Break It Down

When I was a youngster we had a babysitter who had the best trick to keep my brother and I entertained for hours. After my parents would leave for the evening, we’d roll up the rug in the foyer and he would break dance for us. He would spin on his back while we squealed with delight. Then we would take turns laying on our backs and spinning each other like tops. Since then I’ve always wished I could break dance, so it seemed about time to give it a whirl.

Break dancing started on the streets in the late 1960’s and surged in popularity in the late ‘70’s and early ‘80’s at about the same time as Adidas track suits. Much like the east coast-west coast hip hop rivalries of my youth (Tupac forever), there are two schools of break dancing, each of which cling to opposite coasts:

B-Boying” is what I, and maybe you as well, think of when you say “break dancing.” It’s largely characterized by hand-to-floor contact. B-Boying (or in ladies’ cases B-Girling) is the east coast style of break dance. “Poppin’” involves rapid muscle contractions, sharp well-defined actions, body waves, and other forms of contortion to create the illusion of the dance. It originated on the west coast.

Tony DeMarco of Boston BBoy agreed to help make my childhood dream come true at his practice studio in Cambridge. There, he and his colleague, Dragon, set out to turn me into a dancing queen, or at least a B-Girl.

Being the consumate reporter that I am, my lesson with Dragon began with an interview. Photo courtesy of Geoff Brownell

Being the consummate reporter that I am, my lesson with Dragon began with an interview. Photo courtesy of Geoff Brownell

As with learning any new physical skill, especially dancing, it’s best to break down (no pun intended) the steps, master them slowly, then put them all together and pick up the tempo. While I acknowledge that in theory, this is the best strategy; if you don’t catch on quickly it can leave you disappointed in your inability to do anything that even remotely resembles your goal. Dragon and I started off down on the mats, with both hands and feet on the ground. On his command, I would move a limb in one direction and then another limb in another. While I was following his directions to a tee, I couldn’t see how this would all add up to break dancing. In fact, it seemed like I was playing a slow-motion game of “Twister” by myself. Check it out:

As you may have noticed, one of my big problems is my lack of flexibility. As a runner, my hamstrings are really tight, so this left me unable to get my legs where they needed to go while keeping my hands on the ground and maintaining my balance. Then there is the fact that I don’t know my left from my right. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. How is that possible? That is a whole other blog post, but needles to say, being directionally challenged made it hard to follow Dragon’s instructions. When I tried to combine all the movements and pick up the tempo I toppled over. There’s nothing quite like losing your balance over and over again to make you feel like a total klutz.

Tony then took over the lesson and showed me the moves performed on two feet. I was correct to assume that I would be much better at this part. There are some simple steps—tapping your toes at the corners of an imaginary square on the ground—that once mastered (and thankfully I was able to do this) you can start to have fun with improvising arm movements. This part reminded me to those goofy old dances like the “sprinkler” and the “shopping cart.” Tony and Dragon encouraged me to think of a story or situation and tell it through movement. Because I was actually able to do these break dancing moves, I had a lot more fun than when I was on the ground. I dubbed my move of choice the “crack open a beer and guzzle it.” It was an instant classic.

I had more success with these moves. Photo courtesy of Geoff Brownell

I had more success with these moves. Photo courtesy of Geoff Brownell

While I was not personally able to do it, Dragon put the two types of moved together to show me how he break dances at clubs. Traditionally, when a DJ starts playing a record (we are talking about the ‘80’s here) a break dancer is dancing on their feet. When the DJ starts scratching, that’s when a dancer hits the ground, contorts and shows off his spins.

In addition to the moves I acquired working with Tony and Dragon; I also gained a new appreciation for the athleticism needed to break dance. You could likely see in the video, Dragon uses a tremendous amount of ab strength to do what he does.  It also takes coordination and flexibility (two things I need to work on). Like all the adventures I go on, experts always make their skill, talent, or life’s passion seem effortless. It’s rarely as easy as they make it look.

Tony and Dragon were extremely patient and supportive with me when I struggled, and shared in my triumph when I nailed a move. They are great teachers. And while the Boston BBoy boys were not able to whip me into a Fly Girl in a few hours, when Dragon encouraged me to give it another try, saying “I believe in you,” I immediately responded, “I believe in me too.”

And I do…and that right there…is a victory.

I’d like to thank Tony DeMarco and Dragon of Boston BBoy. They offer lessons for adults and children, and even do parties and corporate events. If you are interested in learning to break dance, check them out! Thank you to Geoff Brownell, my dear friend the best videographer and editor a gal could ask for! I was not compensated in any way for this post.

