr. Selleck hold out his date's chair, share his frozen yogurt, and laugh at her jokes with his enormous mouthful of snowy white chompers.

I then enjoyed an Introduction to Ayurveda and found that I am a Pitta Vata Dosha, (same as Meryl Streep natch) which basically means that I should avoid spicy food, use plenty of sun block and avoid overly strenuous sports. Finally it was time for my Tarot Card reading with Laurie, the Ranch Tarot Card reader who happens to be the biggest Chicago Cubs fan in the world. As she sipped from her Cubs tea mug and jotted down notes on her Wrigley Field notepad, I could not help but wonder whether a Tarot Card reader of substance would remain a devoted fan her whole life to the losingess team in the MLB, knowing (as she must) that they would never win. I felt some skepticism as I shuffled the deck of cards set out before me. However, Laurie soon proved herself to be a worthy metaphysician with her excellent observations of my multiple unique talents and abilities. When she went off script to simply read my aura and declared my energy to be positive, strong and remarkably attractive to those seeking truth and higher meaning, I could hardly disagree. Cubs fan or no, Laurie has real Tarot talent.

Tomorrow I am making a Holiday Bead Bracelet, attending a lecture on Astrology as well as one on Spiritual Anchoring in Turbulent Times, and having at least frozen chocolate covered banana.

Alpine Muesli in the Desert, Hiking with the balance challenged, Dusty never forgets, Massage etiquette and Watercolor painting 101

I awoke at 6:30am and pulled on multiple ski worthy layers in preparation for my morning hike in the unseasonably cold 40 degree weather. For any one who has yet to discover the New Zealand based outerwear company, Iceberg, may I encourage you to hop online and buy yourself as many of these miracle wicking tops as your budget will allow. I donned my gloves and beanie (which in fact is more of a woolen gangsta rappa style beret), and grabbed my hiking sticks (yes i now bring my own and yes it impresses the other guests immeasurably) and made haste for the Double U Cafe. I noticed a new addition to the early morning breakfast menu, Alpine Muesli. Of course we are in the Sonoran Dessert and nowhere near Alpine country, and so I was curious as to what exactly made this particular Muesli offering Alpine-esque. The server who took my order had neither the faintest idea nor interest in the provenance of the name nor in my fashion forward hat.

After a hot cup of tea I joined the hiking group and our lead guide for the morning, Dusty. The Leki hiking sticks in my hand immediately set me apart from the other hikers and if that wasn't enough Dusty said how nice it was to see me again. We collected our packs and alighted the Ranch van but due to my urgent need for a final pit stop before leaving on the journey, i was stuck in the 4th row. This van positioning is problematic for two distinct reasons: first, i am hopelessly car sick; and second, all important ranch conversation is conducted in the first 2 rows. I opened my pack and removed the tupperware full of glorious trail snacks from it, and began unpacking the contents of the tupperware back into the pack while leaving the unnecessary weight of the tupperware in the van. Immediately heads from the front of the van were turning to see what I was up to and I did my best to pretend not to notice their stares. Soon several other guests began to copy my inspired snack ritual while other less daring guests who simply could not bear to part with their plastic containers began consolidating tupperwares with their friends, creating a more heavy tupperware for the "snack mule" which is both inconsiderate and foolish. But alas, I was too busy feeling nauseous from the lurching bus to point out the error of the strategy. So sick was I and so quickly that at the behest of another passenger with an enormous heart, Dusty pulled the van over and I was urged into the front passenger seat next to Dusty.

Within a few short minutes I was once again able to breathe with ease confident that my Alpine Muesli would remain one with my stomach. The trio of women in the second row began discussing the legendary group of Toronto women they had heard about who visit the Ranch each year in a pack and race up the hiking and biking trails with a vengeance. I turned to Dusty and asked non-challantly, "Are they talking about that nice group of ladies we hiked up Soldier with in May?" Dusty nodded. Now I had their attention. Jackie, the tall divorcee from Manhattan spoke first, "You hiked with them Lorna?"

"Yes," I replied cooly. "Dusty took us up Soldier Trail earlier this year." I replayed the hike in my mind and recalled gasping for air as we climbed and my trying desperately to keep up with those insane Canadian she-beasts without showing them my pain.

"Were they seriously intense? I mean we heard they are totally hard core and not exactly friendly," Jackie said.

"Oh, I wouldn't say they were unfriendly," although indeed they were completely unfriendly until they had been satisfied that i was not going to slow their sprinting pace down too significantly.

I continued the defense of the group, "They were just intent on keeping a pretty quick pace and worried about anyone who may not be able to keep up and slow them down," I began delicately tapping a hiking stick against my REI convertible hiking pant/shorts as I turned to Dusty, "Dusty remember that older woman who came on the hike, she was about 70, very tanned, and in great shape too?"

