Karen Sandler

Category: Traditions

  • Dance Camp!

    I’m heading off to a week-long dance camp today in Stockton, CA. This is an annual pilgrimage for my husband and me (and a 100+ other dancers from around the world). On the schedule this week are classes in Portuguese, Macedonian, Bulgarian, Israeli, Vintage, English Country, What’s Hot in Europe and Square dance. We stay in the dorms of the University of the Pacific and eat yummy (not so much) dorm food.

    Here’s what my piles o’ packing look like:

    You’ll notice the kitties are a little apprehensive of all the disarray. We have a great housesitter lined up to stay with them, but they don’t know that. They don’t like it when we leave.

    In the third picture, those big black bags are clothes on hangers. Since we’re at dance camp for a solid week and because we’re dancing our little footsies off for several hours a day, we need lots of changes. Plus there are parties every night, some of them that involve costumes. So hubby and I need lots of changes of clothes.

    I like to make sure each outfit–skirt, blouse socks (yes, socks with a skirt. You can’t wear dance shoes barefoot, and it’s mighty hot for hose)–to be color coordinated. So I put them together on hangers so when I go to the closet for an outfit, I don’t have to think about where everything is.

    Even still, in my don’t rock the boat/rock the boat fashion, I’ll probably end up mixing everything up. And there are also the bargain finds at the rummage sale which I might end up wearing.

    Here’s one of my coordinated outfits:

    On Wednesday of the camp, we all have pictures taken. It’s nice to wear a costume that night. Last year I got a screaming good deal at the silent auction on a German dirndl costume. At the live auction, I bought a complete lederhosen costume for my husband, so we’ll both be well outfitted for picture night. I am part German although I don’t know that my German Jewish great-grandmother would have ever worn a dirndl.

    I’m hoping I’ll have enough spare energy this week to post to my blog about the camp. My goal is every day, but it may end up being just a few times during the week. One limitation is exhaustion (have you ever danced 8-10 hours a day?). The other is that my grandbaby will be at camp this year for the first time and I hope to help babysit her. But with luck you’ll see posts from me complete with cool pictures.

  • Happy 4th of July

    Just a few 4th of July memories.

    • Fireworks over the lake.
    • Burning my fingers on sparklers.
    • Picnics at Grevillea Park where we slid down the grassy hill on cardboard boxes.
    • Putting pennies on the train tracks so the train would squish them flat.
    • Chasing a bird at the park with a salt shaker (because if you put salt on their tail, they can’t fly and you can catch them).
    • Setting off fireworks in the driveway of our house.
    • Potato salad and deviled eggs
    • Singing the Star Spangled Banner

    Happy Independence Day to everyone in the U.S.A.

     

  • After You Die–Who’s on the Boat?

    My father-in-law passed away unexpectedly on June 12th. He was 83 and not in the best of health, but he was living a full life–active on the Internet, ballroom dance once a week. He was a bon vivant, loved his wife, children and grandchildren, and thought his new great-granddaughter was the most gorgeous baby on the planet. As her grandmother, I have to agree.

    My f-i-l had been an avid sailor for years, and when he lived in Southern California was a longtime member of a sailing club. So it’s not surprising that he expressed a wish to have his ashes scattered at sea. My husband has been the point man for this aspect of the funeral service and after much angst and stress has found an L.A. area boat in Marina del Rey that will take us out into the marina so we can fulfill my f-i-l’s last wishes.

    Here’s the thing. My husband had a choice between two boats–one that holds 100 passengers and one that holds only 20 passengers. He decided on the one that holds 20. Which means we will have to consider who among family and friends will take my f-i-l on his last journey. We will be hosting a brunch afterward which can include more than the 20, but there’s no fudging on the boat’s passenger limit.

    So it got me to thinking–who would be the 20 on my boat? If I had my ashes scattered at sea and chartered this boat, who would I choose? The family part is easy–my husband, my three sisters and their two spouses, my two sons, my d-i-l and granddaughter (if she’s old enough). I’m half-way there. My step-mom, of course, she’s both family and dear friend. Room for 9 more.

