Tuesday Night Art Class

If I were a child and came home from elementary school with a painting like this, I would probably hope and pray and wish ...and ask... that it be hung up on the refrigerator for all the world to see. Galleries like these are all over the world, covered with art work and grades that make momma proud.

I started painting last spring. It just seemed like fun, and I had the time. The trip to the craft store paid off and added some 3rd-grade-like art to my apartment. This summer, Groupon provided me with a new opportunity to explore my creative side with a coupon for Canvas & Cocktails, a new, local business that helps you paint a picture by supplying all the paints and brushes, the canvas and the guidance you need. The "cocktails" part comes in because it sounds catchy, and you're allowed to bring in your own food and beverage to enjoy throughout the evening. (What I don't understand is how people who brought such refreshments had time to eat. I carefully followed all of the nice lady's instructions and could barely keep up with each step.)

Jen and I picked out a night that worked for us and ventured out for an evening of creativity. Below is what I came home with at the end of the adventure. And if I were 8-years-old, I'd ask my mom to hang it on the refrigerator.

I wonder what He'd say...

As I've said in several recent blog posts, I've been reading through the Bible lately and am in the part with all the little short books that are titled with difficult-to-pronounce names. They're called Minor Prophets. They're books filled with messages from God to God's people. They are filled with grace, promises to come and redemption. However, they also show us how this loving God has an issue with sin: He doesn't like it. He sure does love people, but what they do to themselves and others is pretty destructive and painful.

As I watch the news, interact with teenagers and generally am an average consumer of culture with a slant toward adolescence because of my job, I find myself wondering what God might say if He had a message for us today. What would show love and justice? And what would reveal where we need to turn from our ways and remember to be loving and care about justice.

That's all.

I just wonder.
 
 
 

Looking for a second opinion?

My cousin's wedding is next weekend, and I get the honor of being a bridesmaid. The dress arrived and has been altered. Mani/Pedi appointments are made. And showers have been thrown. It will be a 4-day celebration filled with parties and dancing in the DC area. With one week left, I'm starting to think about what I'll pack and through all the logistics of all these different events.

The one decision I still have yet to make is on the shoes. I bought three pairs. One went back pretty quickly. They were too blingy. Yes, blingy. But I still have two left and can't decide. One has a slightly higher heal (positive) and is surprisingly comfortable (positive), but it may be a little too shiny (negative) for the dress. The other is slightly less comfortable (negative), but it has a lower heal (negative) and may match the dress better (positive). They were both about the same price.

What do you think?

And here are the two pairs of shoes that I purchased...

Something Special, Please?

Breakfast tacos used to be special to me. I would venture down to Texas from the beautiful mountains of Colorado to float in a river, drink coffee at Mozart's and eat breakfast tacos. It wasn't something that you found on every menu. Not in Boulder. Not in Denver. Not in Seattle. Not in Columbia. Not in London. Not in Chicago. Not in any place I had ever lived. So when I went to Austin to visit my brother, they were something special.

Now that I can add the Lone Star State to the long list of places I've lived, I find myself making breakfast tacos several mornings a week here in Atlanta, my latest home. I like to call them a little taste of Texas. They remind me of Taco Shack, Rudy's and my former roommate. I love them.

They are now routine. Breakfast tacos are normal. Nothing special.

Christmas, to me, is supposed to be special. It only comes once a year, on one day. We celebrate for several weeks with holidays, parties, concerts, gifts and worship experiences. We are reminded that the birth of one child changed the world forever. We drink hot chocolate with peppermint, eat too many M&Ms and we have breakfast in the formal dining room with a linen table cloth. It's special because it's different.

Yesterday, I drove past Christmas decorations. Go ahead. Check the date on this blog. Yes, it does say September 17. Not October. Not November. Not even close to December.

Retail stores of the United States of America: Please take them down. It's too early. If we watch them glimmer and glow for the next four months, by the time December 25 rolls around, they will no longer be special. No one will stop to notice. No one will want to take pictures. No one will be reminded that there is a reason for the season. Yes, I just said that. But it's true. Christmas decorations, as obnoxious and worldly as they can sometimes be, remind me of the holiday, and therefore, they become a hint at what is important. More important than shopping, lists and deadlines. Way more.