"Yup," Dusty said, "she stayed right up by my side the whole way and that's our toughest Level 5 hike."
"It sure is a pretty hike," I added, emphasizing my love of nature's vistas while the three girlfriends whispered nervously behind me.

"Dusty," Jackie asked, "this hike we're doing is just a Level 3 right?"
I had to stifle the smile that wanted to spread across my lips.
"Yup, just a 3 but a real nice one. Kinda short but you'll get some terrific views," he assured them.

We headed out on the trail and began our climb. Apart from the balance challenged guest who insisted on walking directly behind me so that every so often i was forced to duck for cover as she tottered in the loose gravel before falling forward, the hike was a pleasure. Back at the Ranch, I iced my knee and enjoyed some baked zucchini hot cakes in honor of today being the first day of Hannukah. Ordinarily one would enjoy potato pancakes deep fried in oil, but this is the Ranch. I saw the same elderly couple at lunch from yesterday and the wife (clearly feeling our friendship had attained a higher level of intimacy than i had imagined) told me in her sweet Atlanta accent that she was "gah-yassy, gah-yassy, gha-yassy" and then proceeded to ask me an important spa etiquette question: "What do y'all thenk I shud do eff I pah-yass gah-yass during my-eh meh-sauge darlin'?"

This is a serious question that any spa goer worth her mettle has contemplated on numerous occasions. I gave my honest opinion, "Well," I said, "if you really can't hold it in then you just need to laugh when it happens and move on with the treatment."

This seemed to satisfy her, although in truth i would fight to contain the offending toxins with all my strength to the point of endangering my life with the threat of spontaneous combustion of the colon, rather than simply releasing and trying to pass it off with a coquettish giggle.

After my mango sugar scrub and my rejuvenating facial, I grabbed a quick bite of rice pasta with turkey meatball marinara and a side of mashed cauliflower, and then made my way to the Creative Arts Center for a class in Introduction to Watercolor Painting. I am convinced that my finished masterpiece it is not a fair reflection on Jay's talent as an instructor. Please appreciate that i didn't have to share the painting with you but I am. And no I am not sure why my bird is wearing a blue chinchilla.

Tomorrow I may return to the beading class part 2, aptly entitled "The Bead Goes On" in the Ranch weekly activity brochure.


"

Return to the Ranch, Loyalty Program, Beading Genius, Mind the Sauce

oh my dear reader, it is with great joy that i share with you the news of my triumphant return to canyon ranch. my how i have missed the myriad of registered massage therapists and the long term staff like ed, the cycling guide, who never laughs at a guest no matter how pathetic the neon pink cycling shorts she sports may be. kath, the friendly ranch driver picked me up from the airport and whisked me to the ranch in no time. i mentioned my need after check-in to arrange for transportation to the circle k minimart to purchase my week's supply of coke zero and kath offered to take me gratis. i love kath and her oddly oversized feet.

kevin checked me in and after warmly welcoming me back to the ranch, informed me that i had been upgraded to a cassita (private 1 bedroom villa). lovely. of course i checked the location of the upgraded room and was slightly concerned at the lack of close proximity to both the clubhouse where fiber rich meals are taken as well as the spa, but no cassitas closer by were available and so i assured kevin that i would make do. kevin was very gracious and after offering me a size small ranch t-shirt, bless him, which i declined in favor of a size medium, informed me that not only was i upgraded but that on account of my milestone visit (i believe it is 5 or more visits within 2 years) i was being given a gift of my choosing from the ranch management. fortunately there were plenty of other guests nearby including a gentleman with a slightly greasy ponytail to overhear the conversation. "how thoughtful," i replied at hearing the news. kevin then produced a somewhat lackluster looking leaflet from which i was to select my gift. there were but 3 meager offerings on the cheap, glossy paper stock he handed to me; a notebook with a mildly offensive southwestern motif, a pair of mini collapsable binoculars (tres skymall), and a ranch logo water bottle holder with a stainless steel water bottle. the choice was clear and i requested the water bottle and holder which i imagined would serve as a proxy for my elevated status at the ranch with those in-the-know. sort of the way that the harvard university sweatshirt with the simple "harvard" inscription serves as a status symbol because only a student on a varsity team can acquire such a sweatshirt and only harvard varsity athletes are aware of this fact thereby entreating wearers of the coveted sweatshirt with the knowing nods of his elite comrades. the thought of this freemason-like clubiness made me smile right up until the point when kevin felt it important to mention that the bottle was not included with the bottle holder. seriously? i thought to myself. just the holder, that is embarassing. i kept a smile pinned to my face as i slowly stepped away from registration and made my way to the dining hall in the clubhouse for a bite of lunch.