A New (More Personal) Era

The judges have spoken. Last week I wrote not about my latest adventure, but about me…getting older. I’ve written personal posts a few times over the past two years, and they’re always a challenge for me. Despite being a blogger, I’m a pretty private person; I don’t like talking about myself, and I don’t like writing about myself. But sometimes I’m going through something, or I have an epiphany, or just feel I’ve got something to say.

So I say it. And you love it.

When this happens, you all demonstrate—through page views and comments—that these are your favorite posts. I have known this for a while; the data backs it up. But I fought the idea of writing more about myself more often because it terrifies me. While I know some people start blogs to talk about themselves, want an outlet to vent, or to show off pictures of their outfits each day (I’m not judging, I swear), that’s not me and that’s not why I do this. I started this blog because I missed writing. I missed interviewing interesting people and learning new things. And most of all, I wanted to challenge myself.

I have never backed away from a challenge when it comes to this blog…except for this one. But after the emails, texts, comments and encouragement from you last week it dawned on me that I may be hiding behind my outlandish adventures as a way of keeping you all at arms’ length. You know a lot about what I do from week to week, but maybe not about how I feel. And maybe, just maybe, you are interested in learning a little more about me. Imagine that.

So as I embark on the third year of The Great Wide Open, I will let you in.

Don’t worry; I’m not going all self-involved on you. I’m still going to try new things and try to make you laugh, but I’m also going to feature more of the adventure that is the everyday life of this 30-something single gal, navigating life, work, writing and dating (there, I said it, it’s too late to take it back now)…who happens to also learn to break dance on the weekends (that’s a not-so-subtle plug for next week’s post, so be ready to get down).

Again, I want to stress that I’m not going to talk about me all the time—that would bore both you and me. I’m going to give you more of what you have grown to expect from me, but also more of what I know you want from me…and I’ll continue to do my best to entertain you in the process.

Let this new adventure begin.

My Birthday Breakthrough

This week I celebrated my birthday. Well, actually I’ve been celebrating my birthday since last Friday, but the actual day was Tuesday. I like to spread my birthday celebration out so that I’m too busy having fun, and don’t stop to ponder getting one year older. Don’t get me wrong, I love my birthday, I mean I really love my birthday. My family takes birthdays very seriously, or at least they take my birthday very seriously. This may be a result of my behavior on my birthday: I cry. I cry every year. And I’m not talking about shedding one or two sentimental tears. No, January 21st reduced me to a blubbering, weeping, basket case.

My mother says I have been this way from the beginning. Literally. But I was finally able to articulate the tremendous emotions I was feeling on my sixth birthday. She recalls (I swear I’m not making this up) that per usual, I was crying (probably right after she and my dad had gifted me whatever I had wanted, maybe a Cabbage Patch Kid) and when she asked what was wrong, I responded, “I’m not ready to be six. I was just getting comfortable with five.” Seriously, I said that. She should have taken me to a shrink that instant.

It’s been the same sad story every year since. My family and friends know that tears are inevitable, so they go to great lengths to make me happy on my birthday. And I always have an amazing time…and then I cry. It’s really rather ridiculous. Birthdays signify both the biggest change (one year—number-wise—older), and the smallest change (you feel the same way on Tuesday morning as you did Monday night) at the very same time.

This week I marked a milestone that sounds old to me, and the weeks leading up to it, I felt uneasy and a little blue. I certainly don’t feel old. And despite what others may think, I don’t (usually) feel that just because I’m a single, 30-something, that I’m somehow behind, or missing out (although I have my moments). I love my life! Is it what I thought it would be like as a teenager (read about that here)? No. But it’s this interesting, diverse, exciting life that I’ve created for myself. My mother often cites my Joie de vivre. I’m on this kooky journey and I can honestly say I have no idea where I will end up, but I know I will laugh and learn a lot along the way.

I was coy about my age when my mostly younger co-workers took me out Friday night (I was told I looked great for 30. I just smiled). I enjoyed the Patriots game, if not the outcome, on Sunday with some of my best friends. I unwrapped an amazing birthday gift from my parents on Monday and enjoyed a girl’s dinner out on Tuesday.

And then a funny thing happened, or didn’t happen, when I got home. With snow falling over Boston, my feet up on the aforementioned birthday gift, and a glass of Veuve in my hand, I went through all the lovely birthday texts, emails and messages I had received (thank goodness for Facebook)…and I didn’t cry…for the first time in 35 years. I didn’t feel sad, or behind, or old. Instead, I felt lucky for all that I have, and excited about all that is right around the corner for me.

A perfect way to end my birthday...not crying

A perfect way to end my birthday…not crying

I really feel more like myself in my 30’s. Oprah would say that I am becoming my “authentic self.” I’m more accepting of limitations, not afraid to show off my strengths, and overall, more comfortable in my skin. And it seems I’m more comfortable with my birthday as well. That’s what we call progress.

