Christmas in Montana

Last time I was in Montana with my highly eccentric and loveable family, I had just completed an epic journey around the world. At that time, Montana was homecoming-a welcome back to the core of my soul. This time, after six months of 15 hour days, multiple dating disasters, and a few competitive races, it was a reminder of who I was and most importantly, what really mattered in life. Ahh yes…..Montana always provides wisdom….even more so around the holidays.

MONTANA LIFE LESSONS

Dancing releases the soul

Somehow…some profound moves (I think) of mine had been…er “caught” on video. Thanks to the internet, my entire family was able to witness a drunken dance performed at a wedding where a friend and I did our best butt shake to Tom Jones’s Sexbomb. My brother passed the laptop around at dinner where UTube indulgence replaced the usual decedent desserts. When I saw my shaking butt doing a very bad impersonation of a Madonna move, I feared Granny was going to have a heart attack on the spot, but what do you know, she clapped her hands and tried to mimic the moves herself. Dancing and laughter (or perhaps laughter AT dancing) was bringing the family closer.

In this spirit, my aunt, fond of all things new age and meditative encouraged us to take a Nia class. I was VERY skeptical. I had harsh memories of my “Mediation through Movement” class in Bali. But Nia was uplifting. In Nia you are encouraged to release your inner self. Members of my family suddenly transformed themselves to dance as a warrior, a disco princess, and a karate blackbelt, and could it be a gasping frog? I saw my mother shimmy across the room seductively…my sis in law pretend to shoot an arrow during her ‘warrior set’ and my aunt flex the butt cheeks to the rhythm of the drum. Who knew moving around like idiots was well……inspiring? Dancing……even as a gasping frog….. is quite freeing.

Farting Dogs are still loveable
My aunt and uncle’s dog Beaux is cursed with a severe gastrointestinal problem. Sadly, regardless of food intake or exercise, Beaux cannot stop farting. It’s a serious condition, mainly because he doesn’t realize he is doing anything wrong. He’ll sit smiling in the living room and let them rip one after another, causing a mass evacuation as humans flee to other parts of the house.

There may have been a time when my aunt and uncle debated giving him up for adoption…they likely considered pawning him off on neighbors after giving him a box of Gas-Ex to mask his “issue.” But Beaux is such a sweet dog that they couldn’t bring themselves to part with him. They instead decided to purchases gas masks for the times the smell got really bad. Yes, we must accept family however they are. This means Granny’s reluctance to throw out expired food, my father’s insistence at finding a salsa dancing spot at every town we go to (yes, even in Montana), and my brother’s overly schmoopie behavior that only aggravates my tendency to turn to the bottle.

Schmoopie is as Schmoopie doesMy brother and his finance are famed for their schmoopie-ness. There are multiple arguments of “you are cute” No, you are cute” No, you are cuter!” Sometimes they even poll the audience as backup for the schmoop-a-thon. “Heidi, isn’t Lily’s butt the best butt you have ever seen in these jeans? Shouldn’t I buy here 10 pairs of these jeans to show off her cuteness?”
People wonder why I drink more over the holidays.

HOWEVER, even though we may roll our eyes, I am not sure we would want the schmoop factor to go away. For some reason every time Hans and Lily are present, the entire family loses its cynical edge and becomes more affectionate and attentive toward one another. My uncle starts offering to help clear the table. My father decides to give bonafide hugs as opposed to the standard high five. The cousins smile and plan more get-togethers. And granny stops cursing and demanding whiskey…..well for a bit anyway.


Ornery is where the heart is


Granny is a woman of maxims. ‘Quit yer bellyachin’” ‘eat til it ouches you’ and ‘I need a stronger drink.’ She is likely the most stubborn ornery woman I have ever known. She refuses help to walk down the street even if it means she’ll topple over into a snow bank. “Granny down!” And she’ll force feed you until you burst…there is no way to get out of second helpings—“fat and sassy is where it is at.” But no one in our family wants a sweet docile grandmother. We wouldn’t trust it! And due to her orneriness the love she sends out is more meaningful. She relates to her independent granddaughters all the more. Most grandmothers would be praying at church every day for me to get married. Not granny. It makes her proud. ‘You don’t need a man….you stay goddamn independent!” In addition we don’t have to mask our actions or speech while around her. She’ll encourage us to drink and curse and gossip about whatever we want….as long as she can chime in with her ornery opinions.

‘I love you means never having to say I’m sorry’…..for beating your sorry a** at cards again.

Besides the occasional schmoop syllable reserved for Hans’s finance, our family shies away from affection. I remember a time when my brother was little he tried to express “I love you.” My dad’s response: “Son! We don’t use those words in this family!! Now, let’s shoot pool.”