after a quick word of caution to the newbie couple seated next to me who were throughly enjoying the vanilla frozen yogurt with "hot fudge sauce" about the fact that the main ingredient in the "hot fudge" was in fact prunes and that it was best practice for those sharing a room to have a rule that consumption by one roommate of the sauce required disclosure of said consumption to the other roommate so that s/he could arm themselves appropriately, i was off to program advising in order to tweak my exercise and spa treatment schedule.

i signed up for the very best hikes and bike rides, careful to mark my correct height and grateful no request for my correct weight was made on the sign up sheet. good old ed was setting up bikes for the next day's ride and we chatted as his nose ran like a disturbing faucet in the unseasonably cold weather. ed was remarkably unphased by the droplets falling from his nose onto the ground and i decided it might be quite frozen solid thereby rendering ed unable to feel the profusion of sinovial fluid emanating from his person. thankfully i had a beading class to attend before my 100 minute hot stone massage and made my way to the craft center tucked away behind the sanctuary.

i entered the craft center at 5 minutes past the appointed start time and the room was atwitter with lanky blonde 60-something plastic surgery afficionados all clad in lounge wear in various shades of pale blue. it was like the golden girls had been cloned and put through a gentrification machine and subsequently spat out as the ghosts of heidi montag's future. the women paused for a split second to greet me and then returned to their busy work of selecting beads for their projects. each woman had a tray in her hands onto which she was carefully placing beads in the grooved semi circular indentations from which she would later string her masterpiece. rather than making an eyeglass holder/necklace to dangle elegantly around my neck like the other women, i decided to make a book mark, which for some reason i cannot fathom was being referred to by the chief craft woman, suzie and her golden girls, as a "book thong". apparently i am the only living being at the ranch who finds this both strange and immensely amusing as i found myself giggling and could not help but picture books wearing victoria secret undergarments each time someone said "book thong". i found a table with an open workstation and after gathering my turquoise southwestern beads and peace sign charms, sat down to work. suzie, who was clearly raised on long island and wore a farcical amount of bronzer she had not quite managed to blend in despite her bifocal contact lenses, gave me careful instructions on how to use the bead spinner. a bead spinner is a wooden bowl with a spindle sticking straight up from its center in which one places beads and then spins the bowl while simultaneously skimming the top of the beads with a very long and slightly hooked threaded needle. this causes the beads to jump onto the needle in order for one to easily thread them into a magnificent handcrafted creation. the charming woman with the joan rivers eyes next to me seemed to be struggling to string her beads and i was almost embarrassed at how quickly i was completing the task. she asked me whether i was a "serious beader", to which i responded, "oh, i bead here and there" in an effort to assuage her feelings of inadequacy. suzie was asked how the spinner worked and she said it was the "centrifugal force" of the spinner that causes the beads to "jump onto the needle". alhough i am no physicist, i am fairly certain that while the centrifugal force is what pushes the beads to the outside of the spinner, it does not in fact cause the beads to magically alight the needle. of course a magic beading force is far more interesting to discuss across the pool during aqua fitness, so i held my tongue. soon suzie began nervously rushing the golden girls and encouraging them to hurry up as the room needed to be free and clean in another 45 minutes for martha's ceramics class. martha is from germany you see and enjoys promptness and tidiness according to suzie. suzie is from long island as i mentioned and enjoys abundant make up and talking. i finished threading, crimped my final bead and tried to leave quietly but suzie grabbed me before i could make my escape. after grasping at her breast in mock cardiac arrest at the speed of my completion (a joke in rather poor taste i think given the audience in the room) suzie insisted i had to do "show and tell" for everyone. she clutched my "book thong" with her acrylic french manicured nails and held it up for all to admire. a mixture of ooohs and aaaahs from the crowd was followed by several discreet head shakes of dismissal, "she may be quick," their gestures said, "but she's no artist."

and so i took my "book thong" and walked over to the spa for my massage knowing that even after my 100 minutes were over the golden girls would still have unfinished works of art.

You can't take the brooklyn oudda de boy, DJ Dance Mix, Swinging Massages from the Ceiling

Today we awoke at 6:30am, a veritable sleep in, and made it to the hiking meeting point at exactly 7am. This morning the hardest hike offered was a Level 3 and as we sussed out our fellow hikers, it was clear that these were no experts. There were two pudgy 60-something women wearing their new Ranch t-shirts, such an amateur move, as well as a mother daughter duo who were, I surmised, at long last attempting to make good on a new year’s resolution to get into shape, and one 75-year old gentleman with his own hiking stick, water bottle belt and some wicked varicose veins. Once aboard the van, the elder man who was sitting next to David, introduced himself and began to tell us his life story without any prompting or for that matter show of interest on our part.

