Dec 17

On man, this is the start of my final week here and there's a few hundred more things I meant to do, like actually leave this area and check out Portland, Maine (about an hour north) or Boston (about an hour south.) Jeez! I should kick this vacation up a notch! But, honestly, I'm not about to blow my laidback-ness over it soooo, never mind about the whole running around thing. I haven't so much as made a list in three weeks. Can you believe that? Not one list!

At least today I finally got around to trying some seafood chowdah for lunch, I mean, it is New England, right? Well,  (plug your ears, vegan friends), chowder for lunch was delicious! And the view from my table (at The River House) was very Portsmouth-y.

I was sorry that none of the three tugboats were making any little tugboat whistles or tuba sounds. I kept imagining that they were anyway. I took this photo through a thick plastic window on the heated deck. You might want to check out the harbor or tugs here at the  Portmouth Harbour and Tugboat cam
(And here's a shout out to my kids who had a tugboat VHS that got as overplayed as any childrens' tape.  It might have been called Theodore the Tugboat or Tommy the Tugboat. The do do doot doot doot!! greeting is forever lodged in my brain. Does anyone know what I'm talking about??)

Aaaanway, I haven't gone overboard (haha) to tell you much about the food I've been having. I should tell you that one day I had a pork tenderloin, which is like the state treat of Indiana, like what wings are to Buffalo (notice a native never calls them 'chicken wings' or 'Buffalo wings', it's just not needed)  or lobster rolls are to Maine. This tenderloin sandwich was nothing like the pressed, breaded, fried tenderloin of Indiana. No offense, Hoosiers, this was actually tasty and not so bad for you. It had arugula, caramelized onions, a thin slice of roasted butternut squash, pork, some type of cheese, um, some other stuff,...this was not your Whose your Daddy's tenderloin. yummy.

I won't go into too much detail about food or restaurants except this one True Fact: Most of the year, Porstmouth has more restaurant seats than it has population (about 21,000.) Some of the restaurants close during off season but there is a lot of dining out going on around here! To name just a couple: I loved the food at the Book and Bar (a used book store with a bar and tapas menu) and Beach Pea Bakery Cafe (almost a zero landfill cafe, all organic, etc.) Should I include The Pressroom? Well,  some good dishes, some just meh. Too bad, but you know I'm not there for the food.

But I've also done a little bit of grocery shopping, and here's where I should tell you that there's one thing that people in West Lafayette want almost as much as world peace and that is this:

And it takes me about 8 minutes to get there. So now do you believe me this little city has it all?

By the way, you might have noticed we got a little bit of snow. No problem, I'm prepared.
It looks like at least one shop owner is too:

So bring it on! I'm not going anywhere.

 Dec 12

Q: Do you know how much I like to dance? A: A LOT.

And I had forgotten just how much! There just hasn't been many opportunities in Indiana to dance to the type of music I like or with other dancers with similar rhythm. (Except in my own home. Here's a shout out to Lindsy who is the queen of living room dancing!!)

But I had to start making more opportunities. Last summer,  I was at a big outdoor event and finally became one of those woman who dances solo in public.  I always felt subconscious about doing that, and felt a little sorry for those "out there" types when I saw them, but that day the music was great and the dancing alternatives were lousy: ask or wait for a stranger to ask me, or wait for a group of friends to come along,  or join in with a nearby group of strangers (believe me, that can be as awkward as a junior high lunch table.) Or the worst of all- ignore what I really wanted to do and not dance at all. 

So, my first solo dancing night was fantastic! I had a blast. And now I go out of my way to find as many opportunities as I can to dance- in fact, I have a new goal of dancing 54 times this year.  It's a good number because I turned 54 this year and, of course,  in honor of Studio 54. (It was the happening place in NY during my most dancing-ful years; I never went there, but in Buffalo we could emulate.)

Aaanyway, so far I've been a little freaked out about dancing in Portsmouth. First, there was the Salsa Dance Party (first and third Friday of every month!) in a small restaurant/ club.  I loved the band, but the dance floor was as tiny as a postage stamp, and the men were a bit too, uh, into themselves.