So how do we express love? Well, besides my mother’s “I love you” baking (who needs words when you get a cake?!), we share out emotions by trash talking over a hand of cards. Poker, crib, spades, tic, you name it. Those 52 pieces of laminated paper bring us together more than dissecting Grandpa Dick’s will or planning upcoming weddings. The only rules are: If you win, you must gloat, if you lose you must whine, and regardless of your hand you must boast and ridicule the others to no end. The one that gets their ego beat up the worst is indeed the most loved. Next time I’m home in San Francisco and my friends give me a hard time…I just realize that they are telling me how happy they are to have me in their life…..ahhhh….I feel schmoopie!

Eating Cookies to Win the Tri...

So after three months of dragging myself to 6.30 am spin class, eating calories like Michael Phelps, and attempting to do more than doggie paddle in the pool, I did it. I finished my first triathlon. Correction—my first SPRINT triathlon. Most triathletes would mock my race… ”Do you really need to train at all for an hour affair?” I can imagine them saying. But I was determined to kick some butt, and excel at doing three sequential activities at once. The sprint distance is all follows: 400 meter swim, 11 mile bike, 3 mile run. I um…er….was a bit OCD on my training plan, completely doubling the distance to ensure my muscles could handle anything especially the dreaded swim

In fact, the real reason I did a Sprint and not an Olympic was my paranoia of the swim. Diving into cold water, flaying around as other swimmers kick and paddle on top of me, swallowing waves, and having strange sea life nip my feet just is not my thing. Plus I am not a strong swimmer. I have been told that my stroke resembles something a spastic frog would do. I needed to ensure my other ‘stronger’ activities would carry me through the race.

I would like to say that my friend Brooke, who encouraged me to sign up for the race, was my swimming motivation. She equally hated the water, but insisted that we power through.

On race day Brooke and I bravely got up at 5am, eat the breakfast of champions (peanut butter on whole grain bagels) and drove with Brooke’s supportive family over to the East Bay. After a few wrong turns and missed exits, we finally found our race destination. Brooke’s family cheered us on as joined the 800 other women about to embark on a morning sprint of adrenaline.

As they called our age group (30-35), Brooke and I held hands briefly in good luck wishes before we climbed over kelp and dove into the murky water.

Luckily for me the spastic frog maneuver did okay in the 400 meter distance. In fact, I think I scared enough people away that I had space in front of me at all times during the swim. I finished the swim somewhere in the middle and spent the rest of the race catching up and passing the other Sprinters with by bike and running shoes. After biking up SF’s hills the flat roads of Pleasanton were a cinch. And running—well, no one is going to beat me in that category! When it was all said and done I came out 5th in my age category and in the top 5% of the 800 person race overall. Not bad for a newbie. More sprint triathlons to come. And if I turn my spastic frog strokes into something that resemble swimming I may do an Olympic distance next year. Regardless, I am definitely adding peanut butter to my nutrition plan!

The Masks We Wear

While In India I remember experiencing a unique state of being. This state of being didn't know the anxiety of overbooked schedules or the pressure of "making it" or any confusion about where I fit in. Things just were. And I just was. In the Ashram people were sappy and shiny and we joked around about our own elevated cheesiness. We all hoped to take our peaceful bliss back home to our respective countries and cities with us. Why were we so happy? I think because for once we were truly ourselves...all facets of ourselves at once.

Here in San Francisco the synergy of my combined facets has dissipated. Once again a different facet presents itself on different days to different people and different situations. I have revisited my closet of masks and carefully select a new mask for each day. For some reason I am too afraid to be all of myself at any one point in time.

To some I am the athlete, the over compulsive 'will try anything especially if it bruises me' athlete.

To others I represent the socialite that thinks in terms of hors d'oeuvres and guest lists; both must be equally attractive.

And what about the type A career driven women that even brings her blackberry to the toilet? Is this me? Or merely a San Francisco 'must have' mask---necessary as wine tasting to live in this city?

And then there is the romantic poetry writing side that I am not sure I have let anyone get close to since I have been back. Well, besides a few rhyming poems on Evite invitations anyway.....

Juggling different personalities is exhausting. After all going from introverted poet to high heel wearing party girl in the same evening is no easy task!

I wonder if a time will come when I can take all the masks off and just be myself, all parts of myself, at once and not be considered schizophrenic....

Hopefully the wine enthusiast personality will take a major role...

It's a Wonderful World

Do you ever have those days when you are in love with your life? I think it takes a few sunny San Fransisco weekends, some laughs with friends, and the realization that the world is once again your oyster.

Last weekend some friends and I went to see a music festival in Golden Gate Park....I am not sure if it was the mellow tunes of Wilco, Jack Johnson, or Tom Petty that swayed my heart....or perhaps it was the wine tasting stand that only a music fest in California would have.....or maybe it was even the morning bike ride across the Golden Gate Bridge that convinced me.....I am so blessed to have this life.