Danny is from Brooklyn originally, and 47 years in LA have done precious little to modify his prodigious Brooklyn accent. “I’m Da-ehn-ny from LA bud I grew ub in Brooklyn, you evah hoid of the late comedian Jack Benny, funny guy very funny in a Jewish kinda way ah-end if you grew ub in Brooklyn when Jackie, that’s my wife, and I did then you eeder are Jewish oh-wer you should be, ha, ha, ha. Anyway, like Jack use to say, Benny I’m tawkin aboud, “You can take da boy oudda Brooklyn but ya cain’t take the Brooklyn oudda da boy.” Ya know whad I mean?” Needless to say with Danny present, one needed to do little other than nod, smile, laugh intermittently and answer the odd question no matter how personal.

Our guides on this hike were Warren, a 50-something year old smiling man with a grey mullet worn in a ponytail that accentuated his fluffy sideburns, and Donna, a no-nonsense woman in her late 50’s with the kind of leathery skin only acquired by years of hiking in the hot desert sun. Two hiking poles in hand, we set out into Sabino National Park for our 1,100 foot ascent.

Out on the trail, Danny immediately motioned toward the mother daughter duo behind us and told me just how often newbies overestimate their fitness level on hikes and slow the entire group down. “Whadda shame. Jackie, she nevah comes hiking wid me cause she knows I like to hike fa-est and she, god bless hah is like a tortess wid no race.” Over the course of the next few hours I learned plenty about Jackie, Danny’s two sons and daughters-in-law “da best, knock wood, bedda than any real daugh-ders could be, serious I tell you like angels.”

After our hike, I enjoyed a facial with my fav facialist here Yvgenia, who remains determined to one day sell me her luxurious potions which I consistently refuse. As a former physician in her native Russia, Yvgenia employs very convincing terminology to try and tempt me into buying her spa goodies but I am not easily persuaded, no matter how authoritative the accent. I was starving by 1pm when I sat down to a fiber filled lunch with David in the dining room. Having partially digested my lettuce, I decided to try DJ Dance Mix class, which is an aerobics class with a live DJ spinning the music. The woman with the slightly-too-tight facelift to my left looked positively euphoric as she kick, ball, changed her scrawny heart out. Then it was off to my 100-minute Ashiatsu treatment, a deep tissue massage performed by a therapist who essentially steps on you while holding onto ceiling bars for support. Another romantic dinner for two replete with psylium husk sprinkles and the keen sense that my colon has never been so happy. After dinner we decided upon a DVD in our room; not surprisingly after last night’s embarrassing defeat David was not quite in the mood for Scrabble before bed.

Rubbery egg whites, Level 5 machismo, Glide n Burn, and Warm Chocolate Cakette

The wakeup call rang at 6am, and within 30 minutes I had donned my hiking gear, had a cup of tea and some egg whites that were devoid of any flavor, and was meeting the guides and guests who would soon be climbing into the Ranch van with David and I to head out on our 4 hour, Level 4 hike. Now for those of you new to the Ranch, the Level of a hike is not a matter to be taken lightly. And a Level 4 is not something to be entered into without serious advance consideration. The lowest Level is 1 (people who walk in white Reeboks with fanny packs and Tilly hats) while the highest is Level 5 (people who wear only Lululemon, have an assortment of hiking boots, and enjoy sprinting 2,000 feet uphill while discussing the 53 miles bike ride they are taking after lunch). Level 4 is for the fit and fast, and therefore anyone who cannot keep up with the pace of the group is appropriately shunned.

As we gathered in the spa lobby to meet our guides Donna and Michael, I could feel the other hikers eyeing me and David. They looked us up and down. Would we slow them down? Yes, we had hiking boots and yes, Dave wore a Lululemon thermal top, but I had an Icebreaker fleece on and this confused the onlookers. As it turned out they were a group of 10 women from Toronto who travel to the Ranch together annually and take their fitness very, very seriously. They made sure to let us know that they were only taking this hike because no Level 5’s were offered this particular morning. David clung to our guide Michael, the only other male, for safety and I adopted a somewhat friendly yet slightly aloof posture in an effort to stand my ground. I didn’t need them to be my friend; I just needed them to recognize me as their cardiovascular peer. Once in the van, the women isolated David and descended upon him like locusts; where were we from, how often do we visit the Ranch, do we hike at home, do we have children etc. David, slightly giddy from the female attention managed to hold his own and when we emerged from the van and began our 1,800 foot climb, in a show of strength he took the lead position right behind Michael.