An Island Christmas

Happy new year everyone!  After a very hectic fall, I was able to take some quality time over the holidays to do absolutely nothing, and it was heavenly. I took a lot of naps, read a few books by roaring fires, and enjoyed quality time with family and friends. Exactly what the holidays should be.

But as a result of doing a whole lot of nothing I didn’t have many of my usual adventures. So what do I do when I know I need to try something new and I don’t have much time to do it?  Well, I commandeer the band my parents hired to play at their holiday party and get an impromptu lesson on the steel guitar…of course.

My mother throws eclectic parties. This year she hired Slowey and the Boats to play at our house for a family party a few days after Christmas. You certainly can’t call this three-piece band’s sound “traditional holiday,” it was more like “holiday on the Big Island.” And that distinct sound came courtesy of Isaac Stanford’s steel guitar.  So of course, Isaac is who I had to sweet talk into giving me that impromptu music lesson at the end of their set.

You would definitely recognize the sound of the steel guitar; it’s that elongated, almost whiny sound you hear in island music. Unlike a traditional guitar, the steel guitar is played horizontally with the instrument sitting on a table-like stand. Also unlike a guitar, you play it with finger pics for the most part, not by plucking or strumming. Its origins are in Hawaii, but as Isaac told me, it began being incorporated into American country music in the 1920’s. Typically a steel guitar has 6 or 8 strings, but Isaac’s has 12. And that provided more opportunities for me to bastardize its sound.

DSC_0057

Photo courtesy of Maureen Mahlman

First lesson I learned about the steel guitar: do not play while wearing a mini skirt. Thankfully I was among family. Second lesson of the steel guitar: do not play with a fresh manicure. Two life lessons right there.

I quickly realized that the steel guitar, even on the most basic level, takes a lot more musical knowledge (like reading notes), and multi-tasking than the harp. The notes seemed more complicated, one hand has to pluck, as the other brushes a bar called a steel up and down the strings on the neck of the instrument. which changes the pitch, that creates its distinct sound.

Photo courtesy of Maureen Mahlman

Photo courtesy of Maureen Mahlman

So after a few minutes of struggling, with about a dozen people looking on, Isaac and I decided that, for me, “conquering “the steel guitar would mean one, single chord…but a nice long clean chord.  That involved picking one string with my right hand, while gently, evenly moving the steel down the neck of the guitar and gently lifting it off the strings so that the chord ends neatly. And you know what, it only took me two or three attempts to get the sound I was looking to achieve.  And just as I finished, with a huge smile breaking out over my face, my audience broke into applause. Now true, they are my family, and they are biased, but it made me feel like a million bucks none the less.

Me, Isaac and the steel guitar

Me, Isaac and the steel guitar. Photo courtesy of Maureen Mahlman.

This week’s post showed me that I can seek out new experiences, large and small, in a variety of spots…even in the corner of my parents’ living room wedged next to the Christmas tree. Happy new year everyone! I have a feeling 2014 is going to be a great one!

I’d like to thank Issac Stanford and Slowey and the Boats for letting me squeeze a lesson into their gig. If you live in the Philadelphia area, and are looking for a three, or five-piece band with a distinct sound, they may be the band for you. You can also check out their Facebook page if you want to check out one of their gigs around the city. I was not compensated for this post in any way.

Three…Two…One

As the clock ticks down the waning hours of new year’s eves, we can’t help but reflect on the year that is about to be put to bed. A few days ago a friend asked me what my favorite adventure of the year was, and I had to think hard about it. Then I got nostalgic. It’s hard to choose just one; I have to assume it’s similar to choosing your favorite child.

2013 was a really busy year here at The Great Wide Open. And while I had a few lows, it was a year filled with highs…and high notes. Here is a rundown of my favorite adventures of the past year:

You all got the play-by-play of my stressful move (which maybe I was being a little dramatic about) and the real-life adventure of living alone for the first time. While I may have seemed like a crazy person last spring, the experience taught me a lot about my strengths, my limitations and how amazing my friends are. Who needs movers when you have BFFs with SUVs? The experience also made me very comfortable asking for help (which I used to be very bad about) from friends, family and “strangers on the internet,” as my father pointed out.

Empty Apartment

Empty Apartment

Home

Home

I embraced my long-dormant outdoorsy side by learning to rock climb in the White Mountains of New Hampshire with the fine folks at Northeast Mountaineering. What was so interesting about this was the fact that after trying so many things and being bad, I mean really bad, at many of them I assumed that I would fail at scaling a rock fifty feet in the air. But you know what? I was really good at it. Being lowered back down was another matter altogether, but we’ll focus on the positive!