I still fall off my bike with the clip in and clip out fiascos. (scrapes on my knees as evidence) Navigating the dating scene in this city remains next to impossible (scrapes on my heart as proof). My housecleaner still shakes her head in dismay at my perpetual disorganization. (my desk has never been more unmanageable). My body quakes at every 5.30 am wake-up call to either jump on a conference call or trek off to the gym for training (how I work 15 hours and still run 7 miles is an enigma). But somehow through all these trials great music, wine, and friends make it completely worthwhile.

It's a Type A city here and for once I have a motley self chosen family that understands the world is meant to be sucked dry of everything it offers.

Remembering the Lessons from the Waves

What seems like ages ago, I wrote how surfing saved my purpose. I had serious misgivings about taking my three month "personal sabbatical" but somehow those Australian waves made my decision to take on the world make sense once again.
http://whitechameleon.blogspot.com/2008/04/surfing-my-saviour.html

After going back at it in the cold California waters, I think it may have done the same thing. Today was far from my best day. The new shorter board was wobbly underneath me. My turns were far from stellar as the rushing wind seemed bent on knocking me over. My first drop down was a nose dive to the bottom of the ocean.

But still I returned home exhausted and happy and much more at ease with what life threw at me.

Those that know me know I am not a laid back girl. Sometimes I wonder if redbull runs through my veins as I am more hyper than a terrier and more competitive than a soccer team. I tell people that just like most animals, I too need to be exercised every day lest I tear around the house and shred things. My mind runs faster than my limbs and the gears go on overdrive second guessing, scheming and trying to re-shape life into something I deem more appropriate. Can't I force my opinions on the world?

Surfing, somehow, calms me down. It teaches me patience. Afterall, not every wave is catchable. It makes me realize that timing rules the world and can take on strength and love any day. So better to relax and let the life run its course. You cannot hold onto things, or people, that do not want to be held onto. And I also know that even on the crappiest of outings, there is still a wave of the day. So I persevere waiting for it to find me.

It always does....mostly when I least expect it. And I commit to it, embrace it, and ride it in with the grin of somehow who just discovered love.

Offically a 30-something

The week up to my 31st was depressing. I been back from my master adventure for over a month, started a new job, and had reconnected with friends and family aplenty. I had no right to be mopey. However something about passing from 30 to 31 felt odd...I couldn't shake the feeling that my fun was over and I needed to become a responsible adult. I panicked that I had one week to get my act in gear and act according to the number on my driver's license. No more gallivanting around the world, whirlwind (yet dead end) romances, or flitting from consulting gig to consulting gig. It was time to build things up. I was intent on driving sales in my new firm. Committed to focusing on yoga and triathlons instead of beer pong. I made a commitment to read my Wall Street Journal every day. No more wasted dates with unimpassioned (or the too passionate) men! And I was starting to think about real estate.

Then my 31st birthday party happened. Something about birthday parties with large groups makes us magically transform into 20 year olds at a frat party. But as I felt I had been responsible for 6 days of the week, this particular Saturday could be reserved for fun and silliness. Apparently every one else agreed with the concept as well. Bankers, start up founders, and attorneys regressed alike. In the 12 hour party marathon there were multiple embarrassing moments, and I think half the guest's livers are still screaming in pain, but it was, in all honesty, an amazingly fun day with youthful people of all ages. This is why I love San Francisco. There are no rules for when one has to do things in life.

The party itself was hosted at my friend's beautiful home. It was an all day BBQ with after parties and after after parties in the works. My big day was shared with another Leo who had a birthday two days later than I did. I at first was a bit miffed at having to share (Hey, it's the one day a year I am allowed to get full attention) but it ended up working out spectacularly. Mainly as the birthday boy was older than me and acted equally immature proving that the 30s don't have to be the deadbeat years. Perhaps I can lead a successful life and still maintain my energetic spirit?

The fun started with a dance off competition. I knew my friend's moves (mostly practiced in our Tahoe Ski House) were money. I challenged the birthday boy and his friends to compete against my crew. Immediately the competitive juices started flowing. People started doing leg warm up stretches and assigning certain people to choreography and others to break dance moves. Sadly I didn't know much break dancing but thought I could do a few impressive yoga poses....just really really fast. As I leapt into sideways crow my cousin offered to do cat-cow to a breakin' beat. Off in the other room contestants practiced 80's moves such as the Roger Rabbit, and the Lawnmower. Ali borrowed my birthday sash and performed the ever famous "lasso" routine.



Much to my dismay the rehearsals were brought to an end as the group migrated to watch a REAL 80's band play, the Human League, at a club downtown. The competition was off, but all sorts of new dance moves emerged. Some very interesting indeed. I am trying to remember why at large clubs girls always do those sexy dances together. It always seems like a brilliant idea at the time, doesn't it? But no matter. I have the rest of my life to stay home reading over powerpoints for work or Goodnight Moon to my children (umm..yet unborn). My 31st was meant to prove that no matter how much success I lust after in real life, it's okay to let loose and have some fun every once in a while too.