After the first 20 minutes of vertical climbing, David was still in the lead and a group of four of the Toronto gaggle were between him and me with the rest straggling a few minutes behind. The women relaxed, realizing that we would not be slowing them down today. They quickly become remarkably friendly and engaging. I learned of their life stories, Jessica the 50-year old blond directly in front of me with the killer legs shared how she is handling her recent discovery that her 15-year old son is smoking pot and hanging out with a bunch of skate boarders. She is using humor. For example when she removed a hash pipe from his jacket the other day, she called him to the laundry room to hand it to him and inform him that they don’t wash well and he should really just rinse it out in the sink. Bold move.

Jennifer the 51-year old slightly chubby one of the group explained that her husband of 27 years has been dying to come to the Ranch with her for years but that she feels she deserves a getaway once a year to a place of her very own, and didn’t I agree. I told her that I most certainly did agree but really it was just to make her like me more. And Molly the 48-year old with the husband who never remembers to take the kids to the dentist (“tell me about it” I added although in truth David has never forgotten to take the kids to the dentist) without being reminded, told me all about her case of the Shingles and the time she almost died of altitude sickness in Breckenridge. Before we summitted, Jill the 45-year old redheaded ringleader of the gang asked how long David and I had been married. When I responded that it will be 17 years in July, she smacked me affectionately on the arm (fortunately not sending me head first over the edge of the cliff), and confessed that the group thought we were newlyweds as we hardly looked old enough to even be at the Ranch. They were just lovely.

After our hike, we returned to the Ranch in time for my noon Mango Sugar Body Scrub, which was followed by lunch, then a Glide ‘n Burn (killer muscle toning) class, an hour lounging by the pool and my 5pm Acutonics session. What is Acutonics you ask, well it is a variation on the theme of Acupuncture where needles are replaced with tuning forks that are placed on the key pressure points and reverberate the sound throughout your body. This encourages the free flow of chi as well as the release of the emotions guided by the zodiac which are all represented in the various sounds which emanate. Tres New Age.

My therapist, Marta, explained that different times of the year were better for this kind of work depending on your position in the universe. I confided to Marta that I was born in retrograde and so now is an especially good time for me to retune. Marta was delighted because Marta of course knew that Mercury went into retrograde on April 21st and would remain there until May 21st and that the only way I would know that is if I were an enlightened being. Marta gave my arm a brief but meaningful squeeze, “I was born in retrograde too,” she told me, and we shared a deep knowing smile.

Rebalanced after the session which concluded with a magnificent Neptune inspired Ohm on the enormous gong, I met up with David and we went for dinner. Thanks to the 2,000 calories I had burned hiking and burning, I was able to order the 140 calorie warm chocolate cake, which it turned out was sadly the circumference of a small yogurt container and only a quarter inch think.
I cheered myself up by beating David handily at Scrabble.

The embarassment of sneakers, Be the Change and the Spirit Lodge experience

This morning we awoke at 6:30am and dressed in multiple layers to prepare for the bitter cold of the desert hike we were to embark upon. After a quick slice of gluten-free toast with natural peanut butter and apricot preserves (a change from blueberry just to spice things up), we met up with Deedee and Dusty our hiking guides, and the other 6 hikers. In an effort to travel with just carry-on luggage on this trip to the Ranch, I purposely left my hiking boots at home, and as I took a quick look at the footwear of my fellow hikers, felt immediately embarrassed. My white Asics stood out like a bright, sore thumb, while the others in their Merrill-boot-clad feet looked at me with a mix of pity and disdain. I felt like shouting out, “I have hiking boots and hiking shoes too but they are at home because I had a tight plane connection in Phoenix, really I am one of you!” But those words would not leave my lips, instead I stood silently in my sneakers, ashamed and looking every bit the novice. Thank god I was at least wearing my North Face fleece and wind shell.

We picked up our hiking packs and loaded up into the Ranch van for the 25 minute ride to the trail head. My sneakered feet carried me to the very back of the van where I belonged. It would be a 6.3 mi hike up the mountains, across the wash and into the canyon, beautiful. I examined the contents of my pack and found the snack bag brimming with apricot oat bars, pumpkin crunch and hard boiled eggs, which buoyed my spirits. Deedee asked if anyone wanted hiking sticks and several people raised their hands. I, however, posed a question, “Will there be any loose rock on steep pitches?” Deedee answered, “Oh yes, there will be on this hike but mostly on the descent.” “In that case,” I continued, “I’d like one stick please.” The mood in the van shifted ever so subtly, the woman with the sneakers may know a thing or two yet.