Still smiling

Still smiling

I got to meet and eat Chinese take-out with the amazing jewelry designer Kenneth Jay Lane in his Manhattan studio. This was one of those moments when I literally had to pinch myself it was so surreal. I was sitting across the table from a person I admire a great deal, interviewing him and chatting about his old pal Jackie Kennedy. Who am I, and how did I get here?  When I started this blog I never imagined that an opportunity like this would be available to me. It truly was a dream come true.

Look at that smile, obviously I could not contain my excitement

Look at that smile, obviously I could not contain my excitement

From dreams to nightmares…Probably my most terrifying adventure of the year demonstrated how comfortable I have become with mass-scale public humiliation. I sang a duet, in public…in front of an audience years after being told that I was a bad singer. While I may not have sounded all that great, I did face a long-held fear and felt so much support during the rehearsal process, at the performance and afterwards in the comment section of this blog that it really did feel like a triumph and not a total humiliation (but judge for yourself below).

Yes, 2013 was a great year for me and this blog. Over the past two years I have slowly let go of my Type A ways, and have become well acquainted with that feeling we all get deep in the pit of our stomachs when we’re about to try something totally out of our comfort zones. I didn’t realize how much my fear of failure had been holding me back until I changed my reaction to that feeling. Instead of leaning back or walking away, I now jump in, head first, secure in the feeling that I may just surprise myself. And if I don’t, and I fail, big deal…at least I gave it a try. While I started this blog to try to find my next passion in life, it seems that maybe my passion is trying new things, unafraid of the outcome…and writing of course.

I have lots planned for the coming year and a lot not planned. Some of it I will make up as I go along, and how great is that? I will be trying tons of new things and experience. I have no idea where this whole adventure will take me, and that’s ok. It’s actually better than ok…it’s pretty exciting.

My Trip through the Heartland

I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to post this week, because I’ve been on the road and haven’t had the time to line-up one of my usual adventures. But as seems to be the case more often than not, my everyday life turned into an adventure. Does this happen to everyone, or just me? And if I’m in the minority, is it luck or a curse?

My trip took me to Kansas and Arkansas, with an unexpected nine-hour drive through Oklahoma.  We (I was reunited with the talented photographer Jeff Allen who you may have met here last year) drove all over Kansas, literally, and met some pretty cool Kansans, including Miss Kansas 2013 herself, Theresa Vail. You may have heard about Theresa around the time of the Miss America pageant earlier this year. There was a lot of buzz surrounding her, or more specifically, surrounding her tattoos. Theresa was the first Miss America contestant to ever show her tattoos during the competition, and that seemingly benign milestone garnered a lot of attention.

Theresa did not grow up like the pint-sized princesses on “Toddlers and Tiaras.” Last year’s Miss Kansas pageant was the first she ever entered. While she is the first title-holder (please note, this is the correct term, not beauty queen) I have ever met, I have to assume her motivation is unique. She entered the contest to debunk misconceptions of what girls can and cannot do. And boy did I see what she could do when she taught me how to bow hunt.

Theresa has been a hunter since the age of 11, and a year and a half ago she picked up her first bow. Archery was actually going to be her “talent” in the Miss America pageant, but there was an insurance clause precluding moving objects, so she had to settle for singing opera. Theresa let me test out her bow, and compared to the summer camp archery of my childhood, this is a new generation of bows and arrows with sites, grips and a trigger.

side by side

Photo courtesy of Jeff Allen

After we determined that I am a “left eye shooter” (I’m left eye dominate therefore I used a left-handed bow, despite being right handed in all other aspects of my life), Theresa got me situated with the bow. Then came the tough part: pulling the arrow back into a ready position. Theresa has a 50 lb. bow, which means it takes 50 lbs. of effort to pull the arrow back. That space between the resting position of the bow and ready position with the arrow pulled all the way back is called “the valley.” It took some effort to pull the arrow through the valley, but as soon as I got it there, I could clearly see through the site.

explination

Photo courtesy of Jeff Allen

When I pulled the trigger (which wraps around our hand and connects to the end of the arrow) the arrow sailed through the air, with some birds scattering as it wizzed by them. The reaction from my handful of on-lookers was one of amazement. My arrow had gone straight ahead, and although I had not been aiming for them, I nearly hit a bird (When you are as innately talented as I am, who needs to aim?).

Ready

Photo courtesy of Jeff Allen

“That was really good,” Theresa said, laughing with surprise.

The entire experience was really fun (and I’m not just saying that because I was pretty good at it). So fun, in fact, I may look to take up archery back in Boston. While I may not be ready to use a bow and arrow to hunt (had I actually hit one of those birds I likely would have burst into tears), target practice may be a good place to start.

group shot

Photo courtesy of Jeff Allen

After my introduction to bow hunting, we piled into our car (not Theresa, she got into her Miss Kansasmobile) and took off on a cross-state adventure. With Winter Storm Cleon cancelling our flight from Kansas to Arkansas, we pledged that a little snow and ice would not keep us down, so we decided to drive the nine hours to Little Rock. For the girl who hates to drive, this took some convincing, but once we got going I realized the benefits. The road trip provided me with a window seat for dozens of scenes from America’s Heartland. We drove through spots I had never been to, and very well may never have made it to in my life. The people I met along the way were some of the nicest I have ever met. And the topography, while certainly not diverse, offered a new view of America: one of big sky, flat prairies and tons of cows.