So please, take down the Christmas decorations. Keep them in the boxes. Close the lids. Pull the plug. They're stealing away the specialness of Christmas.

And that's just wrong.

Gigi's Cupcakes

Dear Cupcake Inspirations, 


Thank you for Gigi and her cupcake making abilities. Thank you for her generosity and willingness to share them with the rest of the world. We are blessed because of them. I imagine that these cupcakes are a small glimpse at what cupcakes will taste like in heaven, and I'm very thankful for them. I think I'm in love. 


Gratefully yours,
-heather :)

I am not a big cupcake fan. I generally can pass by one and am not even phased by all the cupcake stores that are springing up like espresso stands in Seattle. They're OK but not my first choice for desserts.


Except for Gigi's. 


I was craving something sweet on my way home several weeks back and decided that I should boost the local economy by stopping by to taste what a new business had to offer. It's a shop that's probably less than 1000 steps from my apartment door, as well, so it seemed like I was investing in the community. 


Little did I know that this buttercream-based Midnight Magic treat would be so life changing. I went back with a friend a week later. This time, he tried the cream cheese version of Midnight Magic, and I went for the Peanut Butter Cup. It was even better than the other one. Four days later, I ate the Cookies-n-Cream. And today, a Facebook post about the Grasshopper made my car magically drive into the parking lot on the way home. 




Yes, I have fallen in love with these little bits of what cupcakes must take like in heaven.  


Find one near you (if you're lucky!). I go to the one in Buckhead.

One BIG God

I'm reading through the Old Testament right now. In the Bible. It's the first part of the book that covers everything from God's Creation of the universe through the prophets that talk about sin and God's mercy concerning the Israelites. It all points to Jesus. It's true. Trust me. And if this doesn't convince, check it out for yourself. It's good stuff.


Anyway, I'm in the part toward the end that has all the little short sections written by people with names that are difficult to pronounce. They're called Minor Prophets. 


Before I go on to the point of blog, I'd just like to acknowledge that if God called you to say something important enough to go in the Bible - the most read book of all times that is the Word of the Creator and Master of the Universe - it'd be a bummer and a little odd to be called "minor." I'm just sayin...


OK, back to my point. 


In these books, you can see a lot of how God takes sin and grace seriously. He loves righteousness, justice, love and kindness. He is concerned when his people - anyone - does not receive proper care. He wants people's needs to be met by other people who have the resources. He calls the Israelites to worship Him (I mean, after all, He did create the Universe, rescue the nation of Israel more than a few times and is completely Holy - kind of a big deal), and when they don't, He is jealous. He is jealous because His love is so great, He desires them to live into the way that they were made, which includes worshipping the Lord God Almighty. 


So we see a God that takes sin seriously. Got it. 


We also see a God who takes love and grace and mercy seriously. He pours it out when it is completely undeserved, as He does in our lives today. He never forgets a promise. He does all things so that we may know that He is God. That's talked about a lot. We're a forgetful people, and sometimes, we need to be reminded. (I wrote a whole blog about that remember thing once, too. It's a big deal.) His love is never-ending and over-whelming. He is ridiculously Holy and powerful and mysterious, but He also desires and is involved in our lives, even if we completely fail to acknowledge it. It's pretty awesome.


Nonetheless, the Old Testament sometimes gets a bad rep. We want a god that makes us feel good, who reminds us when to be nice to people, who answers our prayers when we're in trouble and who is uninvolved. After all, if he's involved in our lives, then we have to be accountable to him and submit to his authority, and human beings have struggled with that since the beginning of time. Studies today call that "moralistic therapeutic deism." Google that if you find it interesting. 