Dusty headed up the group with a remarkably fit grandmother behind him, followed by me. After the first steep pitch I passed grandma and was tightly following Dusty who was blazing the trail at a very respectable clip uphill. I could feel the eyes of the group upon my wind shell covered back as they no doubt watched Dusty and I disappear into the distance, sneakers and all. After finishing the hike and removing multiple cactus thorns from Stephanie's fingers, we returned to the van and this time I rode in the front of the van all the way back to the Ranch.

Then it was lunch time, a giant salad and low fat corn tamales. I am quite prepared to pay $50 for a diet soda at this time but payote is easier to find than carcinogenic beverages at this establishment. After lunch we hit the Ranch Store where uplifting spiritual messages are prevalent on everything from t-shirts to wishing stones. My personal faves are the "Be The Change" tote bag and the "Live With Passion" baseball cap in a lovely shade of orange. We then attended a wonderful lecture by Catherine Kenney Yunt, a self declared Clairvoyant and intuitive. Her hand out states very clearly, "Catherine's intuitive abilities have been documented through research conducted by Gary E. Schwartz, Ph.D director of Laboratory for Advnaces in Consciousness and Health at the University of Arizona. Her efficacy as a medium, precognitive dreamer, medical intuitive and energy healing practitioner has been tested over the past eight years." So there.

According to Catherine Kenney Yunt, M.C. (I think the M.C. stands for Master Clairvoyant) we all are intuitive and can help law enforcement find missing children if we just practice. So I have a long reading list and a few intuitive exercises to follow up on, please stay tuned, and if you sense my aura or presence in your dreams do let me know.

Next it was time for a light gluten-free snack and change into my Lodge attire, Lululemon yoga shorts and top, as our Spiritual Guide, Lisa, had very clearly instructed us to dress lightly as we would be completely drenched when we exit the sweat Lodge. She also advised us to bring a snack for afterward as we will be hungry. Seeing as I am constantly famished here, I am bringing 2 low fat turkey wraps hold the cheese, a banana, 2 low cal mini spelt chocolate chip cookies and an orange.

I met up with Lisa and my fellow Spirit Lodge guests at the Life Enhancement Center and took a short full moon lit walk up the path to the Lodge where we met Eric the "fire keeper". In front of me stood a roaring wood bonfire with numerous large stones ablaze within. Next to the fire was a sad looking flat roofed teepee-type structure covered in blankets, presumably to keep out all light. We sat in a circle and then beginning with Lisa we were each given the talking stick and encouraged to introduce ourselves by saying our names and those of our ancestors as well as whatever tidbits we cared to share about our heritage and spiritual journey in this lifetime. For most of the 7 guests present, including myself, our ancestors seemed to all be of Polish, Russian, French or German heritage (heavily Jewish crowd)and their actual names only stretched back with any precision to grandparents, with the notable exception of the lone Italian-American in the group who could apparently trace her lineage all the way back to the Roman Empire. There we were 7 guests in total comprised of: myself; Susan #1 (a 50 year old woman who seemed like a mix between Bette Middler and Terri Garr who was espousing the virtues of her dog Summer who is "a beautiful creature", ); Susan #2 (the aforementioned 53 year old engineer looking for a career change); Sondee and Steve (London, Ontario couple in their early 40s with 4 children and a sweet Canadian earnestness about them); Andrew (a 48 year old non-profit worker in search of deeper meaning in life); and finally one minor celebrity guest, Linda Fiorentino, who you may recall from her role as Bethany in the film Dogma or her role in Men in Black. (see pic) She was lovely as you will find out a bit later in this post. We then shared once more what our gift was that we were bringing into the Lodge, and while I brought Curiosity (I truly had no idea what to expect other than a good shvitz) and Lisa brought Unconditional Love, Linda brought Strength, which would come in handy.

Susan #2, told me she was a bit afraid of the experience and I assured her it was going to be just great and not to worry about it. Lisa gave us the line up for entering the Lodge, and so into the modified teepee we went, carefully avoiding the fire pit in the center and sat down cross legged on the blanket covered earth. Eric began bringing in the "honor stones" which were so hot that the moment he deposited them in the fire pit, the Lodge began to steam up. I was seated between Linda and Sondee, who had clearly dragged her dutiful husband Steve along with her on this evening's experience. We were all knee to knee in the Lodge as Eric placed the last scorching stone into the fire pit and Lisa told us that once the flaps were lowered we would be in complete darkness. She also mentioned that should we need assistance we could call out her name or "All our people," which I guessed was some higher order of 911 aimed at our ancestors. Lisa then instructed Eric to lower the teepee flap down and the instant we were enveloped in total darkness with the smell of sage burning on the fiery stones, I began to have my first ever panic attack.