Trying for a Tri

My friend Brooke inspired me to do a triathlon with her. You may recall her name as the interviewer on the Brooke Bryand show and author of Brooklyn's blog: http://brookebryand.blogspot.com

For some reason I agreed to follow her lead through a lake wearing a wetsuit, over winding roads on a racing bike (keep in mind I had no bike at the time), and uphills in my running shoes. I can run, but bike or swim??? Not since I was 12!

I think I agreed to this while in my happy ashram phase of life.

But as I never go back on my word, I started training. Training involved jumping into a pool to not sun myself but rather swim laps. The first time I went to the Sportsclub LA pool I went in a bikini. Please don't ask me why I thought this was acceptable. My bottom came off during my first lap. Oh yes, my first take off was apparently so full of force that the little Dolce and Gabbana bottom got left ..er...behind. I was immediately dinged as the silly girl newbie by the goggled speedo wearers. I hastily bought a speedo after that and hoped that my goggles and swimming cap would adequately disguise me. I never wanted to be recognized as the bikini lap girl.

Biking was no easier. I didn't own one, to start with. My dear friends, Nga and Clarence escorted me to the bike shop to help me pick out a suitable road bike. Long legs, once my pride, were now cursed as few bikes fit my odd shaped frame. The whole too much leg, no torso curse. After hoping on a variety of models, I finally decided upon the women's model of a beautiful Cannondale synapse. I selected padded biking shorts (try walking around in depends for a while), padded gloves, a helmet, and some sexy white racing shoes. The credit card total was more than I care to admit. After spending this much money I was anxious for my bike to arrive so I could start parading around with it. I was pleased to look the part! My bike took TWO LONG WEEKS to arrive. I was so excited to pick it up and be seen in my new gear, joining the cycling elite of San Francisco. Sadly luck was not on my side. For the non cyclers out there---Bike shoes clip in and out of the bike pedals, locking you in and making you one with the bike. For a newbie--this clip in deal was no easy task.

I jumped on the bike hoping to clip in immediately.....I flailed around unsuccessfully and jumped off. I leapt up again....and I strained my groin muscles trying to get up over the seat....to no avail. I tried another time...success one shoe clipped in..now the other....crap...crap..clip IN shoe CLIP IN!!!!.....about to fall...must clip OUT first shoe. Oh no cars---need to STOP! Clip out! clip OUT! Danger danger..oncoming cars...I finally clipped out and my feet flew to the ground. The cleats of the shoes were so slippery that both feet slipped out in opposite directions making me do a splits over the frame of the bike.

To prevent further disaster, I decided to walk my bike home. Yup, walk the bike wearing my padded bike shorts, my blue padded gloves, my white racing shoes, and my blue helmet...right up Pacific Heights hills. Someone was sure to recognize me. Mortifying.

I made it home safely and resolved to practice clipping in at the gym with stationary bikes before taking my new bike out again. Less mortification.

How terrible! My confidence was shook. I surf. I run. I snowboard. I yoga. I hiked Mt Kilimanjaro just a month ago! Please body cooperate and prove you have more coordination than a paraplegic. To the shoe clip in God please hear my pleas! I need to master this triathlon thing without killing myself! The cool outfit will only get my halfway there!

Goodbye Days of Leisure: Back to Work We Go!

I am now gainfully employed. I am finishing one last contract gig in apparel before I start my full time status in Brand Strategy. Why leave the fashion industry, you may ask? Well, it's not all bling and bauble. I just got back from southern Cali where I had to visit factories in East LA. Driving my boss's large very uncool Cadillac I maneuvered around stakeouts, check cashing institutions, and about 100 taco stands. I walked through cutting and sewing factories where my 4 inch heels were considered a safety hazard. The catcalls started...but to the worker's dismay my cursing in Spanish will rival anyones. They promptly shut up and focused on putting the seat in a pair of pants.

I am happy to leave apparel in pursuit of new industries and challenges. However the pursuit of employment wasn't easy in this down economy. I may feel superstar, but I also did manage to let a little stress invade my life as I waited for an offer. The following details were transcribed over two weeks ago when my life changed from lady of leisure to full time worker bee....


The Job Saga

Wednesday: 11pm

I was feeling a bit down wondering why I, the quoted consultant superstar, had not yet been called back with an offer. I was getting sad to the point of overdosing on 2 year old chocolate bar found in my nightstand drawer. At this low point I instead decided to pick up the other nightstand item--(no, not what you are thinking) a book called "The Tibetan art of positive thinking." I read, I meditated, I felt fabulous, and ignored the decaying chocolate to fall into a restful sleep.

Thursday: 9am

After a long run to JT tunes I sat on my living room floor and meditated. I envisioned all obstacles to my life being crushed by a sledgehammer. (maybe one that JT was holding...hmmmm...)