We want a god who we get to define, who fits into our little box, who stays out of our personal life...but who also doesn't mind changing a grade on that exam we may have bombed or turning all the lights green when we're late to work in rush hour traffic. That's a god we can control and figure out. That god is weak


Thank goodness He is not like that. What kind of God would that be? Not one worthy of worship. Not one worthy of love. Not one who is powerful enough to love us, forgive us and mold us. Not one who knows us each individually and intimately. Not one who actually is majestic enough to be worthy of time, attention and trust. Why would we ever want to worship a weak god? It would be silly. Why would we ever trust a god who was not involved in our lives? It would be irresponsible. Why would we ever depend on a god who was powerless? It would be pointless.


It's sad to me that so many people judge the Bible without reading it. Think about it. How often do media and you and me (yes, you and me) criticize the Bible? How often to we just say, "that's mean - I don't like it" when it comes to one short verse or story that we hear about, without even reading it for ourselves. I imagine that it's sort of like my friend's 7-month-old who screamed the entire way home last night in the car seat. She did not want to be put in there and kept there for so long, but she never bothered to ask and understand that it was for her own good. Her mother put her there because she loves her daughter with a crazy-love that made listening to a screeching child for 30-minutes a better option. Yes, she cried loudly the whole time. I happened to call this friend in the middle of it and was impressed with the little girl's lung capacity. Like her, we kick and scream and throw a temper-tantrum when we don't understand or like what God is doing. We don't even ask. Even if we could understand and learn more about His great story, in which we are involved, we don't take time to ask a question, let alone listen. 


The point of this blog? I don't want a weak god. I want the big, powerful, mountains-tremble-beause-of-Him God that I read about in the Old Testament. Sure, I don't understand it all and wonder sometimes where He's working and why things don't make sense...but that's part of the reason that He is worthy of worship. He is so big, so mighty, so powerful, so loving, so compassionate, so all-knowing, so wonderful, so involved...so there-are-not-enough-words-all-the-languages-combined-to-describe-is-HUGENESS...that makes Him worthy of worship, praise and love with our whole lives. 


That is the God who I want to know. 

Live More

Habits: We all have them. Some of them are obvious. Obvious to ourselves. Obvious to strangers. Obvious to friends. Obvious to God. Some of them are more subconscious. We're not even aware that we do these things, and if someone else pointed them out to us, we may even be surprised and embarrassed. Yes, habits. 


Good. Bad. Ugly. Habits.


I've recently become more aware of one of these not-so-pretty habits in my life. It's one of those habits that can be called sin. It's ugly. Sin is always ugly. It just is. And we all do it. Every day. All the time. There's nothing we can do to make up for it, which is why we need Jesus. That's the Good News. 


But that's no excuse. Bad habits - sin - are not things that we're supposed to keep doing intentionally. Sometimes we do them without even realizing it. However, sometimes, we ignore the little voice in the back of our mind flashing a bright, neon "STOP!" sign as we begin to take the first step. We know what we're doing is wrong, but we'd rather do that wrong thing because in the moment, it seems like a more fun or better option. It's not, but we lie to ourselves with the idea that it's OK or worth it. And we're wrong. 


Like I said, recently I've become more aware of something in my own life. And this awareness is a little annoying. It's annoying because it means that I notice more and more when I'm starting to fall into this habit. It's annoying because it's not natural for me not to participate. It's a habit that I like. A habit that's hard to change. 


The good news is that now I can do something about it. Previously, I wouldn't even recognize this habit after the fact. It was so ingrained in how I functioned that it didn't even stick out as something I should change. But now I know. So now I have the opportunity to do something about it. And I am. And it's wonderful. I'm already beginning to see how God is blessing me through choosing to live in a way that honors him and others better.


Assuming that you're a human being reading this blog, there's something in your life that is a habit that you should change. It's tough. It's awkward. It's uncomfortable. Nonetheless, it's good. Changing these habits brings us a life that is fuller, richer and more joyful in the long-run, even if the short-run isn't so pleasant. We were not created to have these ball-and-chain habits drag us down. We were meant for something more. So live into that. Live more. 