Never having experienced a panic attack before I wasn't altogether sure what was happening other than a severe tightening in my chest accompanied by an uncontrollable urge to run leaping from the pitch black teepee across the fiery stones and out into the cold night air. As Lisa began to chant a Lakota welcome song I called out her name meekly. "Already?" she replied jokingly, assuming this was some mundane question or clarification. "I am feeling quite panicked," I called out desperately trying to modulate my voice. My fellow guests groaned in unison. Instantly, Linda and Sondee reached out to each hold one of my hands and Sondee called out, "My God you're freezing," which was somewhat surprising given the sweltering heat inside the Lodge thanks to the piles of fiery stones in the center. Lisa encouraged me to rock back and forth, breathe deeply and hum. I did all three immediately but thanks to the absolute darkness no one could see my spastic gyrations although no doubt they could hear my heavy breathing and trembling, tentative hums. Lisa continued with her welcome song and two songs later I seemed to have calmed down enough to loosen my vice-like grip on Linda's now lifeless hand. I kept Sondee's tight though and she didn't seem to mind, God Bless Canada. As Linda released her hand from my claw like grasp altogether, she leaned in and thanked me saying, "I was expecting me to be the one to freak out, thanks."

The next song Lisa began to chant was eerily familiar, but I had never studied Sioux, Lakota or Cherokee tradition, and could not pinpoint where I had learned this song. Soon I found myself singing, loudly and knowing all the words, it was only when we reached the chorus that I realized I was singing a Hebrew song from childhood called Heeneh Matov Oooo Manayim. Whether you are Hebrew or non-Hebrew speaking, you can hopefully see how this might sound Native, particularly in a 170 degree steam filled pitch black tent on a full moon night.

Lisa called Eric the fire keeper over and the tent flap was raised, allowing in fresh air and precious moonlight. I had survived! Lisa asked how I was doing and a mustered a weak but positive response, joking that apparently the actual gift I brought into the Lodge was "Panic", which got a decent chuckle from the crowd. No doubt they were relieved I had stopped whimpering. Lisa explained that in the next "Round", Round being the technical term for each enclosed 20 minute session in the Lodge, we would be encouraged to shout and call out, and that the louder we did so the sooner the flap would be opened. I immediately began to scream at the top of my lungs, which caused my compatriots to laugh semi-hysterically, and Lisa to tell me that humor was an excellent and welcome force in the Lodge. Thank All Our People.

2 hours of deep sweating, chanting, and ancestor calling later, the Lodge came to an end with a final cry out to All Our People. We formed a line as we exited the Lodge in reverse order to how we had entered, greeting the person before us as we emerged and then welcoming all those who followed, sort of like a sweaty receiving line at a wedding. And then I made my way to a quiet spot in the Spa building where I sat down to devour my turkey wraps and spelt cookies and reflect upon my experience at the Lodge.

Welcome back to the Ranch

Yesterday I returned to Canyon Ranch, the world famous spa and retreat for Mind, Body and Spirit. Some of you may recall that I was here earlier this year with my margarita loving friend Hilary, and this time have arrived with my very disciplined friend Stephanie who has forewarned me that there will be no offsite visits to DQ or the local taqueria no matter how much I beg and plead. As a result, I have been eating nothing but flax seed and quinoa for the last 36 hours, and have acquired a rather gaseous condition which is a clear window into life as a senior citizen, and I might add, not terribly flattering.

Upon check-in we were greeted by a wee mouse of a thing named Molly who had the hair of a young Ann Margaret but the voice of Snow White from the original Disney animated film. No exaggeration, she sounded as though she had swallowed a mylar balloon full of helium and had gotten stuck with this high soprano mouse voice. The effect was quite disturbing and I found it difficult to look her in the eye as she squeaked away inquiring as to the size t-shirt we required while bouncing her full head of red hair about. I requested the fitted style shirt in an XL, you see I could already imagine how the loose fitting top would cause those who spied me with the Canyon Ranch logo emblazoned top, to assume I had lost a ton of weight there. Always think ahead.

Dissatisfied with the room assignment we had been given, it was just too far from the main Spa building which is the very center of life here at the Ranch, and having booked many services immediately following exercise classes, I needed a nearby room in order to make the quick change into robe and slippers without making myself late for treatments, so I kindly inquired whether Snow White might have a room closer to the Spa available and indicated the rooms I had occupied on prior visits that would work well. Having ever so gently marked my territory as an afficionado, Snow White made a call to housekeeping and soon had fresh room cards printed up for us, we would be staying in Suite 181 next door to the Spa. Excellent.