Somewhere in Kansas

Somewhere in Kansas

Somewhere in Oklahoma

Somewhere in Oklahoma

I had not expected adventure this week, just a business trip. But it seems that you can find new, exciting and treasured experiences anywhere, you just have to be open to the possibilities of what lies right in front of you…or right outside your car window.

I’d like to Thank Theresa Vail for taking the time to give me an archery lesson, and for showing me what title-holders (not beauty queens) are be made of. I’d also like to thank my incredibly talented friend, photographer Jeff Allen, for the beautiful images above, and for being a great co-pilot. I was not compensated for this post in any way.

Jeff Allen, loving life

Jeff Allen loving life

No Strings Attached

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving week filled with food, family and fun. To kick-off the holiday season, I am embarking on a festive adventure. No, I will not be taking a turn as a mall Santa (wait, that’s not a bad idea). I thought about what I love about the holidays, and I must admit that it is the holiday music. When radio stations go Christmas before Thanksgiving I bristle a bit, but I soon find myself singing along. So I thought about the most festive instrument I could and then I started hunting for someone to teach me the harp. Angels play them, why can’t I?

I found a gifted harpist and teacher in Amanda Romano. She started playing when she was seven, attended the New England Conservatory and has performed at Tanglewood, Weill Hall at Carnegie Hall and the Kennedy Center. She was kind enough to offer me an introduction to the harp.

DSC_0014

I provided her with the same preface that I will provide you: I took piano for several years as a youngster, but was never very good. In large part that is because I never learned how to read music, so I knew anything that tested my limited musical ability would be a major challenge for me.

Like the pro that she is, Amanda started our lesson with a review of reading music. And by “review” it really seemed as if this was the first time I heard any of this.  We went over notes, how many beats are in a measure, time signatures and how to tell which hand I was supposed to use for which notes. Then we moved to the harp and which strings correspond to which notes. That’s when I lowered the harp on to my shoulder, and laid my fingers on the strings (which thank goodness are color coded in the case of C and F) for the first time.

DSC_0002

Playing the harp is all plucking, unlike guitar which utilizes both plucking and strumming motions. I have pretty lean fingers, but I kept hitting neighboring strings so the sound was not clean. Plus my eyes were playing ticks on me; I wasn’t able to easily focus on the strings as opposed to whatever was happening on the ground below it (and in this case it was George, Amanda cat who served as my first audience). Amanda assured me that my eyes were not particularly weak, that every harpist has the same problem when the start and getting dizzy is an occupational hazard.

The harp takes a lot of coordination, I guess all instruments do, but between the notes and those pesky neighboring strings, I had trouble getting into a groove. That’s when Amanda decided I needed a “lesson on rhythm.” Yikes. With Amanda’s detailed instruction and patience (she teaches children so she was well equipped to teach this child-at-heart) I was able to master the complex melody of “Hot Cross Buns.”

We moved on to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and I found that being familiar with the melody actually enabled me to cheat a bit (can you cheat when playing an instrument?) by plucking the stings not based on the sheet music, but on based on my memory of the song. I guess I’m not tone deaf after all!

Amanda said that her adult students typically get frustrated when they aren’t able to master something immediately, but I was laughing. I was laughing at myself when I was bad and laughing jubilantly when was good. This was probably the biggest complement of all. And yeah, “Hot Cross Buns” is pretty easy, but it felt like a huge accomplishment in the moment.

My bubble burst, however, when five little girls came in for a lesson after me. Their version of the Nutcracker March put “Hot Cross Buns” to shame, and showed me how much work I had ahead of me if I want to continue with the harp. It also put me in the perfect holiday spirit.

Amanda's younger students

Amanda’s younger students

 Thanks go to Amanda Romano, a talented harpist and teacher. She offers lessons to all ages, and is as god with adults as she is with children. I was not compensated in any way for this post.

My Next Adventure

Drum roll please…this is my 100th post!  I know, where did the time go?

It’s been 100 adventures: some smaller in scale, some larger, some had me (and you) laughing, some made me cry. But one thing all my adventures have in common is that they all taught me something new, and usually that something was about myself. I have been surprised by what I’m capable of (remaining calm while bee keeping), and humbled by my very obvious limitations (of the vocal variety). But each week I put myself out there—comfortable with possible failure and potential public embarrassment on an ever-growing scale—all in an effort to find what I am truly passionate about.

