A Pretzel with Your Requiem?

     I was smiling as I peeled potatoes earlier in the day, thinking about recent events I’ve attended. One evening I went to a lecture at the Historic Asolo about the painter, Mark Rothko, given by brilliant Ringling Museum curator, Matthew McLendon.  On a subsequent night, I watched the powerful and riveting Dancing with Jenkins at Sailor Circus.  Key Chorale & Orchestra, The Sarasota-Manatee Dance Alliance and the Sarasota Young Voices Chamber Choir performed this unique joint production.

     Potatoes, Rothko and Jenkins are not the unlikely bedfellows they may first appear to be. It turns out that on many Sarasota evenings, a stimulating lecture or a special dance performance could easily follow my favorite mashed potatoes.

     McLendon's Rothko presentation re-sparked my contemplation of the artist’s shimmering canvases that seem to say, "Dive in."  The fact that the lecture was given in a restored 18th century European theater just makes this already fascinating evening, that much more extraordinary, but not atypical for life around this town.

     The same kind of wonderful marriage between performance and setting took place underneath the trapeze of the big top. For one evening only, fifty dancers from various local dance organizations worked together to create this exciting event. This is just the sort of collaboration the newly formed Sarasota-Manatee Dance alliance is all about.

     And for music?  The singers and musicians were moving, beautiful and cohesive, creating a fresh interplay of young and mature voices with the kind of rich sound only a live orchestra could provide.

     But the pressing question of the night for me was: How do you get fifty dancers with varying levels of experience, age, ego and dance exposure to create a gorgeous thirteen section, seamless work of art, with little practice and a makeshift dance floor?  Ask choreographer, Elizabeth Bergmann; clearly she’s a high-octane super talent who knows what she’s doing.

     When it was over, I grabbed a fresh pretzel from the vendor on my way out of the circus arena; my hunger mirrored my post-show enthusiasm.  Just like at the Rothko lecture, I could feel that the audience too, left Dancing with Jenkins, energized, connected and somewhat altered by their hour spent on the magic carpet ride of great entertainment. 

     If an event is good, that stage energy comes home with us and infiltrates our everyday lives. Even the side kick potato and lowly pretzel are newly savored and flavored by the buzz of creativity that fills us up after leaving such perfect worlds as can be found on an ordinary Sarasota night.
Please read by other blog: http://whatdogsreallythink.blogspot.com/http://whatdogsreallythink.blogspot.com/

Appeared in "This Week in Sarasota" 2/13/12

http://www.thisweekinsarasota.com/a-love-letter-to-sarasota-by-pamela-beck/

A Love Letter to Sarasota – by Pamela Beck

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By TWIS Street Team on February 13, 2012

This newcomer to SRQ is all smiles!

If it’s true (and it is) that I wear brighter colors and more revealing clothing in Sarasota than I ever did living up north, does this mean that I feel bolder here? And if that were the case, wouldn’t the reverse be true: that up north, I was somehow a meeker version of myself swaddled in all those earth tones?

Well then, no wonder I’ve moved here.  All that time wasted trying to convince myself that cold air makes you hearty.  Who was I kidding? Cold air makes you cold. And not to be Seuss-ian about it, but I do not like to be in pain; to be in pain makes me complain.

To clarify, I’m not so free in Sarasota that you will find me singing ABBA tunes at a karaoke bar; nor will I be seen jogging over the Ringling Bridge in short shorts or wearing anything in the chartreuse family.

                                                         Noise Ordinance 2

But I will sign up at one of Sarasota’s many dance schools and learn the tango, now that I live in the sultry heat to fuel it.  And when Noise Ordinance 2 showcased a full day and night of 39 local bands at the Cock & Bull Pub, you bet I was there. Good news to learn that these groups play year-round at different venues in town.

To feed the dreamer in me, I’ll continue my frequent visits to the Ringling’s Venetian Gothic mansion, Ca’ d’Zan, and make believe I live there. What would it be like to see the world every day through the thousands of amethyst, ruby, emerald and blue stained-glass windowpanes that turn Ca’ d’Zan into Candyland? I’m not sure, but I do think I should be given the chance to try it.

In the end though, it’s the heat that’s the real inhibition buster for an ex cold weather warrior. When I step outside in a barely-there summer frock and am gobsmacked by a massive hot cloud of steamy tropicalia, all I can do is laugh and wonder how to get away with wearing even less than the flimsy dress I’ve already got on.