I agreed to dance with one that had nothing but twirling on his mind; no steps in between! Was he afraid he'd need to mov more than his arm?  It got a little dizzying. I felt bad that I couldn't keep up but than I talked to one new friend who said, "You danced with that guy? No way will I dance with him. He makes everyone feel all pukey." Okay, it wasn't just me.

One man asked me to dance and held out his hand in a gentlemanly way. Just then,  a woman jumped between us to give him a hug. And then a big, somewhat long kiss. His hand was still out to me. Was I supposed to take it?

Then I was asked to dance to a slower song. This partner was looking for a closer dance than should be happening between strangers. He was already excited to be there, if you know what I mean. Eeew. That ended quickly. It looked like his next dance partner smacked him.

Then I tried to dance solo. No go! Bad dancers of one kind or another kept trying to join me, or more accurately, touch me, so I left. I went to hear a soul/funk band in a different club. Good live music played by Solemate! This time I tried to camouflage myself in with a MeetUp group that was there. (I had met them at a comedy night a few nights ago- more later.) But one elderly member decided I needed a partner. He kept telling me what a great dancer I am but unfortunately he wasn't soulful or even funky. Well, maybe a little funky.

Oh well, there's always my weekly African Dancing class. It's a fun workout with great live drumming and best of all, there's no touching of others!  Here's a video to inspire or entertain you. (It's actually a beginner's class I took in Champaigne, IL before I came out here.)

I need 44 more dances to make my goal. Wish me luck!

Dec 7

(I'll start with a shout out to all my yoga girlfriends, aka Harmonious Warriors or
Be Jane! Yoginis  because you know how fantastic your yoga practice makes a body feel! You go, Janes!)

I must confess I may have reached my peak by attending Birkam yoga. You can read the official description of Birkam (on Wiki) but all you really need to know is that it's traditionally held in a 100º room. Compare that to your household's heat. Most of my thermostat wars had me campaigning  for 72º (I know, Jimmy Carter, but even as the  Queen of Green I still have my green sins.) Of course, now that I'm living solo, I actually do win that war t home but the drafty, ancient renovated farmhouse I'm staying in can't get to 72º if my life depended on it.

Sooo, one hundred degrees!! Man, it felt great to walk into the studio, and even better to lie down in it! It was like lying at a very quiet, hot beach without the worry of UV rays or refridgerator-sized boomboxes (remember those?) or seagulls swooping down to steal your french fries or baby's pacifier (which actually happened to niece Gina when she was a baby. She was not happy. Believe me, no one nearby was happy.)

Aaaanyway, I had a good ten-minute lie down which was all ruined for me when an instructor started making us move. Bummer! Strong men started sweating buckets and young ballerina-types bent in half, then in fourths, and I struggled along, coached by a soft-spoken drill sergeant that remembered my name from the sign-in sheet. No hiding. Not even in the last row!

Well, we all know that yoga practice is just that- practice. It's not about perfection and it's not competitive. And thankfully not a team sport, so I didn't let anyone down when I decided I was too lightheaded too often to do much moving around.  Too bad. But rather than walk out, I laid down and gratefully soaked up more heat. Niiiice. Turns out I do like hot yoga but only in the Corpse Pose.  : )

Namaste.

Dec 6

There's a sign I see on a downtown business that demands that you

"Do Something Everyday That Scares You!!"

I'm not sure what kind of business it is.  In my mind, it's a tattoo or piercing place because that's what would scare me the most. Or maybe a bikini wax place or a biker bar. Well, whatever. I decided to blindly accept that advice and try to remember it whenever something new triggers a little anxiety.  (I will still avoid any major scary things; bungee jumping, for example, or shopping on Black Friday.  ) 

Aaaanway, I channeled the slogan when I walked in to Game Night  and realized we wouldn't be playing something familiar like Scrabble or Apples to Apples, but rather some young 'uns -playing, mythical-monster-slaying, points  & trophy collecting, complex medieval card game. There were two similar game choices, at two different tables. One game was apparently easier to learn than the other- at least that's what one guy told my while shooing me away from his table to the other one. The second tablemates were sort of stuck with me. 

But they were mostly patient as they taught me the game. I tried not to ask too many questions and they pretty much closely watched and discussed each other's strategies and moves. And in the end, we tallied up all our points and I had kicked their asses! Two of the three loved this and thought it was hilarious!! The owner of the game wasn't as excited. He takes his gaming more seriously. 