I’m constantly developing, and soliciting, ideas for what to try next. Sometimes these ideas come from you, sometimes I come up with them myself after reading or watching someone incredibly interesting, and sometimes I’m inspired by my friends…some of whom you have met on this blog in the past.

A few weeks ago, while I pondered the milestone that this post represents–and what goals I want to set for the next 100 posts–I watched a documentary that was stunning, both visually and emotionally. The Other Side of the Ice is the story of one family’s adventure sailing the Northwest Passage, the icy route that connects the Atlantic and Pacific oceans and which hugs the arctic. Full disclosure: my friend Chauncey Tanton not only field produced the film, he also takes on the role of moral compass during a critical part of the journey that he set off on with his siblings and stepfather. Having made documentaries myself, I know how challenging filmmaking can be. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to make a film while navigating one of the most dangerous waterways in the world.

This is a family of adventurers, and that is what inspired me most. I call my weekly escapades “adventures,” but I’m being very generous using that word to describe what I do. Watching The Other Side Of The Ice made me hungry for a real adventure. I spoke with him as I started brainstorming what I could and should do, to find out what a true adventurer thought of my novel plan. I was excited that Chauncey was full of ideas for me.

“When you step into the unknown, that’s where adventure begins,” he told me, and he’s right. An adventure for me, may not be an adventure for someone else, and certainly not for Chauncey. Whenever we as individuals step outside our comfort zone, whatever that may be, it’s an adventure.  It crystalized for me when Chauncey described adventures as “where itineraries don’t exist.”

Photo courtesy of Chauncey Tanton

Photo courtesy of Chauncey Tanton

Chauncey describes this trip as “the adventure of a lifetime,” not only because it was so grueling and so remote, but because they were blazing a trail in many ways. He and his family were under near constant stress. He said the stress manifested itself as the feeling you get right before riding a roller coaster…for six months straight. They were making critical decisions about icebergs and polar bears all day, every day. But for as difficult as it was, it was hugely rewarding both because it brought his family closer together (one of the most powerful story lines of the film in my opinion), but also because they went where only 24 other boats had ever been before. That is a spectacular accomplishment.

And in yet another example of how the biggest challenges lead to the biggest rewards, two weeks ago, The Other Side Of The Ice won an Emmy for best topical documentary.

Now let’s be honest, I don’t think I have a six-month-long arctic expedition in me. But I’m going to find something that truly pushes me past my limits…and for longer than just a day. So far I have one vote for climbing Kilimanjaro (a friend said he hiked it with a 13-year-old, so I should be able to survive), and Chauncey suggested I find someone to let me tag along on the seasonal boat migration from Newport to a warmer winter destinations (he did warn me that I would be considered “dead weight,” so this may require some sweet talking on my part), but I’m also looking for other suggestions. So bring the adventures on! This will take some planning, so this may not happen next week, or even next month, but I am pledging to do it…and write about it.

Chauncey, too, is embarking on his next adventure. This guy, who has already lived a very adventurous life (professional snowboarder, conqueror of the Northwest Passage, with a little high finance sprinkled in for good measure), is now poised to take on New York City. As a recovering New Yorker myself, I have no doubt that he will make his mark on the city where every day is an adventure in some way. After all, as he told me, he sets lofty goals, focuses, and doesn’t give up until he achieves them. Sounds like someone else I know…

Photo courtesy of Chauncey Tanton

Photo courtesy of Chauncey Tanton

Thank you to Chauncey Tanton for sharing his story with me. The Other Side Of The Ice is available on itunes and Amazon, and obviously, I highly recommend it. I was not compensated in any way for this post.

Where’s the Beef (and Lamb)?

Where did fall go? The last few days have been down right frigid in Boston, and now Thanksgiving is right around the corner. And in an early celebration of both family and food, I combined those two things to see if I could coax my inner butcher out into the open in time to carve the Thanksgiving turkey.

Yes, I did say butcher. Those of you who have read this blog for a while may remember my last visit to T.F. Kinnealey, the company founded by my great-uncle 74 years ago. T.F. Kinnealey serves some of the finest restaurants, hotels and country clubs from Northern Connecticut to Maine and out to Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard. Some of my very favorite spots in Boston are Kinnealey customers.

DSC_0023

Last year I had what I consider the first day of really hard physical work in my life there. They didn’t let me off easy just because I’m family. After that post, many of you complained that it didn’t include any pictures of me sporting a hairnet. So when my cousin Joe invited me back for an introductory lesson in butchery, I jumped at the chance.

I arrived in Brockton bright and early at 7:15 a.m., washed and suited up to head into the chilly production floor. There I was greeted with a warm hug from Wayne Tumber, Kinnealey’s production manager, and my teacher for the day. He helped me put a mesh metal glove on my left hand that resembled medieval armor. This would prevent me from injuring myself. He is a smart man.