Reaching the Box

Students in the public school system of the United States of America have the opportunity to compete in the President's Physical Fitness Challenge each and every academic year. It includes various activities such as pull-ups, sit-ups, running a mile and the sit-and-reach test. Yes, if you went to at least one year of public school in this glorious country of ours, you have been instructed to sit down, have a classmate hold your knees to the floor and stretch your fingers out toward your toes with hopes of reaching far beyond them.

If you reach your toes, the number you receive is 0 (zero). Yes, zero. You get a zero for you bending over, with your knees completely unbent, and reaching your toes. Every inch beyond your toes that your finger tips slide gets you another number on the scale. If you don't quite reach your toes, you are in danger of receiving a negative number. At least this is the way that the one was set up in Sandburg Junior High in the early '90s and, as I vaguely remember it, Hawthorne Elementary School in the latter half of the '80s. The highest number you can receive...well, I don't remember that. The lowest rating a classmate will call out and your gym teacher will record forever in the history books of his or her grading spiral is -7. Yup. Negative seven.

Each and every year, from approximately 1984 to 1993, my gym teacher would write down -7 (negative seven) in that tiny square on the line next to my name. She was being nice. I couldn't actually reach the box, and that seemed like a gracious alternative to having to make it even worse than the box allowed it to be.

I hated the day our gym teacher would announce that it was time for physical fitness tests. I thrived in each and every category...but never ever received the piece of paper at the end-of-the-year assembly because of the annoying sit-and-reach test. One test. One stretch. One embarrassing moment in physical education for this once-self-conscious girl who had to admit in front of her entire gym class that she could not even come within 7-inches of touching her toes. It wasn't even close. If there were markings that went into the negative double-digets, there may have been a chance I could reach the box.

I've gotten over the experience but am still able to shock trainers, physical therapists, coaches and athletes with my inflexibility. Really, it's quite shocking. Being a wanna-be runner for the past decade hasn't helped, either, tightening my hamstrings as they become more like steal beams rather than stretchy rubber bands.

About a month ago, I joined a gym. It's been awesome. I go to cardio/weights classes to voluntarily get tortured and can already see a difference in my muscles. I'm still running...but it's not every day, which is probably better for my knees and joints in decades to come. I also started doing yoga.

Yes. Yoga.

If you know me, you know that I like yoga just about as much as I like going to the dentist. Actually, I think the dentist is more fun. I go to yoga because it's good for me, like my mother would tell me that vegetables were when I was a small child. I didn't like them, but I knew that I had to eat them. I know that after a decade of being a wanna-be runner and watching my elders with double or triple the years in the sport, I'll be in trouble and inviting injury if I don't get more flexible. So I started doing yoga. I've only been a few times, but it's also made me more conscientious about stretching after working out.

It felt good. I was less sore the next day. And after the days that I actually went to yoga, my body felt refreshed and relaxed. Never mind that I'm the youngest person in this yoga class by at least 30 years, so it's more like an hour of stretching than very strenuous yoga. As the instructor had to pick me out in the class of about 25 people to correct me four times this past week, I wondered if I'll ever get the hang of it and be able to even attempt all the poses demonstrated.

And then today, drumroll, please, I almost touched my toes. I came within inches. Practically measurable in centimeters. It was still several, but it was closer than my fingers have ever been from my feet without my knees pushed up to my chest. It was in a cardio/weights class that had me convinced that the instructor was crazy (certifiably crazy) when this monumental event occured. We were toward the end of this 60-minute torture, and when he told us to reach down and touch our toes, I actually almost did. It was incredible. I smiled, which was quite difficult at the time seeing as I had not one ounce of energy left to move any muscle on my body, and smiling takes several all working together at the same time successfully. But it was worth the extra effort. I was proud. I was proud like a young child who was running home to have their art work hung up on the refrigerator. I, Heather Lynn Werle, at age 31, almost touched my toes.

The grander lesson in the whole scheme of things is that sometimes, what's good for us takes time. Lots of time. And hard work. We live in an instant, microwaveable, text-messaging society that does not allow time for anything of significance. That's an entire other blog. This moment reminded me of that. It reminded me that hard work pays off, and that the hard work, when done over and over again, can make a difference.