I unpacked and then hit the gym for a 45 minute stair master work out followed by a 100 minute deep tissue massage with Charlie. Charlie has a face only a mother could love but the hands of an angel. I declined the lavender mist on the neck cradle and opted for the lotion over the oil, and settled in for what would prove to be the very best part of my week. Dinner was a variety of low cal, low fat, low sodium, high fiber, high flax delicacies that required a lot of chewing but left me almost completely famished. Two cups of decaf Indian Black Vanilla tea with plenty of sweetener and soy milk were required to fill me up.

The next morning we awoke, grabbed some gluten-free toast with natural peanut butter and sugar free blueberry preserves, and headed out on a 15 mile bike ride with our guides Ed, Jeff and Cindy. Cindy had the kind of cyclist calves rarely seen outside the Tour de France. Evidently I was not going to impress anyone on this ride, although I did show up with my very own bike shoes and Oakley sport glasses. I did however make sure that Cindy was aware that I compete in amateur triathlons, I mean really. I neglected to specify that I had not actually competed in such an event in the last 3 years but that was only out of insecurity in the face of her calves, I mean I am only human. About 5 miles into the ride Cindy approached me from the rear and asked whether I meant to be spinning as quickly as I was. "Yes," I replied forcing a weak laugh, "I am trying to work on my cadence." Cindy had no way of knowing that this was utter and complete fabrication, and that in fact she had caught me in the wrong gear. Cindy responded, "Yeah, I wasn't sure if you were doing a training exercise or just forgot to gear up." I chuckled, "ha, ha, yeah that'd be funny to watch." Soon thereafter I geared up and avoided any "training exercises" for the remainder of the ride.

Lunch was some vegetable broth, half a whole wheat pita with a low cal cheese substitute and fat free tomato sauce, and an enormous plate of spring greens with garbanzo beans and jicama. At this point I am prepared to kill for a Coke Zero as my caffeine withdrawal sinks in ever deeper. I have however been hoarding snacks, you see at the Ranch you are frequently offered organic fruit bars, nuts and seeds, as well as mini cheeses, bananas and pretzels. I have been collecting these and storing them in our room just in case. Simply having the food in the vicinity makes me feel much calmer.

I then enjoyed a lecture on Healthy Sleep, did some reading by the fire, and then it was off to my Watsu treatment (shiatsu in a pool of 99 degree water) with Sue, the former theme park mermaid massage therapist I had seen last time for the same treatment. Sue did not seem to remember me but once in the water, ear plugs inserted and floats attached to my legs, she seemed to smile down at me knowingly as though she now recognized me or at least my slenderizing black Gotex bathing suit. I smiled back grateful for the mouthwash in the locker room I had indulged in. After the blissful water massage, I showered and changed and headed for the Sanctuary where I was attending orientation for the Spirit Lodge experience I had signed myself and Stephanie up for that would take place on the following evening. The Spirit Lodge is a transcendent ritual where one comes to the Lodge with an intention and leaves with an answer or vision, or so says the Canyon Ranch brochure. This occurs over the course of 3 hours at nightfall in a dark, wood lodge which is heated to 170 degrees by special Spirit Stones selected by elders and descends from various Native American traditions including the Lakota and Cherokee. I learned all this during the orientation, initially I thought it was a quick weight loss sauna type of thing, but this was far more interesting. Stephanie felt otherwise and smiling apologetically at me, headed for the door as soon as the nitty gritty details were shared in order to cancel her Spirit Lodge experience within the 8 hour cancellation policy requirement. Not everyone it seems feels the same need to transform.

Lisa, our spiritual guide, announced that the "Lodge" had now begun and that it was a beautiful and sacred right we would be sharing. She then asked the remaining 8 guests to declare what gift we were each bringing to the Spirit Lodge, and then after we had each replied (my gift is curiosity, for obvious reasons) Lisa assured us that the gift she would be bringing to the Lodge was that of unconditional acceptance and love for each of us. At this point I felt it best not to mention my new found flatulence problem.

Lisa encouraged us to share our intention for our time at Lodge and told us that we could journal over the next 24 hours to help find our intention if it was not readily accessible. I proudly shared my intention which is to figure out what comes next in life, and Lisa thanked me and told me that was "beautiful". Needless to say I was proud but did my best not to look smug as the other 7 struggled with their intentions, obviously in need of some journaling. Lisa then treated us to a Cherokee gratitude song which she drummed along to as she chanted while the rest of us closed our eyes no doubt calculating how many calories we'd burn in the sweat lodge the next evening.

Dinner was more fiber, ruffage and flax. Thank heavens Stephanie and I are not sharing a bed.