Thursday: 12pm

Putting my positive thinking to use I trotted down the Pac Heights streets in new heels to meet a entrepreneurial women who had started up a handbag line. We had a nice lunch chat and at the end she informed me not only was she looking for a business partner, but I, the consulting superstar, had amazing credentials for this role. ("how did you do all this and stay young?"). I wasn't sure what to say and stammered out something unintelligible. We agreed to stay in touch...I would be better with words after a martini...or chocolate...was it still in the drawer?

Thursday: 1.30pm

Before I could get to my secret chocolate drawer I did a voicemail check. It revealed that the Brand Strategy firm had indeed called me back--right during the time I was discussing my role as a possible handbag partner. I was silly to despair-They still love me. Of course. A few more phone calls revealed an offer and bonus potential. Less than I wanted...sigh....but the entrepreneurial company offered lots of other opportunities for success, such as an eventual role as San Francisco managing director if I proved my salt. The firm actually was so ready for me Heidiness that they had already picked out projects for me to start on this summer.

So what did I finally do? Well I decided to mull over the offer while surfing on Friday, congratulate myself on the art of Positive Thinking all weekend with glasses of champy, and then came back with a counter offer Monday. We worked out a deal and I was thrilled to start with such a young engaging company. I'll stay in touch with the bag lady (handbag that is) to learn more about her business but for now it's time to strategize on a plethora of brands. For my new job I actually need to become an expert on Guitar Hero. Wow--certainly beats hiking around factories in east LA.

My Interview on The Brooke Bryand Show

Brooke Bryand, friend, gossip show host, and author of "Brooklyn's Blog", decided to sit me down and interview me on my trip experiences. Before the interview began I saw her off with my girlfriends, devilishly putting together questions as they rolled in laughter. Hmmppff...I felt a bit taken advantage of, but anything for humor on the blog. And now, you will have the unedited version from Ms. Brooke Bryand.


Brooke prepping for the interview

[Brooke Bryand]: Thanks for joining us on the show. And welcome back! I have a few questions for you based on your fantastic experience over the last three months that the rest of us have followed on your blog while you were away. Let’s get started. What was your favorite moment in each of the major locations that you visited? Let’s start with Australia.

[ME]: In Australia, surfing, oh god the amazing surfing, and then learning to scuba dive in the Whit Sunday islands. In Vietnam, sailing in Ha Long Bay. In India, besides downward dog 4 hours a day it was certainly the art of Neti…clearing out my nose in the Ashram way. And in Africa…besides snuggling with Monica? Truth or dare in Zanzibar with strangers and reaching the top of Kilimanjaro…climaxing if you will.


Getting serious about her answers...this is a Live Audience after all

[BB]: What is the #1 thing you learned about yourself?

[HI]: I discovered more fully the type of person I want to be and how lucky I am to have my life.

[BB]: How did the trip change your perspective on your life in San Francisco?

[HI]: Yes, it made my life in SF more important to me.

[BB]: What did you miss most while away?

[HI]: Uhhh, toilet paper.


Recalling a particularly memorable aspect of the journey


[BB]: I’m sorry…your accent…can you tell me exactly where you’re from?

[ME]: Ohhh, you must be referring to my world-famous international accent. But of course. I can’t help it! I just mimic whomever I am speaking with. Who knows, my kids someday might be speaking eight languages because of me.

[BB]: And a follow-up question…what percentage of the trip was spent speaking with aforementioned International Accent?

[ME]: (without missing a beat) 95%. No question.

[BB]: How many bags were with you on this three month trip?

[ME]: This would the least amount of shoes I have ever had with me at one time. For THREE months I only had two SMALL bags, plus one more with a Sherpa. And I only lost one thing – my sunglasses. Well, and the visa for Vietnam, but who is counting?

[ME]: Finish this sentence…”I will never again…”

[ME]: “…clean out my nose with an instrument as I did at the Ashram.”

[BB]: Word Association. Say the first thing that comes to your mind.

[BB]: Scree [ME]: Misery.

[BB]: Yoga [ME]: Poga.

[BB]: Crocodile Meat [ME]: Swampy.

[BB]: Zipper (sleeping bags, tents, etc) [ME]: Cringe.

[BB]: Diarrhea [ME]: Monica.

[BB]: And let's get down to the nitty gritty. Did you utilize the one condom you brought? If so, what country?

[ME]: What?! What condom?! I was condomless in EVERY country! This was a SPIRITUAL journey, not a hedonistic one. Ahem.

[BB]: And another…. “After this trip, I now know I can…”

[ME]: “…go three months without being hedonistic.”

[BB]: Final question. Where is your next trip?

[ME]: Amsterdam.

That's all the questions we have for you, Heidi! Thanks for joining in on the first ever (and quite possibly only ever) "Brooklyn's Blog Interview". Fueled by vodka + grapefruit and lots of friends, I'd say we did okay!

There's No Place Like........

It's summer in San Francisco. Normally this would mean being shrouded in a cold foggy mist wearing ear muffs and woolen scarves. However, this year is different. Northern California has been struck with heat waves. This means short shorts and long BBQs with friends. What more does one need in life? I have always been in love with this city but this warm weather is making me twitterpatted all over again. I am Bambi prancing around the urban forest in glee...