    My d-i-l’s parents have become good friends, so I’d want to include them. Then there’s Leland, a 40-year-plus friend (we even went to kindergarten together) would have to be there.  There are enough other close friends who would finish off the group or maybe some of the nieces/nephews would want a place on that voyage.

    Not an easy choice. Am I’m forgetting anyone? Someone that later I would think, gosh, how could I have not included them?

    So who would you choose? Who are the 20 people who would be on your boat?

  • Mystery of Spring

    When I lived in Los Angeles, I never really experienced spring. It was generally cool in winter and warm in summer, but there wasn’t that explosion of newness in April like there is here in Northern California. In L.A., there were peculiarities like 100 degrees in January that confused the heck out of my peach tree and the annual June gloom (day after day of overcast) before summer really kicked into gear. But no definitive seasons.

    But other than the false spring in February that tends to fool us every year, we do have real seasons here in the foothills. Plenty of rain, hail, frost and the occasional snowfall in winter, blistering hot dry days in summer and wonderful green springs and red-gold autumns.

    The coolest part of spring is seeing my garden come to life.In particular, I am utterly enamored of tulips. I’ve never had tulips growing in my very own garden. When we pulled out our lawn and replaced it with gravel pathways that meander through flowerbeds filled with hardy water-stingy plants, tulips were included in the design. The colors are just so amazing and the flowers are so long-lasting, seeing them outside my window lifts my spirits. They are such a wonderful messenger of spring.

    Another delight this spring was the appearance of a mystery flower in my front yard. I’m used to volunteers popping up. Red pyracantha berries are a favorite of birds and their droppings sprout those prickly shrubs all over the yard. I even have a 25+ foot tall valley oak tree in the back yard that wasn’t here when we moved in. According to the local Master Gardeners mystery plant is a Harlequin flower from a sparaxis bulb.

    In addition to tulips, it’s always exciting to see the redbud bloom. A native shrub around here, it’s often the first color I see, its magenta flower a beautiful contrast to the dull green surrounding it. Then there’s the massive wall of wisteria that covers my backyard pergola. Our wisteria is monstrously large, its whip-like runners sometimes reaching twenty feet or more up into our redwoods. I sometimes wonder if that wisteria will be knocking on the door someday, demanding entrance.

    A few more pretty photos:

  • We don’t need no resolutions

    I suppose resolutions are a good thing for some people. In general, it’s good to improve yourself. Every day in every way I’m getting better and better, blah, blah, blah.

    But the whole idea of coming up with, and then attempting to achieve a list of resolutions on New Year’s just gives me the heebie-jeebs. Yes, there are many areas in my life in which I could do better. In some cases, there is much room for improvement. A whole chasm stands between where I am and where I’d like to be.

    But to set resolutions down on paper, or in a computer file, makes me quake and shake. Because once it’s down in black and white, I of course feel committed. And for me, commitment always seems to have this little companion named guilt. Once I say I will do something, I will tie myself into knots to do exactly that. If I don’t, then guilt has its way with me.

    Not to say I never make commitments. There’s the nearly 30 years of marriage. Two boys raised and off doing wonderful things. The more than 20 books written (and most of them published). Countless hours spent volunteering, usually with great joy in my heart.

    But resolutions are different. They come with a complete set of matching baggage. They’re things you’ve wanted to do differently for quite some time, things you’ve repeatedly tried and failed to do. Yet you think that this time, this New Year’s, things will be different.

    But alas, there’s nothing magical about New Year’s Day. It’s just a date on the calendar. It’s even smack dab in the middle of winter when it’s hard to feel hopeful about anything. Seems to me that spring would be a much better time to make promises to yourself, when the colors are gorgeous and everything feels new. For that matter, why not make resolutions all year long? Why save all that resolve for January 1st?

    Or be like me and don’t make any resolutions at all. Each day, just be the best you can, even if your best is grouchy and cranky. Eventually, you’re going to smile and sooner or later, spring will be here.