Perhaps I'll stop by Hawthorne Elementary School the next time that I'm in Elmhurst to show my gym teacher that I can reach the box now.
    

God Doesn't Need a Consultant

He wasn't told the outcome. He wasn't asked about it. His opinion didn't matter. God just wanted him to do something. Something specific. Something strange. Something so scary that he ran away.

Jonah.

He's the guy who ended up in the belly of the big fish in that short 2-page book of the Bible. He is responsible for several children's songs and felt-board characters. God asked him to do something that included going to a specific place. He ran in the opposite direction. He was thrown off of a boat in a storm and was eaten by a big fish. Inside the belly of this fish, he prayed. He changed his mind about what he would do, was thrown up onto the shore and went to the place where God told him to go. He did his job. He expected certain results. He expected that the people he didn't like would get punished, that the bullies in the elementary-school classroom of life would finally be sent to the principal's office and to get what he thought they deserved.

But that didn't happen. God didn't ask for his opinion or for his advice. He sent him to this strange land to do a certain job, and when it was done, God forgave these people revealing his great love and compassion and mercy.

Jonah didn't want it to go down this way. He was angry. He was so angry that he threw a temper-tantrum about a plant that died. Seriously. Look it up. It's true.

The end of "the guy in the belly of a big fish story" bothers me each time I read it. It bothers me not because there's something strange that doesn't make sense to me...but rather because it hits home too closely.

I. GET. JEALOUS.

I get jealous of people who seem to be blessed even though they hurt me. (That's just not right.) I get jealous of people with whom I've shared my dreams and hopes...and then they come true for their lives and not mine. (That's not fair.) I get jealous of people who seem to have it all going so well in their lives, even though my life is pretty dang great itself. (That's not enough.) I get jealous. I want to pout and kick and scream about a silly little plant dying and complain that God didn't bless me the way I wanted him to...and worse, he blessed those other people in a way that I didn't think that they deserved.

Someone once asked me if I could eliminate one human emotion from the spectrum of emotions that we experience, what would it be. I chimed up right away: jealousy. Jealousy destroys friendships. Jealousy creates grudges. Jealousy inspires revenge. Jealousy hurts. Jealousy - to me - has very few positive benefits. Of course, I logically understand "good" jealousy. But that's not my point today.

Chapter 4. I get all the way through the first three chapters of this short book nodding my head and making notes as I observe what God's story is teaching me. And then I get to chapter 4. I'm glad that chapter 4 is in there the same way that I'm glad I get to go to yoga each week. It's good for me, like eating my vegetables. It reminds me that God's love and compassion and mercy surprises me. It reminds me that I am not the authority figure on when and where that love and compassion and mercy is expressed. It reminds me that I am blessed. It reminds me that there is a God who created this great big universe and that he's still in control...and that he doesn't need a consultant.

Before the sun comes up...

It's quiet. There are no emails begging for a timely response. My phone sits there in complete silence, not interrupting my thoughts. IM's aren't flashing in the corner of any screen. My candle reflects off of the dark window. I snuggle beneath a blanket with hot coffee that warms my heart. Noise is not a temptation.

I. LOVE. 5 AM.

For several years, 5 a.m. was normal. It was almost sleeping in, some weeks. It didn't matter what time I went to bed the night before because my alarm clock still woke me up and the coffeemaker still started brewing. I stayed out late, went to concerts, planned happy hours...and still woke up before or around 5 a.m. And I loved it.

My schedule has changed. My job is less busy. And I wake up later.

I don't like it. I feel like something is missing. Even if I have the same amount of time to drink coffee and sit on the couch, it's not quite the same.

Perhaps I'll set my alarm tonight a little earlier than I have been lately.

And yes, I know I'm crazy.
 
  


  

Football Season

Yes, Football is a season. It starts around Labor Day, takes a hiatus in December and wraps up just after the new year. It's one of my favorite seasons. It means that there's always a party somewhere to watch some game on Saturdays. Chores are much more entertaining with almost any game on in the background. And bragging rights are challenged.