Why did I have to travel all over the world just to realize I live in the best place on earth? Why did I need to escape when all I need is right here in my backyard? My friends here are like family, and this eclectic 'family' rivals my real one in terms of crazy characters, patented dance moves, and tendency to OD on good wine and food.

I returned to my city right before the 4th of July weekend. My 'family' whisked me away to Lake Tahoe where we re-lived our ski house experience in 80 degree sunshine.


Is it unusual to do a shimmy while wiping down the table? Strange to bee bop around while frying onions? Or how about performing the worm while the BBQ warms up? Yes, welcome to our Dance Party USA.....the party that starts before the...er...party starts. Motivated by vodka, no once can wait until after dinner to dance. The boogie gets down as we prepare the food, continues while we eat, and keeps developing through digestion. The moves become more and more complex as Roger Rabbit morphs into headspins. On occasion, dramatic lifts and plies are performed. The largest injury to date: broken nose.




Dancing around and lounging around gave me time to reflect on my whirlwind journey. Everyone has asked me about it and it is hard to explain such an epic intense experience in a few sentences. I feel changed. I feel happy. And I have a newfound respect and love for the people of the world.

Laid Back Australia inspired me to new challenges with its non stop surf.
Overwhelming India taught me to love without judging.
And colorful Tanzanian people made me laugh til I ached.

I am ready to leap into my next adventure which is rebuilding my life in my lovely San Francisco. Dating traumas, real estate woos, triathalon attempts and career intrigues await. I have a feeling that living here may be even more exciting than my Serengeti safari.

Stay tuned.....

Home on the Range

After a FORTY THREE hour flight from Arusha, Tanzania I (practically comatose and aged three years) finally landed in Montana. No one screamed at my zombie appearance. Rather, millions of smiling faces crowded the small airport corridor. Half the town of Billings had come to greet me. Not to mention the out-of-state Iserns. Everyone had flown home for my cousin Maggie’s wedding….including my crazy uncle Kurt internationally known aunt Jennifer.
The Setting:

Setting 1: Wedding Site, Billings Montana. Billings was more beautiful than I had ever seen. Usually dry, the land had gotten an unusual amount of rainfall (hurrah global warming) and turned the ground into a vibrant green carpet. The rock rims enclosed the city like a fortress. It was a pleasure to drive all over the beautiful town (stopping for fresh baked bread as always) to help my family with decorations and other last minute items for the wedding. Maggie’s ceremony was at the Zoo complete with flowers and a squawking peacock. I felt like I was back on Safari.

Setting 2: Cabin, Crazy Mountains. The Crazies are in between Big Timber and Livingston. A smaller mountain chain but incredibly beautiful. The cabin is situated among fields of wildflowers and views of snow capped peaks. On our daily hikes we got within feet of moose, fawns, and jackrabbits. I questioned why I had to travel all over the world when the most beautiful place on earth is home.


Cast of characters:

Maggie and Deke Winters (the bride and groom):
Never was there a more beautiful, warm and well organized set of 23 year olds. The wedding was planned to a T—and the minor mishaps that occurred were rescued bravely. When Maggie could not stop crying during the ceremony (for joy, naturally) during the repeating of “for richer or poorer” Deke just informed us that obviously “for poorer” just wouldn’t work out. When the buffet ran out of food before all the heavy eatin’ Montanans (ahem, that’s me) could get their fair share Maggie promptly ordered in pizza. Everyone danced, even my 81 year old granny got a groove on. And the best part was that after the wedding the two could relax in their 5 bedroom house. Yes, in Montana 20 somethings have massive homes with landscaped yards where 30 somethings in San Francisco squeeze into other peoples closets and barely make rent payments. Sigh.

Granny:
Granny is a pistol. Whiskey drinkin’ poker playin’ and internationally traveled (she’s been everywhere I have), Granny is no one to get into trouble with. Little Granny, even with her massive collections of antique jewelry and high society manners, has developed a mouth like a trucker. Upon seeing her son Kurt for the first time in two years she greets him with “Why you orny little shit……come give me a kiss.” Granny is the orny one. And even with severe dementia Granny still manages to whip us in all card games. However her trash talk and victory whoops quickly lose their intimidation when she stops mid play to ask ‘Now what card game are we playing again?” “And who are all you people?”