So, game night is every Tuesday night at Diversions in Portsmouth. I might be back. It's not so scary!

PS I bought a great new game called "Reverse Charades." Instead of one person acting out the clue and having his team guess it, the whole team acts it out for one person. The box has clues like "piñata" and paparazzi." Won't that be a riot to play? If you are reading this, you are invited to play with me in mid January. RSVP by email. 

(PSS : Shout out to Alex. It turns out he plays Ascension on his phone. It's possible he has new found respect for me. Maybe I'll challenge him to a game when  get home!)

Dec 4

Okay- I was wrong about getting you caught up last time. And you definitely didn't need a tall cup of coffee. Maybe just a demitasse. But now this post... well, we'll see.


So I am an "in" at the Pressroom. On Day Two the bartender said hello and then inquired,  "Club soda? With lime?" So there you go. Acceptance. He doesn't need to know my name, he knows my drink.

Last night I didn't want to order dinner, or even an appetizer, but did tell him I'd like a little something- maybe some chips or pretzels- something with salt? They didn't have anything like that but he went around to the vending machine (that I didn't know existed), and bought me a handful of cashews.  Nice! A man who meets my basic needs! My newest BFF.

Soooo, in case you don't know, I'm big on walking. Not necessarily for transportation or aerobic health but for problem solving conversations or meditation.   (Here's a shout out to all my walking therapists, and to Debbie B, who invited me to walk with her a couple of days before I left WL. What I thought would be a short, chatty stroll was actually a THREE-HOUR Bantam march. I admit I liked it but I think Debbie owes me a piece of pie or something.)

Besides walking around downtown (more on that later)  I'm also seeking different types of trails or paths while I'm here. One day I found Vaughan Woods.   If you were to google it, you'd read descriptions like "Hobbit-like" and "enchanted" and "quiet solitude." I don't know why it all comes together that way. Maybe it's the 100 year old trees or the very still river that it hugs.


The walk started out pretty, although maybe a little familiar,

but a little deeper in it began to feel quite mystical. 

And it is a trusting place. Look how you pay admission to the park:

You just put your money in the green "Knights Who Say Nie"- looking thing. It's on your honor, right? Makes you consider your ethics before you drive in. My hostess said she has been going to this park for years and even that her father's ashes are there and yet had never realized there's a park entrance fee. What?  Really? Hmmm.
And oops! And I just realized in looking at this photo that I shorted the park out of a dollar, not realizing nonresidents pay an extra buck. The Universe is laughing at me for being judge-y.
No judging, Mia Moh.

Dec 2

So, I need to catch you up on my week here on the Seacoast. Get comfy.  Grab a cup of coffee and an afghan. Or, if you're at Starbucks on WL's west side, more likely you can grab a Korean.   :  ) (shout out to Mary! Say hello to Damien and Marshall and possibly Anastasia and the overly chatty origami woman.)

So, last year, when I "discovered" Portsmouth, I stopped people on the street to survey them about the town.  One congenial person I talked with is a retired school teacher from Boston ( how can I write Baaahston so it sounds like how those natives pronounce it? does that do it?). She seemed pretty much a hipster and in the know and we talked for about ten minutes. I had stopped her in front of her destination:  The Pressroom. She often walked down from her home for dinner or drinks and live music (which they offer every night, and twice a day on weekends.)  I imagined she'd have this big group of lively, gently argumentative and supportive friends waiting for her inside. I thought, please, please ask me to go in there with you!  because I wanted to check it out without looking like even more of a stalker and it'd be awkward to walk in solo right behind her and maybe not find a seat right away and be standing around like a fish out of water (or, given where I am, maybe a lobster without a shell)  while all her friends shout out her name (which is Diane, btw.)  Whew. But you know what I mean, right? But she didn't and I had other people to accost so that was that.

Aaaaanway, I decided I'd get there eventually. I sought it out my first night back here and it is as comfortable as I imagined it to be, even as a solo, and although the bartender did not shout out my name, nor has even asked for it, as he set down my club soda he did say, softly but distinctly,  "Cheers."