As a student at Mizzou, I went to almost every home game. I didn't care that much about the game, but I was proud of my Tigers....and besides, all my friends went. We added temporary tattoos to our faces, bought new black and gold sweatshirts and bundled up for the events that overlapped with autumn. If we won, Columbia lit up like a sky filled with fireworks on the 4th of July. If we lost, strangers became friends because misery does love company.

Yes, football season. One of my favorite.

For all but one season, I've lived in the land of the Big XII and have started caring and learning more about the game itself. I called Denver/Boulder home for four seasons, getting feisty when the Buffs talked trash about my Tigers and even went to a Mizzou game at Colorado one November. Then it was Austin, home of the University of Texas and many proud Aggies. Yes, Big XII dominated social schedules, church calendars and was the center of the universe for a few months. Mizzou is my team. They aways put up a good fight against the Longhorns and A&M in their place. I knew the teams. I knew some of the players. I recognized most of the coach names. It was familiar.

Now I live in the land of the SEC and the ACC. It's strange and unfamiliar. I'm sure that eventually, I'll actually care about UGA and Georgia Tech, but for now, I'm a little bit sad not to be surrounded by the burnt orange of those obnoxious Longhorns, adorning my Mizzou t-shirt proudly. Most people here have on some shade of red and are not phased by the Black and Gold. Football Season feels a little deflated to me. And maybe - just maybe - it won't be so strange and unfamiliar one day...

Lottery Tickets

"I remember an old catholic joke about a man who spent his whole life going to a church every day and prayed to the statue of a great saint begging 'please, please, please, let me win the lottery.' Finally the exasperated statue comes to life and looks down at the begging man and says 'my son, please, please, please, buy a ticket.'"

-Liz in Eat Pray Love

Even though I had heard the joke before, I laughed out loud with most of the theater last night when Julia Roberts recited this line in the movie made of Elizabeth Gilbert's best-selling story about her travel adventures to Italy, India and Indonesia. It's funny...very funny. Because it's true...very true.

We all want to win the lottery. It might be the best job in the world, the one where we dread Friday rather than Monday. It might be a marriage like that other couple that seems perfect. It might be conquering a huge goal, like running a marathon or learning a new hobby. Or it might be collecting stamps in a passport. 


Most people have some sort of dream. To us, it's big and may feel unattainable. But it may just be possible, if we pray, wish and dream enough. But if it's not, it's OK. It's OK because it's a dream. We tell ourselves that it's just silly. That we made some sort of mistake years ago, and we can't go back. We get too busy and make too many excuses. It might seem to cost too much money. 


These dreams stay there in our peripheral vision, taunting us like a carrot tied to a string on a stick hanging in front of a horse. We do our best to forget about them. We get distracted. We still might wonder "what if..." or "maybe one day..." But we leave it at that and go on with our daily lives, our task lists and the demands of our jobs, families, churches, sports teams, friends and volunteer obligations that sometimes feel more like homework assignments rather than opportunities to experience love, joy, grace, mercy and hope. 


We were made to dream. There's this verse in the Bible. It's in the Book of Psalms, the book with all the poetry. It's a complicated collection of prayers. I love the Psalms. I even wrote a blog about them once. This one verse is tucked away in Psalm 37. Christians like to use this out of context to justify all kinds of things, sometimes even sinful ones. It's verse 4, and it says, "Delight yourself in the LORD, and He will give you the desires of your heart." We like to claim that it means we will get what we want, when we want and how we want...if we love God. However, that's just not true. Sorry. It's not. Just because you love God, it doesn't mean that all of your dreams will come true. God is not a cosmic candle on a birthday cake. You can't make a wish and have it come true just because you believe in him. He does answer prayers, but that's a whole different conversation. 


This verse explains God's love. It reminds us that God will infuse his desires for our lives on our hearts. If we seek him, trust him, love him and pour our everything into him, he will give us his desires for our lives. He'll give us desires that he wants to fulfill. He loves his children, and he longs to use them in ways that bring him and them great joy - an inexplicable joy that can be found from no other source in the entire universe.