Uncle Kurt: Uncle Kurt left Montana when he was 18 for Alaska and never came back…well except for a few visits. Uncle Kurt lives in a man made shack, shoots grizzly bears daily (in fact wears a Grizzly vest) and has a huge head of wild red hair. We are not sure what Kurt really does for a living but we do know he doesn’t pay taxes. In fact engraved on his ceiling are the words ‘Red Fox beats the IRS-1999.’ There is a story to that as well as many others on Kurt but my favorite is the story of the pheasant. Kurt was driving through Montana and sees a pheasant crossing the street. Most people would stop to awe at the bird’s beauty. Kurt, on the other hand, screams “Pheasant!” and puts the pedal to the medal. He hits the bird, and loads in into the back seat. Sadly….about an hour or so later…..the bird comes back alive and starts squawking and jumping and losing all its fathers. Everyone on the road stares at the spectacle. Kurt sighs…..and gets the bird out of the back and wrings its neck in front of a terrified group of onlookers. Kurt had dinner on the mind. And sure enough Granny cooked that bird up for a feast that night.




Aunt Jennifer: My amazing aunt is only 10 yeas older than me but has lived twice the life. Jennifer works in development for a subset of the World Bank. In between meetings in DC and a zillion trips to countries like China, Togo and Blahblahastan, Jennifer found time to complete a PhD in three years. (After a measly Masters from Princeton and a wimpy CFA). However, the intellectual high flying lifestyle (literally as she spends most time in planes), has not made Jennifer lose her Montana roots. She drove us around in a Mustang convertible and insisted on a few games of lively pool over cheap beer at the diviest bar in town. How many academics hustle pool tables I wonder?

Aunt Candy and Uncle Dan: Recently retired Candy and Dan were my gracious hosts for the week. They own a house on the outskirts of Billings as well as a hand built cabin in the Crazies that we so love.

Candy is a woman of ritual. Every day she gets a square of dark chocolate out with her coffee, goes on a 5 mile hike, and performs yoga at home with a single lit candle. Candy, upon hearing my ashram tales, is about ready to book her own ticket to India. (I glossed over the self purging portion).


Dan, on the other hand, is less ritualistic and has random hobbies like scaring away bears from the cabin property by yelling and jumping around in his tightie whities and repairing his 1947 jeep (they had a 60th birthday party for the jeep last year complete with ice cream and cake).

Candy and Dan also own Beaux, the farting dog. This dog’s gas is legendary as most people leave the room as soon as he so much as sticks his nose in. Beaux was not invited to the wedding.

Eric and Nancy (my parents): Although I still visualize them reading bedtime stories to me in Paddington Bear voices, my parents remain an enigma to most. My lovely mother is a dignified chemist, my father a crafty engineer……but both live in eastern Washington, own Harleys and compete in ball room dancing. Their dancing is actually starting to take over their lives and the whole family is about to have an intervention. During Maggie and Deke’s reception they each carried in little suede bags. At first we thought these were extra presents for the bride and groom. But oh no,…inside the suede bags were special suede soled dancing shoes they changed into for the dance floor. (”Ack—we cannot dance in normal shoes!!! They do not slide properly!”). At the first beat of Ricky Martin, father whisked my mother off and they were absent from conversation for the entire evening. I tried to cut in, but since I didn’t know what the “One step quick turn slow step” was, I gave up. Sigh.

Lauren Anderson and Nate Kendall: Lauren, my cousin and her boyfriend Nate are the upcoming artists of the family. Lauren is most recently known for her photography shown at Yerba Buena in San Francisco. Nate is most recently known for his new album, Songbird Sing, that I shamelessly plug on any occasion I get. The two live in San Francisco and come to any creative emergency I may have (one was decorating Christmas cookies). It only made sense that the two were assigned as chief artistic directors of the wedding decorations. I tried to claim the “tousled tulle” look as my own…but we all know the streamers filled with fresh flowers were a byproduct of Lauren and Nate.





After the Setting and Cast of Characters it would make sense for me to start a story. But you will have to wait…I am working on a book of ‘em! Afterall the adventures my family get into are much more exciting and hilarious than anything I encountered overseas…..

Dressed in Khaki: The H&M Safari Experience

Although with a slight Kilimanjaro limp, Monica and I were ready to tackle the Serengeti plains and Kopjes (those fake looking zoo rocks) and check off Lion Chasing on our Africa "To Do" list. We were armed with everything we needed:

1. THREE cameras (the best one courtesy of Mr. Tang)
2. Swahili phrasebook (updated by our Kili guide Yusto with er..colorful slang)
3. Four bottles of Deet insect spray and creme
4. Fancy Safari suits...well okay we couldn't bring ourselves to be too matchy matchy in khaki least anyone think we were a middle aged couple (although we were starting to feel like one)...but we did wear light colored clothing with lots of pockets and zippers and had on matching sun hats.
5. Patience....it's not like the leopards will stop what they are doing to jump out of trees for us! We knew we would need to bide our time as the wild unfolded before our eyes.



We took off in a dusty Land Rover with our new guide Rama and headed for the Simbas and Twigas (lions and giraffes).

To get to the Serengeti was an amazing full day drive worthy of an explanation itself. We drove through Masai villages (the only East African tribe to maintain traditional clothing and lifestyles), monkey forests (those pesky red butted baboons), and many large shallow lakes teaming with bird wildlife.