My protective mesh glove

My protective mesh glove

Wayne has been cutting meat since 1969, so I was in very capable hands. We had a lot to do, so we got right to it. I rolled up my sleeves—metaphorically speaking of course, it’s actually too chilly in there to do that—and got to work. I must warn you all now; this work (and my pictures of it) may not be for everyone. My vegan and vegetarian readers may just want to stop here. Get yourself some tofurky and come back next week.

My lesson with Wayne begins

My lesson with Wayne begins

Wayne was an incredibly patient teacher. He showed me one step in the process, and then let me try, correcting and encouraging me as I went along. One of the keys to butchery seems to be to stick close to the bone. Bones help guide you through the animal. And additionally, if you hug the bone, you’ll do less damage to the meat you want to keep intact, and eat.

I found myself being very delicate with the meat, and tentative with the knife. Wayne and I joked that I needed to hold the knife like a serial killer, with a firm whole-hand grip, not as if I was politely cutting a steak at the dinner table. Wayne also reminded me that I could manhandle the meat, move it around to get a better angle or grip on it. “Remember, you can’t hurt it,” he said. “It’s already dead.” That it most certainly was. Eventually I got more comfortable, pulling pieces of the animal as I cut, and letting the sharp tip of my knife do most of the work.

Where we started

Where we started

I seemed to have the most trouble with ribs. I boned-out both beef ribs and lamb ribs. The lamb ribs were smaller and I had trouble keeping a good grip on them with my multiple layers of gloves (metal mesh for safety, cloth for warmth and then plastic for health). You run your knife up and down the ribs. Again, using the bones as a guide and removing all the meat on them. Despite my difficulty they looked really pretty when I was done with them, if I do say so myself.

DSC_0034

Lots of ribs

Lots of ribs

Boneless lamb loin

Boneless lamb loin

For me, never a standout science student, it was really interesting to see that in terms of physiology, the animals are pretty similar. And by the third piece of meat, I was getting the hang of it. Wayne even trusted me enough to cut through the beef ribs with a motorized saw (o.k., that did make me a little nervous, my mesh glove was not going to save me then).

Really concentrating while using the saw to cut through the ribs

Really concentrating while using the saw to cut through beef ribs

While there were some moments that were a little intense (pulling the ball and socket of the lamb’s hip joint apart), I wasn’t grossed out at all. It was like a biology class for adults, but instead of frogs, it was my dinner.

As Wayne and I walked into the meat locker, I asked him what he liked most about his job. “Everything,” he quickly said. He’s now a manager, so he doesn’t cut as much as he used to, but he enjoys the fact that every day is different. I said I could not agree with him more.

Look at that happy girl with her lamb leg

Look at that happy girl with her lamb leg

What would become my stew

What would become my stew

After I successfully processed my lamb and beef, Wayne packed it up for me to take home. After my visit last year people seemed surprised that I immediately wanted to eat meat after handling it all day. It was the same this time. I took my lamb home, browned it up in a pan and made a delicious lamb and lentil stew which I am still enjoying.

I really enjoyed cutting up those animals, and while I’m certainly not as fast or efficient as the experts at T.F. Kinnealey’s, I think this may be something I stick with. Maybe take another lesson and practice at home. It must be in the blood…the metaphoric blood of course, not the literal blood.

Who wants to come over for dinner?

DSC_0054

My yummy lamb and lentil stew

My yummy lamb and lentil stew

 Many thanks to Joe Kinnealey for allowing me to once again come down and learn another facet of the family business. Thanks also to Wayne Tumber who was brave enough to get really close to me while I was holding a very sharp knife. If you live in New England it’s likely, you have had T.F. Kinnealey meat at your favorite restaurant, but you can also visit their retail location at the Milton Marketplace, in Milton, MA. While I was not compensated for this post, Joe did let met take home some of what I cut, so I worked for my dinner, and it was delicious.

I Heard it Through the Grape Vine

I swear I am not an alarmist, but when I recently read that we may be nearing a world-wide wine shortage, I did pause and wonder if I should start stockpiling. While I didn’t run out to buy cases of vino (I didn’t, I swear), with harvest season upon us, I decided this was my moment to visit a vineyard and learn how the nectar of the gods is made…just in case. Luckily for me, the kind folks at Newport Vineyards agreed to let me join them for an afternoon and learn from their master: winemaker George Chelf.

DSC_0018

Making wine is one of those processes that has so many steps that I cannot begin to do it justice in one post, so I am going to skip the step-by-step description, and concentrate on the vineyard itself, me getting my hands dirty, and George.