These desires, the lottery tickets of which we daydream, are normal. We were made to dream. We were made to have goals. We were made to want more than this life will offer. We were made to live in a world where there were no unfulfilled desires, unfulfilled dreams, lost hopes. We were made for more. 


So we pray. We hope. We dream. We want to win the lottery. But sometimes, we forget to buy the ticket. We wander around aimlessly as if someone will just knock on our door and hand it over. 


It doesn't happen that way. 


We were created to be a part of God's plan. He uses us. He wants us to be a part of his story, active and not passive characters. Characters who participate by loving others. Characters who participate by jumping in the deep end and using all gifts and resources he has given us. They're not ours, anyway. They were given to us on loan for a time, and we have the chance to be used by the one who created us. And that's pretty awesome.


So today, go buy a lottery ticket. Not literally, of course. Spend 10 minutes working toward a dream that you think is unattainable. Seek adventure. Take the first step. I did, kind of, with something small this week. It's a little scary because the outcomes is completely out of my hands. Nonetheless, if I hadn't pushed the first pebble to get the ball rolling, however, it never would have even been a possibility. 


May God give you lottery-ticket desires worth more than all riches in the world and the courage to run full speed toward the opportunities to win the prize.


   
   

Clown College

Mom and Dad would be so proud: I went to Clown College. Technically, it wasn't Clown College, but that sounds funnier than the Circus Arts Institute.

And that's exactly what it was: Circus Arts. Of all kinds.

I bought a Groupon several months ago for an advertised trapeze class. In my mind, I pictured a high-flying experience that included for harnesses and nets. I imagined that I'd be soaring through the air high in the sky off of platforms, launching myself to the swing dangling ahead of me. I imagined flips of all kinds and leaps of great proportions. It would either be outside or in a building that resembled a gymnastics training facility. Of Olympic proportions, of course.

What I discovered upon arrival in a shady-looking warehouse building turned into a loft apartment and workout space below. It was more like an edgy coffee-shop atmosphere with an eclectic group of individuals doing yoga in the sky with ribbons.

Yes, yoga in the sky with ribbons. Ever wanted to learn the moves of those Cirque de Soleil people? This is the place for you!

With others ranging from a 15-year-old boy to a woman who was easily a member of AARP, we began with stretching. Lots of stretching. From there, each person seemed to move to a corner of the room and begin working on strengthening exercises, climbing up ribbons, hoisting themselves up onto a swing in all kinds of awkward-looking positions and creating human sculptures doing handstands on each others shoulders. One guy who looked as if he came out of a law office started tetter-tottering on the balance aparatus. And the man who taught the weird hand-stand-body-sculptures incorporating himself into the two- and three-person creations...he could have been my grandpa.

Us newbies were brought to the other side of the room where we were taught tricks on a slightly lower swing, how to climb up a rope, juggling skilz and to walk across the balance beam. That was before the three of us started standing, balancing and forming our own human sculptures. We laughed a lot. We were told to say "Ta-Da!" And we now have a whole new admiration for the strength that it takes to wrap a blue ribbon around your body and climb up into the air until you hang upside-down with no hands.

Here are a few pictures...

September

I miss September.

September when it was the welcome committee for Fall. Fall weather. Fall sports. Fall drinks. Fall activities. Not all of it is jacket or sweater weather, but there were always a few days. The ones with a nice breeze and a bit of a chill. Sometimes with a few leaves changing colors in the sky or even crunching on the sidewalk. September is not like that in Atlanta. It's supposed to be over 90-degrees several days this week. I don't remember days like this in Austin...or Colorado or Seattle. It must be a Midwest thing. The best days were slightly humid. Not annoyingly humid. Just humid enough to make the breeze feel chill and for it to smell like Fall. It announced the changing of the seasons and introduced fleece jackets, jeans and long-sleeves. It wasn't quite time to pack away all the flip flops and shorts, but it gave us a glimpse of blankets at sporting events, hot drinks in hand and kicking leaves while you walk. Just a glimpse. Flirting with Fall, but not fully committing.

Yes, I miss September.