To fully give our loyal audience a taste of an African Safari I will divvy up this section into three segments: Bush Accommodation, Land Rover Cruising, and Key Animal Factoids.




Bush Accommodation
Although we were very hopefully to get the Ritz in the Bush experience, our Safari company was a bit more rustic...and thus thoroughly legit. Our accommodation ranged from mobile tented camps with hot bucket showers (explanation forthcoming) to permanent tented lodges, to brick and mortar REAL lodges complete with organic gardens and game rooms.

At first the hot 'bucket shower' label scared us. After Kili we wanted to be done with baby wipes forever! Was a faucet too much to ask for? I had terrible images of me pouring a bucket of water over Monica as she stood outside naked in the shrubs rubbing herself with wipes. Eee gads....Was this some bad "Girls gone Wild" scheme..."The Bush in the Bush?"

Thankfully it was not so....there was some fancy contraption where the staff poured kettle heated water from a bucket into a pipe that did indeed come out a faucet in our makeshift bathroom. The water only lasted 4 minutes....but after Kili--this was luxury.



Most of Serengeti accommodation is in tented lodges--these are permanent solid tents (large as a small cabin) that are scattered around landscaped grounds. The tents are complete with 2 double beds, a small bathroom, and of course mosquito nets. The tented camps also had separate units for a restaurant and bar where all the khaki clad hung out to talk about their animal sightings.



Land Rover Cruising

For those who are inspired to go on a Safari--let me warn you....while an exciting experience it is A LOT of car time. A lot of car time on really bumpy dusty roads. So if you are prone to car sickness, short attention spans, or hate the "I spy..." game than a Safari may not be for you. Now if you can deal with all of this then a Safari can be quite fun. There are animals everywhere and Monica and I felt pretty darn cool when we could say "Oh it's just another Gazelle herd out there with the random giraffe. Yawn." After day one we were already on the hunt for the elusive predator cats. Leopards, lions, cheetahs, oh my! While we just finished a male lion sighting, we would often see a brand new Safari group ogling a lone giraffe. Monica called this the "starter giraffe," the animal that gets the safari going before the clients are ready to move on to the more dangerous animals.



Now, please note that the Safari Land Rover in no yuppy Landrover that San Franciscans take to Whole Foods. No, no...this vehicle has no cushy seats, leather interior, or fancy sound system. Monica and I affectionately (or not so affectionately) referred to the 12 hour a day vehicle as "the Metal Box." However, the really cool thing about the car was that it had a pop top--so we could stand like prairie dos with our heads outside the car scanning the plains for Cheetahs and Rhinos. We did indeed see every animal we wanted. Our guide throughly annoyed us with all the fake animal noises he made ("this is Wildebeest mating cry" "This is dying hyena sound") but he DID effectively scout out every animal we had on our list and then some.


Random Animal Factoids


We saw lions eating elephants, cheetah moms mourning their lost young, and Topis (Elk like creatures) mating. We were living the Discovery Channel. There were a few things that Monica and I learned that either changed our perspective on life or gave us good dinner party topics:



1. Male lions suck. You may have known that the male lion is lazy and leaves all the hunting to the females while it sleeps the day away. But did you also know that the male lion who heads up the lion herd changes every few years? Every time a new male lion takes over it kills, yes KILLS all the baby cubs in the herd(as they were offspring from the past male). The lionesses try to defend their babies but to little avail. As soon as the cubs are killed the females immediately go into heat again. Talk about male dominance. I am so happy I am a homo sapiens.



2. While on the subjects of males...Monica and I would like to add in a new phrase--'Hung like an Elephant'. We are going to change the whole horse saying after we saw our 3rd male elephant...er...unit...dragging on the ground. 5th leg is an understatement. Very disturbing.

3. Male ostriches turn their necks and legs bright pink when they are ready to mate. I guess this is a sign to all the females out there who like the rosy color? Kindoff like flashing a Thomas Pink shirt and a thick wallet?

4. Conversely, female baboons turn their little behinds pink when they are ready to mate. From our personal observation it seemed all the females we saw were primed and ready to go. They must have been the human equivalent of the older women we see hanging out of their tops in cheesy bars in California. Also similar to some human females we have seen on Jerry Springer, female baboons fight each other aggressively with baring teeth and horrendous shrieks....again another phrase change...no longer is it a cat fight but rather a baboon fight.



5. Wildebeest are as stupid as they look. The migrating animal often gets lost on its way north to Kenya. Therefore the poor dumb beast has taken to befriending the smarter zebra and following the white and black stripes up the migratory path.

6. Hippos have a terrible life. In addition to winning the ugly award, their skin is extremely sensitive to sunlight. So that they do not get sunburnned, they spend most of their life hiding in cesspools, completely submerged underwater. Their only friends are crocodiles.


Animals are amazing creatures......but although the Safari was an experience of a lifetime I am ready to happily go back to random human cougar sightings in the Marina or stripe (shirt not zebra) outings in the Mission.