The warmth relaxes muscles and takes the edge off life concerns. Forget Bikram yoga or steam rooms. After a few months in Sarasota, perspective changes. That once-familiar edge appears so unnecessary now—all those bill deadlines, appointments and exercise programs. Overscheduling? Somehow it all gets done here without the mania. Autopay?  Yes, please! Leaves more time to bike to the beach with a picnic dinner after work. Better to toast to an evening swim with loved ones than to convince myself that watching MTV’s third season of 16 and Pregnant is sharing quality time with family.

Learning to balance work and play’s not easy in this town. For someone used to colder climes, it’s hard to drop the association that beaches, live music and streetside dining have with “vacation.”  This brings its own host of challenges. Waking up to that bright sunshine on a Tuesday, let’s say, makes it tough to accept that it’s a regular workday and kayaking through a mangrove tunnel will have no place in it.

Did I just say “mangrove?” Never said mangrove up north. “Apple orchard,” yes; “hayfield,” most certainly; but “mangrove”—fuhgeddaboudit. The closest I’ve ever gotten to a mangrove was when I tried to get a ticket to The Mangrove Slasher 2 at last year’s Sarasota Film Festival. (Don’t google Mangrove Slasher 1. There never was a 1. Don’t ask.)

But just knowing that the mangroves are there right around us, with all their primitive, dark, mysterious and tropical power reminds me that control is an illusion—or for those so inclined, that Hogwarts isn’t really so far away.  If a tree in a swamp can look like it’s about to ask me to dance, who am I to say no?

Please read my other blog:  http://whatdogsreallythink.blogspot.com/  http://whatdogsreallythink.blogspot.com/

SRQ Magazine Interview, February 3, 2012

[Newcomers]  Pamela Beck, SRxQ Blog Tedi Doychinova, Tedid@srqmediagroup.com Moved From: Connecticut. My Profession There: Communications Consultant, Psychotherapist, Art Gallery Owner. Friday Nights There: Were cold and tame or warm and tame. Why I Moved: To develop a real friendship with my parents now that we're all old enough to have one. Now I Am: Writer and two-blog blogger: One blog, at SRxQ.blogspot.com, follows me from museums to mangroves as I try not to gloat over my good fortune at having moved to Sarasota. The other blog, at WhatDogsReallyThink.blogspot.com, reveals the heady insights of my two dogs who concur with Socrates that the unexamined life is not worth living. I am now happy to be with my beau Brad and newly-arrived daughter Serena who already loves the Mote Marine Aquarium and beach. Friday Nights Now: New restaurant, new performance, new art exhibition or live music. First Impressions:Why don’t more people know about our Shangri-La? Biggest Potential Community Mistake: 1. Not seeing that Saraso-tomorrow is Saraso-today. What should we encourage going along with the usual? Late live music, local festivals and cross-promo between businesses, community, arts and education. Why? To keep and showcase talent; to attract visitors, young families and boomers looking for the ideal 21st century town. 2. Not enabling our seniors—i.e. all of us if we’re lucky—to be the model for our graying nation. New choices and technologies allow seniors to remain at home longer and improve their quality of life as they improve ours by being among us. My Vision: I'd love to see Sarasota better protected from economic downturns. One idea: link business, entertainment and cultural venues via a single, scannable smart-pass program. It could: provide incentives at each venue; offer last-minute sell-offs via phone updates; promote events via apps and website; shine a light on lesser-known gems; be sold in blocks of time; or be used for either visitors or locals. People do organize their choices through media and cards/passes. A smart-pass draws us to every sector in Sarasota, introduces our offerings to visitors and residents and gives us the chance to care for our jewel of a town together. Please visit my other blog; http://whatdogsreallythink.blogspot.com/

Mid Morning Escape

Everyone in my family seemed to be in a horrible mood when they woke up today.  And they had demands.  One needed help with paperwork; another needed to get something scanned and didn’t know how to use the scanner (turns out, neither did I).  Yet another couldn’t work the GPS and wanted a lesson; finally a family member living in another state telephoned me in the middle of all of this and then became angry that my explanation for why I couldn’t chat was expressed in an "unpleasant" tone of voice.

Lately I’ve seen these ads for a place called Massage Envy, with 3 locations in Sarasota. The name turned me off. Who wants to think of something as unattractively human as envy when pursuing something as otherworldly as a good massage?  But when the mounting tension of unrelenting neediness reached a fevered pitch this morning, I found myself mouthing the words Massage Envy silently to myself.  Within minutes, I uncharacteristically slipped out of the house without telling anyone I was leaving.

I wasn't sure where they thought I went, or how they were going to send the scans, program the GPS or fill out the paperwork.  All I knew was that I didn’t care and the only name of a place I could remember, that gave massages, was Massage Envy. (Clearly, I should not work in name branding.)