Newport Vineyards is owned by John and Paul Nunes. Its origins date back to 1917 when their great-grandfather bought 51 acres of land just north of Newport, Rhode Island. George has been with them since 1988. He told me that he really “fell into” wine making (we should all be so lucky). He first became interested in wine while in the Army. At that stage of his life he was drinking beer, but while in Europe, he would look up at the hills over the autobahn to see people picking grapes (who wouldn’t be inspired by that?). When he returned to the States he began looking for a job as an assistant winemaker, and pressed his first grape into Newport Vineyard’s first vintage.

DSC_0020

Both George and the vineyard’s wine have flourished in the last 25 years. The vineyard now produces more than 30 varieties of red, white, sparkling, blush and dessert wines. The vineyard is in the middle of a renovation to create a function room, tasting area and a larger shop to purchase bottles of Newport’s finest.

Today, visitors can wander out from the vineyard’s main building into row after row of grape vines…and a family of wild turkeys. The rows are oriented north to south so that all the grapes gets the same amount of sunlight as the sun moves across the sky from east to west. In September and October the grapes are harvested, and the weeks—or months—long process (depending on the variety) it takes to craft their wine begins. While many of the stages of wine making are now very efficient as a result of technology (harvesting and bottling for example), there are still some things that are done by hand…and by mouth.

A family of wild turkeys doing their best Abbey Road impression

A family of wild turkeys doing their best Abbey Road impression

Once the grapes are picked the skins are gently removed from the rest of the grape. The grapes then go into huge plastic bins where they ferment for about a week. The skins settle on the top with the juice below. The skins of red grapes are what give red wine its color, so it’s important for the skins’ color to leach down into the juice. This is when I got in on the wine making action. While I may have envisioned stomping grapes like that classic I Love Lucy episode, in reality, it turned out to be more about my arms and shoulders than feet (which I am sure everyone is happy to hear). Twice a day, members of George’s team mix the contents of these creates to make sure the skins color is indeed turning what will be the wine red.

A bin containing skins at the top and what will be wine at the bottom

A bin containing skins at the top and what will be wine at the bottom

This may sound very easy, but in reality there is about a foot of grape skins at the top, and they are pretty darn heavy. George got me a stool so that I could get some leverage with the shovel. But even elevated it was heavy and difficult to mix. Full disclosure: George had to break up the skins a bit–like breaking a hole in an iced-covered pond–so that I could get the shovel deep enough to do any good. Basically, I may not be cut out for a wine maker’s assistant.

What did I get myself into?

What did I get myself into? Photo courtesy of Heidi Brueggeman

Putting some muscle into it. Photo courtesy of Heidi Brueggeman

Putting some muscle into it. Photo courtesy of Heidi Brueggeman

After the fermentation process is over, the skins continue to be pushed down, twice a day, for two or three more days, and are tasted daily by George, and only George (I joked with him that winemaker is really another way of saying he’s the ultimate decider) until he deems it ready to be pressed. His team then presses off the skins with very low pressure so no astringency gets in the wine. Next the wine is allowed to settle in a tank for one to two days then racked into barrels.

Red wines, remain in their barrels (which have been lightly “toasted,” i.e. burned with fire) for 10-15 months. Each month George tastes the wine, tops off the barrel (throughout the wine making process air is the enemy, you don’t want the wine to oxidize. It’s similar to the fact that the flavor of an opened bottle, even when re-corked, changes for the worse) and makes his notes right on the barrel, as if it was a history lesson of that particular barrel of wine.

DSC_0034

George tries the different varieties of wine each day (talk about a nice perk of the job), and at a certain point will do a little mixing of batches to create the optimal pinot nior, for example, before barreling the reds and chardonnays. For George, the goal (in addition to creating great tasting wine) is to have continuity from year to year. So if you like a Newport Vineyards 2012 sauvignon blanc, you will like the 2013 incarnation as well.

Winemaker seems to be one of the coolest jobs I have come across on my bloggy adventures, and not just for the the free drinks. When I asked George what he likes best about his job, he quickly answered it’s the fact that every day is different. No two vintages are exactly alike, and no two season are exactly alike. All these variables force him, and his team, to adjust and sometimes roll with the punches. He’s also constantly learning. And that is guaranteed to continue. “The evolution will never end,” he observed.

George getting ready to taste his handy work

George getting ready to taste his handy work

Continual learning has come up before in this blog, and it seems the people who appreciate and thrive on this are those who I connect with best. Obviously, for a gal who chooses to experience something new each week, learning is a priority. Curiosity is a priority. And I can’t see that changing anytime soon.

A big thank you to George Chelf and the staff at Newport Vineyards. They offer vineyard tours and tastings, so stop by if you fund yourself in their neighborhood. I also want to give a shout-out to Heidi Brueggenman, who was my wing-woman on this adventure. I was not compensated in any way for this post.