When I discovered that there are 700 Massage Envy Clinics, as they are called, open 7 days/week from 8AM until 10 AM, nationwide, I realized that I had underestimated the national need for a mini vacay.

I like the assembly line efficiency of these clinics; you feel like you are part of a well oiled, (no pun intended), machine.  Every hour is another shift and it runs like clockwork.  You watch people coming out from their massages with disheveled hair and goofy smiles, while you wait in your group with the nail biters, foot twitchers and those suffering from cell phone withdrawal. Then the clock strikes the hour and in you go, scattering to your different rooms, just hoping to be left alone by everybody you know.

I’ve been to spas where I've waited for a massage swathed in a plush terry cloth bathrobe while sipping herbal tea.  I’ve been to others where I've entered a private room of someone’s home or office and haven't run into anyone except the masseuse and a hand carved sculpture of Buddha from Bali.  I’ve done mani-pedis topped off with a massage where there has been so much red nail polish and chatter around, it felt like I was on the set of "The Real Housewives of New Jersey".

But the business like efficiency of Massage Envy made it seem like a short guilt-free break from responsibilities.  No woo-woo promises, no scented candles, no lovely robes or conversations about my chakras. 

After signing some necessary paperwork, I met my masseuse, who had the efficient look of a surgeon or a top chef: meticulous, strong, imperious. She scared me a bit. Fabulous. I was putty in her knowledgeable hands.

One hour later I returned home.  Apparently the washing machine had broken and all the wet clothing was piled up on top of it.  And while the scanner did work, it seemed that the image had not arrived clearly. Also, one of our dogs now appeared to be limping.  

I smiled inwardly; nobody had even realized I was gone. Now that my formerly tense shoulders were no longer grazing my ear lobes, the horrible mood of my family no longer disturbed me.  Massage Envy, I'll just keep you my little secret. 


Please visit my other blog; http://whatdogsreallythink.blogspot.com/ 


Disclaimer: I have no connection to Massage Envy except desire.http://whatdogsreallythink.blogspot.com/

February in Florida

    We are having perfect weather here in Sarasota; one dry, sunny, mid 70 degree day after the next, with occasional tropical winds. When the climate is this good, I conjure up cold winter memories where I’ve paid my dues.  I’m hoping that former weather misery balances out present perfection, so the "evil eye" will find someone else to bring to her senses and leave my sunny days alone.

    When I lived up north, if it was particularly cold outside, I’d look out the window beyond the icicles, and pretend to be watching the Gulf of Mexico. I’d imagine I could walk outside barefoot, have lunch on a terrace filled with pots of flowers overlooking an oval turquoise pool, and then take a long bike ride in a land of palm trees and bougainvilleas.

These images were so uplifting, I could even imagine holding my tongue as I evoked the vision of my twenty-year-old daughter, floating in said pool, puffing boredom away with her Marlboros. No "your body is a temple" speeches for her when I daydreamed.  That’s how satisfying were these reveries.  Eventually though, the damn Connecticut wind would butt in and ruin everything.  And then the moment would be over and flip flops would turn back into fleece.

    Picking up the paper and having coffee outside on Main Street, Sarasota this morning, that trapped-in feeling of winter felt far away.  A lot of frequent flier miles were accumulated on those fantasy voyages.  Around me now, the sun-drenched street was bustling with activity; the kind that feels like something good is going on, and you just want to be a part of it.  Tourists and residents mingled easily; children pulled parents’ arms towards the toy store, the ice cream shop, and to watch the adorable outdoor café dogs hunt for table scraps their families might drop from above.

    I had just gone roller blading down my block right before this coffee. You can be middle aged and roller blade in Sarasota and it doesn’t look ambitious; this is a town where almost anyone can be seen huffing along outside in some kind of aerobic activity trying to outpace the ravages of time. With laced up skates, I headed gamely out the door.  Turns out that my will is still here, even if my feet aren’t.  So what?  These days the mind is stronger than the body, just a simple reversal from younger years.

    What is important is that Sarasota makes me want to roller blade again. It's been years. I rolled around that street corner before coffee this morning, not bundled up, but rather, feeling free in a tee shirt and shorts. The sun warmed my back.  I bladed passed my neighbors’ beautiful tropical gardens and waved at the children playing ball in the streets.  No need to daydream anymore.  It’s February in Florida.

Please read my other blog:  http://whatdogsreallythink.blogspot.com/  http://whatdogsreallythink.blogspot.com/